When the gurgling stops, my hands snap away from the handle like it burned me, and the breath I was holding slams out my lungs.
I can hear my name, but it sounds like I’m underwater.
It’s over. It’s all fucking over.
I’ll never have to wonder where this man is again, never have to look over my shoulder for him.
Yet, the weight that’s laid over me for the last six years doesn’t lift itself like I expected. Like it’s always going to be there, permanently reminding me of the pressure of its impact.
Blood-stained hands grip my jaw, and that’s when I realise that tears have fallen from my eyes, landing on a blurry version of Saint.
His voice finally penetrates through the static. “Look at me, baby. He didn’t break you. I did. Keep those fucking eyes on the only man responsible for truly ruining you.”
And ruin me he did.
He drags me from the cell into the other, stripping us of the red-soaked layer that keeps us apart, and when his lips findmine, the euphoria only he can conjure from me replaces every dark thought I’ve ever had, corrupting me with his own.
Each touch feels like minefields are exploding all around me. And if I ever die caught in the crossfire, I want it to be known that it was the devil who took me.
You shouldn’t grieve me, because I’m exactly where I want to be.
I’ve finally gone home.
Epilogue
clichè (sad version) - mgk
INDIE
One year later
Lightningforksbeamupthe entire front porch, white light glowing the acres of green land, and the bolts slice through the darkening grey sky as the centre of the storm slinks its way towards our house.
The rain is battering sideways. The wood on the deck is reflective with each strike with how soaked it is. None of it forcesme to move from my favourite spot; I’d spend all day out here if I could.
Storms and clear starry nights, a total contradiction from each other, and yet each bring me the same feelings of calm.
My phone lights up, the number of unread messages dominating my screen, and I finally decide to pick it up from my lap and visit reality.
The first message is from Jenna, a photo of her and Rex somewhere out in Europe, picking up on the travel plans that were once thought to be a lost dream. You can tell Rex is about to roll his eyes for the one hundredth picture she’s likely asked to take, but the smile tilting his mouth, gives away exactly how happy he really is.
The second is from Regina, showing off her new program she built for Ultio’s security and finally managing to crack it. Dawson’s intervened at the bottom of the group chat, adding that he was the one who should take the credit. It’s followed by a colourful choice of words from my best friends.
Saint’s company is still up and running, only this time it’s merged with his dad’s, and fully legal.
Well, fully is a loose term; he still has connections with the underworld, only this time there’s no society to chase. Though you just never know when evil might get too brazen.
The last is from my mom.
I texted her this morning asking how her day was. She’s only just gotten back to me, letting me know that she and Malcolm headed out into the city. It’s on the tips of my fingers to scold her for the late response, just like she used to do with me. Instead, I reply and say I hope she had fun.
Her response is instant and involves her newly formed way of communicating with emojis. This time it’s a thumbs-up. I’ve tried to tell her it comes off rude, but she doesn’t listen.
I laugh and lock the phone, placing it back in my lap. My mom and Malcolm have gotten closer over the last year—not in a romantic way, thankfully.
I don’t think Saint would be ready for a step-sibling trope entering our lives.
They’re just enjoying each other’s company, both working through their losses from the same evil force.
