Sin of the Saints (Between Delusion and Sobriety Duet #2)

Chapter 32

Chapter Thirty-Two

Bellcolor

D r. Abano is standing in front of the window of his office as I enter for our usual evening session. He seems to be pondering something, and I silently sit in my chair.

As the last remnants of light are forced to admit defeat, and darkness covers the night skies, he tears his gaze from the window and sits down as well. He organizes the items on his desk with such precision, and when he’s satisfied he leans back.

I take a deep breath and wait for the verdict.

“Shall we discuss the last chapter you wrote?” He opens his desk and removes the notebook I’ve been writing in from the day he realized I’m no good at talking. He suggested I write my story, and I did until writer’s block hit me. I’ve been stuck with the story I made up just like I’m stuck in real life.

“There’s nothing to discuss, there’s no new chapter, I’m not good at endings,” I confess, lowering my head and playing with my fingers.

“That’s alright, it means you haven’t reached the end of your journey.”

I sigh in frustration. “Sometimes I think I never will,” I whisper, focusing on the scars on my thighs. Even if I wanted to move forward, they’ll always be mementos of my past. They’ll ensure it will haunt me forever.

He flips through the notebook and I wince. Even though I know he’s read my words thoroughly, I can’t get used to this exposure. I hadn’t thought about it too much when he’d suggested it. I thought it’d be easier than talking to him, but damn was I wrong.

He pauses, perusing what’s been written there. “Maybe because you see it as nothing more than a fantasy?”

“If it’s not true, is it not fantasy?”

“For many people in the world the questions you’re asking are true, and they spend their whole lives seeking the answers. Demons don’t just live in shadows, and angels walk among us, isn’t that true?”

I snort derisively in response and he laughs, but it’s not an amused laugh at all. “I suggest you don’t disregard the faith of others. You never know when you’ll need faith yourself.”

“They disregard me enough themselves. The administrator, the staff, my father, even you sin in that sometimes… why shouldn’t I pay you back in kind?”

“Because you shouldn’t be comparing your faith to the faith of others. Test your own, and ignore the rest. It’s not a competition.”

“So you say.”

“If you’re competing with anything, it’s with the devil living inside you. If you defeat it, God will come to you.” I’m sick of hearing the same thing in every fucking session. He doesn’t like my indifferent reaction and leans over towards me. “But you’re not interested in that, are you? You claim you resent Him, but your resentment is actually directed at yourself, because you’re not interested in turning away from the devil living inside you.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I stifle the chuckle in light of his piercing glare.

“It’s time to wake up, Belle. You can’t keep running from this forever. Eventually, if you don’t choose, the choice will be made for you.”

His knuckles have gone white as his grip on the notebook tightens, but I look away and ignore him. I have no response to that.

Dr. Abano hums something, clears his throat and says: “Let’s return to the task at hand. I meant it when I said your words contain truth. I see it within all the chaos you create. And not just because of my professional training.”

“You say that to all your patients? Because some of them have been here forever. Maybe you should change tactics,” I taunt him. Sometimes he thinks too much of himself. He may be my therapist, but that doesn’t make me inferior or more foolish than him.

“No.” His voice hardens and he pauses for a moment. His gaze tells me he’s deliberating what to say. “I only say that to you, and you know it.”

I contort my face. “And Valentina,” I correct him.

“I’m just a toy for Valentina, like the rest of us. She’ll grow bored of the game she thinks she’s playing with me, just as she’ll grow bored with you. You should keep your distance, the relationship with her isn’t good for you.”

“Not always,” I hurry to defend her. “It hits her at certain times. You know that better than anyone. I can’t turn my back on her.”

He holds his pen and drums it nervously on the table. “She’s unstable, and she’s undermining you. She’s gotten under your skin in a way that could be devastating for you. I’m not trying to isolate you, despite what you may think, but she’s not a good friend for you, not in your delicate condition.”

“Because she reminds me of my mother?” He brought up that speculation more than once in the past, and I still think it’s a ridiculous notion.

“Because you get confused and think her concern for you is maternal, and you feel the need to return the same. She, like you, lost her mother under tragic circumstances, and you feel a need to fill that absence. You’re projecting your pain onto her, and it’s wrong.”

“Whatever.” I don’t want to talk about Valentina. He can talk to her instead of behind her back. It’s pretty hypocritical to bring up my projection towards her, especially when that’s what’s happening between us. And I don’t need his training to see that.

He keeps flipping through the notebook, stopping at the chapter he wants to discuss. I’m not sure if we’ve given up one disturbing subject for another.

“I reread the chapter we discussed yesterday, and new questions came to mind.” I cross my legs and prepare myself for intrusion into the dark corners I dare not enter, corners concealed by fiction. “Why did Lilith surrender? I can’t understand that.” Every muscle in my body tenses and I jab my nails into my thighs. Shit, shit, shit, I really don’t want to get into that. “Belle,” he says my name in a strict tone, and I raise my gaze to him.

“Because I decided it was time for her to give up.”

“Why? It’s unlike her. You built her character around rage. She’s a fierce flame. She’s not a character who’d give in so easily.”

“Every flame’s doomed to die. Sooner or later there’d be nothing left for her to burn.”

“Unless she has an oxygen supply, and Bar was her oxygen until he gave in to the demon living within him.” He breathes deep and reads my words as though seeing them with new eyes. “Do you blame God for that too?”

“No, I blame Lilith for that. Isn’t it obvious?”

“But Lilith is seeking her Creator’s forgiveness, she longs to be released from the burden of her curse, for Him to permit entry into the Garden of Eden He created for her. Why do you not believe she’s entitled to that?”

“Because Libretto would never let that happen.”

He stares at me, then lowers his gaze and they move as he reads my words over, then lifts his gaze back to me.

“We always return to him… he carries a demon within him as well…” he mumbles to himself, biting the pen as he sinks into his thoughts. God help me, just don’t let him choose to dwell on him specifically. I regret writing about him, but I had no choice. My story couldn’t be written without him, he’s always been in control of the narrative. “And where’s personal responsibility? Do people not have free will, are they just pawns?” he asks without looking at me. I’m not even sure the question’s directed at me, but it infuriates me. I asked him the same question, again and again, and never got a response that satisfied me.

“You tell me!” I explode. “Aren’t you putting the blame for every stumble on the Devil? Don’t you attribute every good thing that happens to God? How am I any different from them?”

“God and the Devil can test you, put obstacles in your path or grant you grace, but the choice is still yours. You must prove whether you’re worthy of what they place in your path.”

My grip on my thighs tightens and I’m burning with fury. His answer is just as ridiculous as all the rest. It’s the same fucking answer, just in different illusionary variations. I shut my eyes tight and focus on the pain my nails are sending into my skin, taking a few breaths until my heartbeat slows a bit. “I don’t want to discuss this,” I declare.

“If you won’t talk about it, write about it. Rewrite the last chapter.” He closes the notebook and tosses it on the table, towards me.

“I don’t want to,” I look right at him. “It’s written, and it’s final. Just like life. I can’t rewrite what’s already happened, and I refuse to do so here.”

“So this is your choice?” He bites the end of the pen, scrutinizing me.

“Yes.” I fold my arms over my chest. His eyes move down my body towards my thighs, and his gaze hardens as he notices my wounded skin.

“Then you’re dismissed for today.” He throws the pen onto his desk as well, and turns to his office window.

The air leaves my lungs as though I’ve been slapped. “B-but…”

“I said you are dismissed!” he yells, rising from his chair, turning his back to me and focusing on the night skies.

I jump to my feet so quickly that the chair falls back with a loud thud. Dr. Abano is unmoved, and doesn’t look at me. The notebook’s in the corner of my eye, as though calling for me to take it.

“Whatever.” I grab the notebook and leave his office. I want to tell him that Lilith didn’t surrender, but that it was time for her to accept her bitter destiny just as I’ll have to do when my time comes, but I can’t find the words when rage has me in its talons.

That’s how I am, and he knows it. I run when I can’t cope, so why does he have to test me and pressure me and then turn away from me so coldly and bluntly?

Doesn’t he know that cornered animals go wild?

I walk into the room and slam the door with thunderous force. My eyes seek out Valentina but the room’s empty.

Good God, he boils my blood!

In my naiveté I made the mistake of thinking he was the only one in this cursed place who looked me right in the eye, turns out he was no different than the rest of the damned chasing me. What the hell was going through his head? Did he mean to intentionally evoke this rage all along? Did he want to see how I’d react to his ceaseless taunting? And why the hell does it affect me this way?

But the bastard was right about one thing, and it suddenly hits me – Lilith is motivated by rage, and my reaction proved it. But I can’t rewrite what’s been written, despite her fickle heart. Just like my mood swings, which change constantly to match the release of endorphins in my brain.

I bury my face in my hands and stifle a scream that turns my stomach. I mustn’t scream, it’ll bring the guards right to my room and they’ll drag me to another oblivion. I must find a way to reach tranquility in this chaos. I try to breathe again and again but I can’t calm the storm threatening to breach my defensive walls. Damn it, I need relief before my emotions overtake me.

I look at the desk in my room, the pen placed on the stack of empty papers, and no words come to me. I’m too overwhelmed, and I know I need something else. I throw the notebook onto the desk and snatch my shower kit and towel, hoping I’ll find him there.

I enter the locker room, but it’s empty. Disappointed, I approach one of the empty shower stalls, turn on the faucet, and don’t bother waiting for the water to heat up. I choke back the shriek of shock as the cold water hits me, counting the seconds until it gradually heats up. I press my forehead to the old tiles and give in to the flow, though the water pressure is never enough. Dr. Abano’s words float through my mind. His behavior was atypical. He was cold to me, like I was another case to be handled with alienating professionalism. I haven’t been ‘another case’ for a long time. Something’s changed, and I’m sure it wasn’t unilateral. The more I opened up to him, the more he opened up to me, and then the change took a new shape. It’s my fault… I went too far.

That which has a grip on me played me good and well this time. He demanded more and more, and I couldn’t not give in to the feelings Dr. Abano’s proximity stirred in me, the forbidden passion that continued to bubble within me as our sessions became more frequent, as most of the residents were still asleep and unaware of what was going on. And more so in their moments of waking, as footsteps were heard outside the door of Dr. Abano’s office.

I hear the door to the locker room creak, and open my eyes without daring to turn and see who it is. Privacy’s a right we’re not entitled to here, and the shower stalls have no doors or curtains. Privacy’s a concept I don’t know either way. My demons would never give me that privilege.

“I thought I’d find you here,” the voice approaches. He knows me too well, better than anyone.

He doesn’t enter another stall. I hear footsteps approaching, stopping right behind me. I shut my eyes tight and detach my consciousness, feeling sturdy fingers directly between my legs. I try to stifle the whine, but I’m too weak, too in need of release.

He lays his forehead on my back and the warm air slipping out between his lips sends chills across my skin.

“Was it that bad?” he asks in a cold tone.

I never know what I’ll have to give up when I meet him, and for some time I’ve known that I have no choice but to give in. He always finds me when I feel I’m on the verge of losing control, and he waits for it. I know it’s dangerous, and yet I still wait for him to come.

Another hand caresses my breasts, and my nipples grow stiff beneath its touch. Soft kisses dance across my shoulder blades and neck, and I tilt my head to one side to give him comfortable access. A tongue runs up my back and I feel the vein in my neck pulsing strongly.

“Belle…” he whispers my name hoarsely, and I arch my back in anticipation for what’s coming. He chuckles with satisfaction, his fingers between my legs massaging my clit, and I let a bestial growl just like the demon within me. He hushes me, the other hand abandoning my breasts and covering my mouth before one of the staff hears us.

A single finger slips inside me and I wince in pain. Despite my wetness I’m not ready yet, but he doesn’t ask permission – he’s here to take. My inner walls convulse and protest, but they have no choice but to give in to him too. And at the moment of submission another finger penetrates me and the hand on my mouth tightens. My guts churn with the understanding that I’ve given free rein to the demons sinking within me. I gasp as the fingers slip inside me at a dizzying pace I can’t keep up with, and freezing air blows into my ear, a challenge to see if he can get more growls out of me, but all that emerges from me is just a pitiful whine. He’s testing to see if I become a nameless beast, just like he was for me. It’s his private revenge.

I try to stop the movements making free use of my body, but the hand slips out of me and grabs mine with an aggressive grip, pulling it and fastening it to the wall above my head. “You don’t fight. You don’t move. You don’t breathe. Understood?” the voice commands by my ear, and I choke out another whimper.

Satisfied, his hand finds my clit again between my folds, and slowly runs his fingers over it, but this time I don’t dare make a sound. I move my hips and press my legs together, while my fingers uselessly dig into the tiles. “If you make a sound, it’ll go poorly for you,” the voice whispers to me, and I hurriedly nod energetically even though I know nothing will leave a more bitter taste than that.

I’m twisted. I’m fucked up. I’m once again proving that I deserve the curse I bear. The moment I close my eyes I’m caught in the flames of passion, my body moves at the rhythm dictated by his hand, which increases its movements into a merciless dance. I press my forehead to the tiles and bite my lip so hard I’m sure I can taste my own blood as I release all my inhibitions. I fold, making fists of my hands as though seeking for a handhold in my doom, but my hands slip across the tiles. The moment of climax attacks me from every possible front, and a scream rips out of my choked throat. His hand clamps over my mouth before I can give away what we’re doing.

As the waves of orgasm reside, he releases me from his grip and withdraws as I fall to my knees, gasping for breath. I only glimpse him for a moment, seeing him lick his blood-slicked hand with satisfaction and disappearing in a terrifying silence without saying a word. I watch the blood drip from my mouth and be washed down the drain. It’s a spectacular sight that’s emblazoned in my mind. The longer I look at it, the more the need to write grows, and a familiar tingle in my fingers comes to life.

My face is flushed and I’m panting, having trouble sorting my breathing. I turn the faucet to the lowest temperature, letting it cleanse me of the filth that will never wash off.

When I’ve gotten what I wanted, and the thoughts finally drain out of my head, I wrap myself in a towel and head out of the locker room. Ellis runs up to me in the hall with a grumpy expression. “What the hell was going on over there?” His gaze locks onto my wounded lip.

“I slipped,” I answer, batting my eyelashes.

“I wasn’t born yesterday, Belle. Don’t play games with me,” he chastises me.

I look right into his eyes and say nothing. A long silence lingers and I start trembling.

“Can I go get dressed now, Ellis? Or do you want to keep staring at me while I’m naked in the hallway?”

Ellis’ neck turns red and he hurriedly looks away. “Go. But the administrator wants to see you in his office immediately.”

“Fine,” I answer, and head to my room.

He murmurs something unclear and heads in the opposite direction, towards the locker room. He opens the door and yells: “Who’s there?” But I know he won’t find anyone.