Page 18 of Saint

What’s done is done.

Liam isdead.

And it’s all my fault.

The moment the police are involved I’ll have to explain how I brought this on both of us. They’ll find my chats, and I’ll be outed for my disgusting thoughts.

I head to the Jack and Jill bathroom, which I share with Patience. The door to her room is closed, so I lock both doors and flick on the light. The dorm is quiet, and I’m thankful my roommates are either already in class or sleeping.

Sharing a dorm with three other girls can be nice because it forces me to socialize. But right now, I can’t bear the thought of facing Patience, Mila, or Teal.

It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the brightness as I turn and face my reflection in the mirror. And once they do, there’s no denying the truth staring back at me.

Blood splatters my sweater—my shorts, my skin. It smears up my arms and along my neck and cheek where Saint grabbed me. His finger marks streak my pale face like one of Teal’s paintings.

My fishnets are torn, and my clothes are caked in dirt and leaves. My long black hair is a matted mess. Dried mascara paints rivers down my cheeks.

Faint bruising is starting to form where Saint’s fingers gripped my neck.

Lifting my fingers, I brush across them, drifting into the memory of his grip. Remembering choking on my breath while my body hummed with excitement.

I let him do this.

He shoved me into the dirt and took me like I was nothing. The blue Xs of his mask glowed as he stood overme. He forced me to face my sins. Twisting my unholy confessions until he convinced me I asked for this.

Who does that to someone?

Tears blur my vision as I’m lost in my reflection. My stomach turns as I take in the mess I incited on myself through one online conversation. My friends tried to warn me about the Dark Desires app. They said it was nothing but trouble, and they were right. Not that I listened.

I downloaded it to get back at Liam for hitting on another girl at one of his many frat parties.

I never meant for it to turn into this.

Releasing my neck, I press my palms over my stomach. It’s turning again. Bile rises in my throat.

Taking a deep breath, I try to remember how I got back here. The last thing I remember was sitting on the forest floor, disappointed Saint wasn’t going to fuck me.

How deeply disturbed am I to feel like that?

Maybe Mom is right. I shouldn’t have stopped my therapy sessions. Anyone in a healthy state of mind wouldn’t have asked for more after what Saint did.

My phone chimes, and I jump at the sound.

It’s distinct—not a text or call.

The chime is something I haven’t heard in three weeks because only one app makes that noise, and I deleted Dark Desires from my phone out of guilt after I confessed my sick fantasies to a stranger online.

But as my gaze drops to my phone sitting on the counter, the familiar black box with a feather inside tellsme I have a message, and my heart plummets when I click it open.

Saint:Morning, kitten.

He’s no longer using the devil emoji for his name, instead opting for the title he gave himself as my savior.

Violet:Leave me alone.

Saint:You’re better off requesting things I’m willing to give you.

Violet:I’m calling the police.

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