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Sacrifice to bring this man peace. Use this blood to replenish all that was stolen from you by this soul. Sacrifice for my ancestors no longer here. I offer this token of evil to you. Sacrifice for life.
The older man drops to the ground, dead, and the boy at my feet turns to peer up at me. His face is drenched with tears, his back leaving behind droplets of his blood on the floor around him. He’s paid his own sacrifice, offering his blood so easily without a fight.
He gasps, his mouth falling open in shock at the site of me.
He’s frightened.
My hand opens, palm up, going toward him. He’ll need help getting up, I’m sure of it. I don’t want to worry him any more than he already appears to be.
“S-S-S-Saint Michael?” he proclaims, his eyes growing more fearful, “For-forgive me, for I have sinned.”
“Sinner?” I test, holding my hand to him once more. Is that his name?
“I am not worthy. Forgive me for speaking your name.” His gaze falls to the floor, and he bows before me.
He’s absolutely perfect.
I will keep him and protect him—always.
“Come, my Sinner. I’ll protect you now. No need to be frightened of me. You just call me Saint; no name, okay?”
His callused palm finds mine, and I tug him to his feet. “You will stand for me, Sinner, and you’ll be strong.”
He briefly glances to the priest, his eyes full of gratitude when they meet mine. No doubt he’s grateful, but guilt will plague his heart for feeling that way after the shock subsides.
He’s beautiful. Dark to my light, he could be my brother—my opposite. He’s everything I once wished I could be, and together we’ll be perfect.
“Okay, Saint,” he agrees, and I lift the thick, white robe from the floor for him. We need to leave, and I have no idea when someone will show up. The last thing I need is another run-in with the local cops.
“We have to go.”
He complies and allows me to help him place the robe over his battered flesh. He’s close to my own age I notice. I hit fifteen six months ago; he’s gotta be right around there as well. I hope his back only needs to be wrapped. I can mix up a paste for it, but I can’t sew very well if he requires stitches.
“Is there a way out of here other than the front door?”
“Yes, I can show you.”
“Sounds good little Sinner, lead the way...”
And just like that, I’ve met my obsession. My Sinner to my Saint, yet I know the truth. I’m the Sinner, and this beautiful, broken creature is my Saint.
He’s mine. Forever.
