No Saint

by Jo Raven

  He’s rolling onto his back, turning his face away, shutting down again, and I can’t let him.

  I sit up, cup his cheek. “Different, how?”

  His jaw clenches. “You give a shit. That’s different.”

  “That’s all, huh? That I’m a worrier?”

  “No.”

  “If this is because I helped you that day you fell from the roof—”

  “No, that’s not... goddammit, girl. I...miss you when you’re not here.” He turns to face me, and I wonder if he can hear my pounding heart in the near silence. “I miss you every day, all the time. I like being with you. But I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.”

  “You’re not,” I whisper. “You’re not hurting me. Ross... what are you saying?”

  My pulse is thumping in my ears, so fast I feel faint. Is he...? Does he...?

  But he just gathers me in his arms and buries his face in my neck, as he seems to like doing. “I don’t deserve good things,” he whispers. “It’s okay. I know that.”

  This time I have to tell him, have to set things straight, but he kisses me, stopping the words, and then proceeds to erase all thought by going down on me and making me come so hard I pass out for the night.

  ***

  Somehow he manages to dodge my questions the next morning, interrupt me whenever I start talking about anything more than the weather and day ahead, and the annoying lack of electricity and water.

  “More romantic this way,” he quips and I snicker. “I changed the sheets, though. Washed them, too.”

  “That’s great,” I start, “so listen, Ross—”

  “Race you to the river,” he says and opens the door, starting down the porch steps. “Last one in the water is a stinky rotten egg!”

  And... he’s done it once again. Stopped me from telling him the truth. I can’t even be mad at him for doing it, scared to death and happy for any chance to put it off, put off the rejection that may come on the heels of my confession. Like the wimp I am, I take it and run after him.

  He manages to also keep that T-shirt on. I’m beginning to hate it, beginning to see it like a symbol of avoidance, a hint that we’re not going anywhere with this. He won’t open up to me, I won’t tell him I love him, the summer will end and we’ll go our separate ways.

  God, I don’t want it to happen. For the first time since I can remember I feel... happy. For the first time, I like this town. Not necessarily all the people in it, but I wake up excited to be living every morning, for a chance to see Ross, kiss him, feel his arms around me, lay naked with him. For a chance to hear his voice, to try and find the twisted, crossed wires between us and set them straight.

  I want to know he’s happy, too.

  “Those cuts look better,” I tell him as he pins me underneath him on the loose gravel at the water’s edge, smiling up at him, and he jerks a little when he realizes his T-shirt has ridden up a bit. “Did you take the pills I gave you?”

  He nods and sits back on his heels. He traces my mouth with his thumb. His eyes are grave, the teasing light from moments before gone. “You’re good to me,” he says softly. “Too good.”

  I catch his hand with mine, turn it to kiss his palm. “You deserve good things, Ross.”

  His brows knit together and he pulls his hand away. “I don’t trust anything good,” he says, and for a terrifying few seconds I think he’ll tell me it’s over between us, that he doesn’t want me around anymore. But then he says, grudgingly, “I trust you. I dunno why.”

  I kinda trust him, too. His flares of anger sometimes scare me, but he’s never laid a finger on me.

  “I’ve never met anyone like you,” he whispers. “I’m not easy to be with. I ask myself sometimes, why you’re still here.”

  “Because I want to be.”

  Pulling him back down, I wrap my arms around him. Happy. He makes me happy. Every reluctant step he takes to meet me halfway, every quiet compliment, every hesitant apology makes my heart soar.

  Maybe it’s because I know it’s hard for him to give ground, to show his feelings, after the harsh conditioning his Dad put him through. Because I know he’s more used to spewing nasty stuff and that he has to dig deep to reach his real self. The nice boy buried underneath, taught to keep silent and to let the anger take over when the pain gets to be too much.

  Relaxing in degrees, he lies half on top of me and hides his face in the crook of my neck, and I let him hide for now. He trusts me, he said. Maybe one day he’ll trust me enough to tell me what else is bothering him, like a thorn inside his chest, let me soothe it, like I did with the cuts and bruises.

  Maybe one day I’ll trust myself enough to tell him it’s okay to want and it’s grand to like someone, but what I feel for him is like an ocean, and I’m starting to drown...

  ***

  Eventually it’s time to go. I find myself so reluctant to let go of him back at the house, it’s pathetic.

  I don’t want to go. Don’t want to leave him, but we both have to go to work, and I really need to swing by home first. Aunt Emily is leaving today, too, and I really want to say goodbye before she does. She was very curious to know where I was heading, where I’d be staying the night, and though it always felt nice before to know she cares, yesterday it was stressful. I’ve never kept secrets from her before.

  It’s a first. Another one in a line of firsts this Summer.

  I wonder if Dad or Josh told her about me and Ross.

  Pulling on my sandals, I evade Ross’s wandering hands, then I slip under his arm when he manages to cage me against a wall. Looks like he’s just as reluctant to let me go, and it makes me smile.

  “What?” He grins. “What are you smiling about?”

  “You.”

  “Well, I’m easy on the eyes,” he says with no modesty whatsoever. “My dick, my ass, my mouth... Have I mentioned my dick? It’s huge.” He wags his brows. “So which part is your favorite?”

  Your heart, I want to tell him, that you reveal bit by bit, your carefree grin that is so beautiful, but instead I pretend to roll my eyes for his benefit and am rewarded with a laugh.

  God, I love his laughter, too. The deep, pure sound of it. And the small creases at the corners of his eyes when he’s smiling. The shape of his lips, of his face.

  Everything. Every single frigging thing.

  “You’re blushing,” he says, his voice going quiet and... interested. “What are you thinking about?”

  “Nothing.” I duck my head and turn. “I have to go.”

  “You’re thinking of my dick. I knew it. Betcha it’s the biggest you’ve ever seen. Or had.”

  Well, okay, now I’m blushing for entirely different reasons. “Stop it.”

  “No way. You like it when I’m a bit of an asshole, don’t ya? It gets under your skin. It gets you aroused.”

  “In your dreams.”

  “You’re in my dreams. The good ones, at least.” He’s stalking me with that rolling, swaggering step that brings a wild animal to mind, eyes going dark and hooded, his grin going sharp and wicked. “Let me take care of you. It will be my pleasure.”

  He stops a few steps from me and I realize I’ve pressed my back to the wall, excited and nervous at the same time.

  Reaching down, he grabs his crotch, and I realize he’s hard. He really is a sex-machine, I think inanely and fight a snicker. God, it’s so tempting to let him kiss me, touch me, maybe fuck me. It’s embarrassing how much I want him all the time. Can get downright uncomfortable when serving tables or watching TV with your dad and brother.

  “I’m sorry,” I say and I really am—for him, and for me. “I really have to get going.”

  “Well, then...” He releases the tent in his jeans, stretches his arms over his head, giving me a glimpse of a lickworthy six-pack, and yawns. “Just do me a favor?”

  “What is it?”

  “Stay away from Jenner the weirdo.” Ross grins. “Say yes and it’s a done deal. I’ll let you go.”

  I’m so
tempted to say no and have him keep me here. Allow him to cage me, imprison me in his room, his bed.

  “Deal,” I whisper and can’t hold back a moan when he steps closer, takes my face in his hands and kisses me.

  Then keeps kissing me, like he can’t stop himself, either, can’t drag his lips away from mine, like he’s memorizing the taste, the form of my lips. He’s inhaling me, breathing me in.

  Unexpectedly, he gathers me against his chest with a soft moan, his arms in a bruising circle around me, buries his face in my neck. “Luna...”

  God...

  “I wish I could stay,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him. “I wish you’d hold me all day. I like it here, I like... being with you.”

  His grip only gets tighter, squeezing me until I can’t breathe, and right about when I start panicking that I’ll pass out from lack of air, he releases me—putting just enough space between us so he can look down into my eyes.

  “Then come back to me soon,” he says, and this time the bright emotion in his eyes is plain to see, easy to read.

  It’s hope.

  ***

  Ross walks with me most of the way home, holding my hand, only letting go when home comes into sight. I keep stealing glances at him on the way there, because... hope. Hope is not something I expected to see in his eyes, and it haunts me.

  Hope implies wishing, longing for something, and how can I ever dare believe it’s for me? Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe that’s not what it was.

  I take a deep breath right before I use my key to unlock the door and enter, glancing over my shoulder to catch a last glimpse of Ross’s tall, broad-shouldered form as he turns to go, vanishing among the trees.

  My mind’s all tangled up with confusing thoughts, sadness, worry, and the ever-present lust.

  It explains why I didn’t notice Josh at the window until after I enter the house and he turns to face me with a dark scowl on his face.

  “Again with him?” He even points an accusing finger at me, all teenage outrage and testosterone. “What will it take for you to realize what a snake he is?”

  “Knock it off, Josh. He’s not that bad.”

  “Not that bad?”

  “Look... I don’t want to fight with you.” I play my trump card. “I thought you’d missed me these years I was away.”

  I see the struggle on his face, the line of his shoulders. Josh is a good kid, and he loves me.

  “I’m sorry I left,” I whisper. “I missed you, too. And if I go away again, it won’t be because of Ross, okay? I’m stronger now.”

  He deflates. There it is, the same light I saw in Ross’s eyes, that spark of hope—and he nods carefully. “I just don’t like you being with him,” he says. “No matter whether he’s changed or not, he hurt you.”

  “I know. God, I know. But I hurt you, too. we sometimes hurt people because we are hurt in our turn and need to lash out. You get that, right? I will be careful with Ross,” I allow, because no reason to tell my little brother that I’ve given my heart and soul away already to the one guy he dislikes, “but I stand by what I said: he’s changed. And he needs my help and...”

  “And your sex?” Josh mutters, and I almost choke. He rolls his eyes. “I’m not a kid anymore, Luna.”

  But he is, to me, and this isn’t a conversation I want to have with him. “That is none of your business.”

  So of course he starts singing George Michael’s “I want your sex” off-key, swaying his hips, and I have to chase him around the living room.

  Well, at least some things never change.

  Until we almost crash into Aunt Emily.

  “Now, kids,” she chides, and smiles. “You’re kind of old for this sort of game, aren’t you?”

  Josh gets all red in the face, mumbles something about a shower and flees, probably to his room. He doesn’t know Aunt Emily so well, and I’m guessing he doesn’t take well to authority figures other than our dad. He never lived with her, and doesn’t automatically obey as I do.

  I sink into one of the armchairs and grimace at her. “So you’re leaving today, huh? Can’t stay a bit longer?”

  “Sorry, love.” Her brow creases, then her smile puts lines around her mouth, and on a whim I get up and go sit beside her where she’s lowering herself on the sofa. She’s not that old, just a few years older than Dad, but she has an old air about her. Like she knows things about the world you can only imagine. “You know how my kids get. Can’t wait to have the house to themselves, and then running out of food after a day and a half and wondering if setting the furniture on fire might be fun.”

  I laugh. I know my cousins. She’s right. “Will you come to visit again soon?”

  “I was hoping you’d come.” She pokes at my ribs with a finger, tickling me. “The brats miss you.”

  “I miss you every day, all the time,” Ross’s voice says in my head. “I like being with you. But I don’t wanna hurt you anymore.”

  “I’ll try,” I promise, and give her a quick hug. “You know... you’re like a mom to me, right? More than my mom ever was.”

  “Aw, sweetheart, your mom loved you,” she says, and I pull back to blink at her in surprise. “Why do you look so shocked?”

  “She left,” I blurt out. “She walked away. What am I supposed to think? What sort of loving mom does that to her kids?”

  “Oh hon, she was sick...”

  “She wasn’t sick. She was cold, and never cared about us.”

  “It may have seemed that way to you, I can see that. She had depression, sweetie, and decided she wasn’t able to function as a good parent and wife. Those were her words.”

  “But she never even called!”

  “Your dad and her, they don’t talk much. But of course he has her phone number, in case you want to talk to her.”

  “Why then...? Nobody told me about this.”

  “You were so upset with her, you said you never wanted to talk to her again. And Josh, well... he idolizes you, and always followed your example.”

  “Depression... Is that why she was always so distant, always locked up in her room...?”

  Aunt Emily nods, and I close my eyes, trying to puzzle this whole thing out. Mom didn’t hate us, didn’t ignore us. She was sick. I can call her, talk to her if I want. All this time I didn’t know, I thought nobody wanted to talk about her.

  But come to think of it, I was the one who never wanted to talk about her.

  Oh God... All my teenage years, all my childhood I felt unwanted, undeserving. Before Ross and his bullies, before my parents got divorced and Mom left, I always thought it was me. Ugly, unwelcome, unpopular, unloved. No wonder Ross’s comments left such a lasting impression on me, sent me running. I’d been running inside my head since I was little.

  Knowledge is power, right? The power is mine. Starting to understand myself better, my motivations, my triggers, I can change, become stronger. I came back to Destiny thinking I’d turned a new leaf, but I’d been on the same page all this time, trying to convince myself I was fine.

  I’m not fine. But now I understand why, and with Mom a phone call away, and Ross changing into a better man, a good man, I have few excuses. It doesn’t erase the past, but with everything laid clear in front of me, the whys and wherefores, it’s my turn to take that step, let go of the old hurts and mend my world.

  It’s time for actions, not words.

  Chapter Thirty

  Ross

  Tonight there’s some sort of family night at Luna’s and she isn’t sure she can slip out and come meet me. I wait for her anyway, sitting on the porch outside, listening to frogs croaking and absently rubbing my many scars, old and new, under my T-shirt. The new ones under my ribs, all scabbed over and itchy, and the fainter ones higher up my chest.

  Like a map, I think, a map of my life, taking a swig from my tequila bottle and leaning back in the creaking rocking chair my dad liked so much.

  I suppress a shiver and the ever-present urge to get up and go, leave this
fucking house behind forever.

  This house... it’s almost bearable being here when she’s around. Too bad she’s not here now and it’s trying to close its walls around me, crush me like a damn bug. It’s why I sat outside, hoping that the open space will calm my racing heartbeat.

  Dad was almost never home after Mom... was gone, leaving me to fend for myself, always sleeping with one or another of his mistresses.

  It wasn’t all that bad. Truth is, I was fucking glad when he wasn’t around, looking for excuses to beat me up. Though, to be honest, my memory isn’t all that clear. It’s as if my childhood is shrouded in a fucking mist, with some blinding spots of pain.

  I take out the photo from my pocket. It’s crumpled and I frown down at it. I should take a pic with my phone before it gets completely ruined.

  Seeing it reminds me of the box under my bed.

  It also reminds me of what I found in the shed. The earrings. The yellowed papers. I should go back, take a look at them. I hate that shed, where Dad kept the bloodstained ax, where he attacked me with the knife. I’ll go one of these days, though... I really should...

  My eyes close and sleep rolls me under. It’s hard, sleeping without my girl. I had no choice before, but now, I sleep better with her. Something inside me relaxes and I sleep deeper, more peacefully.

  I do my fucking best to ignore how the nights and days are tagged as with or without Luna.

  But she’s not here tonight, dammit, and I can’t use her as a crutch to sleep. Not that my tired body cares, either, and I doze off again before I know it.

  It’s dark, so damn dark, and I hide inside... a closet. A cramped space even if I’m little, my legs skinny, my hair hanging in my eyes. Dad is prowling outside, looking for me, snarling like a rabid dog. He’s drunk, I know he is, and he’s snapping his belt like a whip at the floor and furniture. Whenever he hits the closet doors, I jerk, and I clamp my hands over my mouth to keep back the howl that’s building in my throat.

  Can’t make noise or he’ll find me. Have to stay quiet.

  But the doors fly open, he grabs me by the scruff of the neck and throws me down and then the pain starts.