Page 71 of Heathens
“I know,” he says solemnly.
I shake my head. “You know what?”
“That you’re breaking up with me.” He gives me an easy smile. “It’s okay. This isn’t my first rodeo.” His teeth are so straight, so white. And his eyes...
Though he has his father’s chocolate brown eyes, they’re so different in every other aspect. Where Auguste’s are hard, unsettling; darkness devoid of soul—Benedict’s are warm. Lighter, somehow. Brighter.
Guilt rushes through me. I tricked him. To get to Auguste, I basically stalked him. I was willing tohurthim. Swallowing, I squeeze his hands.
“Lily, it’s really okay. I promise.” He pulls away. “Keep in touch, though. Okay?” Flashing me a grin, he winks and stands.
I panic.
I haven’t told him, and—I need to tell him.
“Benedict, I need to talk to you about your father.” He pauses, his back to me. “Do you want the abridged version, or do you want to know everything?”
He turns slowly. “My father?”
I nod, unsure. I look around. What was I thinking, having this conversation here? “Auguste Martin. He’s a priest at Notre Dame de Paris. And two and a half years ago, my best friend and I were lured away from our friends and kidnapped. By him.”
* * *
I walk up the stairs of my apartment building slowly. My legs feel heavy, my soul weary. Telling Benedict everything wasn’t easy. Though he doesn’t speak to his father much, he assumed Auguste had defeated his demons. He thought of him as a reformed man—a sick man who got help, who found God. Salem mentioned something similar once. That religion sometimes attracted broken people. For Auguste, he used God as a cover, and I think that was the most horrifying thought of all.
But... Benedict agreed to help us.
It wasn’t easy. After I explained everything, he got angry and stormed out of the restaurant. He wasn’t angry at me—no. He was angry at himself for not realizing it. And angry with Auguste, most of all.
We ended up at a bar next door, sipping wine and then eventually tequila as I relayed how Salem was involved. How we were going to Monaco. Benedict seemed surprised—surprised that his father was more of a monster than he previously thought. But I could tell—deep down in my bones, I could tell—he knew nothing of his father’s activities. Thank God.
Benedict seemed particularly interested in learning about Evelyn. Like she was the key to his redemption. He might not be able to save all of the girls affected by his father’s actions, but he could saveherwith our help.I think he liked that about our plan.
Afterward, after we made plans for him to dig deeper into where Auguste was keeping Evelyn, he looked at me with a sad smile. And at that moment, though we never really romantically linked, I felt some sort of kinship. Some sort of connection. We were a team now. And he vowed to find Evelyn.
He promised to help us take his father down.
“Hi, Rosemary,” I mutter, giving her a half-smile. She’s reading a book in her chair, leaning back with her feet propped up on a cooler. She peeks at me from the top of her book—the cover of which has a Fabio man with flowing hair, and a damsel in some sort of distress.
“You look positively pissed up,” she says matter-of-factly.
I shrug. “I’ve had some tequila.”
“Beautiful, I’ve been drinking since ten this morning,” she replies, going back to her book. She kicks the cooler. “In fact, I haven’t been sober since 1982. Want some margarita mix? I drink it straight, though I shouldn’t because of my erratic blood sugar.”
Laughing, I let myself into my apartment. “No, thanks.” Does she know margarita mix doesn’t usually have alcohol?
“Oh, your pretty priest is inside. Hope you don’t mind that I let him in.”
My stomach trills. I know Salem was meeting Felix for coffee, and I’m delighted to know he’s back already. “Thanks, Rosemary. Have a good day.”
“Use a condom!” she shouts before I slam the door in her face.
When I turn around, Salem is on the couch, his face propped up on his hands like he’s deep in thought. He looks... tired. Exhausted, really. I meander over to him.
“Hi,” I whisper, crawling into his lap.
“Hi,” he responds, pulling me into him so that my right side is against his firm chest.
