Page 37 of The Sins That Bleed
I cry for me.
I will never be clean, I will never be worthy of anything in this life except washing the world clean. I recognise sin because I am sin. If I cannot have a life filled with love then I will rid it of everything else, to give those who can a chance.
A buzzing cuts through my thoughts and I register that it’s my phone. I wait a little longer under the pressure of the water, not wanting to rise and face reality, but life goes on in spite of my pain so I breach the surface and look out the window. I realise that the sun is starting to set, so I must have been in here for a while. The buzzing picks up again to signal another text message.
I drain the bath and move to the edge where my stuff sits. I take a hit on my pipe to close the wounds. Nobody needs to know my weakness, not when I can hide it. Once I know there’s enough blood in my system to heal my external wounds, I lift my phone.
I swipe up to unlock it and navigate to my messages to see it’s from Rai.
Rai: Let me know you’re alive, mon cauchemar. I can’t have you dying on me when we have a deal.
I sigh.Of course he would be worried about the deal, it’s stupid of me to forget that he only cares because I can offer him something. I read the second message that came in from him.
Rai: P.S. How did you know I love flowers? They’re beautiful, thank you x
I stareat the image he sent me after reading the caption and smile, chin leaning on my arm as I take in every single detail. The bouquet of red roses stares back at me through the screen, but that’s not the only thing in the photo. He’s taken a selfie in the mirror, the roses pointing toward it with only his body in the frame, his head cut off at his angular jaw.
It’s the fact that he’s not wearing a shirt so his delicious body is on display, teasing me with the cut lines of his chest, that has me molten. After a few minutes, I decide to confirm I am alive, not wanting him stressing because of the deal we made.
I open the camera app and take a selfie as I rest on my arms, my wet hair starting to dry, covering over parts of my face. I put no lights on when I came in, so the only light is the setting sun, tinted by the windows, haloing me from behind me. The glow from the reddish-orange rays cast shadows over my face. I hit send and follow it up with a reply to his text.
Valeska: Not as beautiful as you, mon chéri.
P.S. Thank you for your help.
I’m spentfrom the high emotions of the last twenty-four hours, so I slip into bed, wearing his clothes. The image of Rai withroses is the only thing I see when I close my eyes to sleep and I’m grateful that he sent the photo when he did.
Divine timing, if one was to believe in fate.
CHAPTER 17
Misery Loves Company
RAI
I’m embarrassed to admit that I took multiple photos of the red rose bouquet I’d been delivered yesterday.
I took the selfie I sent to Valeska, but I ended up taking pictures of them placed in different spots in my apartment. They looked good wherever I put them. That’s the thing with flowers, they make any space they’re in pretty.
I’ve always loved flowers, but not many people think to get them for men, and it’s not something I broadcast. Not that there are many people in my life that would have a reason to get me some anyway. The first thing I did was inhale the lovely scent deep into my lungs. Somehow, they were tinged with a cherry edge.
That’s what broke through my initial confusion over why I was being handed thirteen red roses, wrapped in black paper and tied with a silky red ribbon. When I looked at the card, I wondered if it was Valeska’s writing, since the elegant scrawl looked like it would belong to her.
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
You hide it well,
But I see you.
She continues to surprise me,as if she knows so much more about me than she possibly can after only meeting me a handful of times. It crosses my mind that she’s probably got a file on me, considering she was the one who sought me out. I wouldn’t say I like her, but she has managed to get a foot in the door behind the fortress I’d built to keep her out.
My hatred toward her is abating, microscopically.
I’m itching at the thought of her and the other photo she sent me, the one that’s now saved in an album on my phone for her. It’s like I’m experiencing withdrawals and need my next fix. I’ve never been in a position where someone has this much control over me and I’m struggling to convince myself that I hate it.
She was in a pretty bad state the other night and a million questions swirl in my mind as to how it’s even possible she is still alive right now. I ignore the surge of relief that flows through me when I think about her being okay, the picture I have of her in the bath proof she’s not dead.
