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His head hangs low, his chin dropped to his oiled chest. He barely looks alive. His dirty blond hair covers his face, so a small part of me is in denial, refusing to accept this as him. But when my eyes focus on the tattoo on his flank, the one which inspired mine, the one which readsSINNER, I can no longer pretend.
This is my Saint. My warrior. My protector. The man I love with every beat of my heart. But that man…he’s gone.
This can’t be real. This can’t be my life.
Oh, god, I’m going to be sick.
Covering my mouth, I smother my whimpers. I need to be strong. “Wh-what have you done to h-him?” I barely recognize this voice as my own.
“I think the better question is…whathaven’tI done?” is Oscar’s sick, smug response. He will pay. Oh yes, he will pay. But for now, I need to make sure Saint is okay.
I frantically scan his body, flinching when I see the healing wound over his chest where Astra’s bullet would have killed him. But Oscar has seen he was well looked after because the wound is healing. His tattoos glisten under the dim lighting as it appears his body is slathered in oil.
He has red welts across his muscled chest and legs, and I recognize them well because once upon a time, I had them too. He’s been whipped. Fresh slashes trickle red along the inside of his thighs where someone has taken a knife and cut him.
The shallow rise and fall of his chest is the only sign he’s alive. When I zero in on the two blood red roses tattooed on his chest and the wordsOnly God Can Judge Me,the severity of this clusterfuck hits home and animates me, flipping the switch to survival mode.
I can grieve later because now, I have to act.
I have to save Saint.
A surge pulses through me, and I run forward, gripping his cheeks in my palms and gently coaxing him to look at me. His head is heavy and limp, and his oiled skin leaves him slippery, making it almost impossible to keep his head from dropping back down. He smells of coconuts, and I realize it’s whatever oil he’s lathered in.
“Saint!” I cry, steadying his cheek with one hand while desperately trying to brush the damp hair from his brow. His long hair flicks forward, shielding his eyes from mine.
A pained moan leaves him as he weakly fights me. “No.” He gasps in a winded breath, attempting to shrug from my hold.
But I’m stronger and finally sweep his hair aside so I can see his face. When I do, a fresh set of tears cascade down my cheeks. Those chartreuse eyes, the ones which brought me back to life time and time again, are sealed shut, the deep purple revealing they’ve been pummeled closed.
His lips are swollen, his bottom one split open and caked with dry blood. His face is a bloodied, broken mess. He barely looks like the man I know.
He moans in pain when I wipe away the blood from his mouth. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here now, and I w-won’t let anyone hurt you a-again.” I’m trying to be strong, but seeing Saint this way does something that injures me beyond repair.
“No,” he groans, the corded veins in his neck popping as he tries to escape my touch. “Don’t, don’t touch me.”
“Saint, it’s me. Willow,” I coo, unable to stop stroking him, wanting to take away his pain.
“You’re not real,” he pants, shaking his head, but it lolls to the side as his strength is fading.
For him to be so weak, it’s clear Oscar has given him something. This is the only way he could keep him chained up this way.
“I am real,” I affirm, stroking his cheeks with my fingertips. “I’m here.”
“No!” he cries, his broken body quivering. Even sedated and chained to a cross, his stubbornness doesn’t falter. “This is another trick. You’re not here.”
“Saint, please, believe me. It’s me.” I tug violently at the restraints around his wrists, but it’s useless. They’re done up so tight, they’ve flayed the flesh from his bone.
“You’ve haunted me every night,” he pants, and what he says next shatters me into a million unrepairable pieces. “Haunted me with what I’ve lost.”
“No,” I cry, begging he open his eyes and look at me as I softly kiss his cheeks, his nose, his brow. “I’m right here. Open your eyes. You haven’t lost me.”
His head sags backward, and it’s clear he’s slipping back into the abyss. But I won’t lose him to the darkness. He’s been there for far too long.
With my palms cupping his warm cheeks, I lower my lips to his gently and whisper against them the only words I can to make him understand that I’m really here. “???????, ? ?????? ?????.”
It’s what he said to me when he left. So, it seems fitting because this time, we will never leave one another ever again.
His pained moans soften, and he stills. I hold my breath, praying for a miracle. And when his eyelids flicker open, softly like a butterfly hatching from a cocoon, I get it.
