Sinners & Saints (Sinners & Saints #1)

by Ballinger, Chelsea

  “You’ve got to be kidding,” he says and we start back walking.

  “No, The Voice is quite inspiring and Catfish clearly sends a message about insecurities and self-loathing caused by media’s portrayal of beauty. I mean, yes, they’re fucking idiots for dating someone through the internet for a year without questioning why they never Skype or Facetime, but still you can’t help but feel horrible for these people.”

  “I blame television for your behavior then.”

  “No, blame my mormor,” I smile proudly.

  “You’re Swedish?” he asks, knowing the meaning of mormor.

  “My gran was. She was very vibrant like Ms. Eleanor, which doesn’t shock me that they were close friends. She told me and my cousins to always call her gran or mormor. I always found it lovely to say mormor.”

  “That diamond bracelet you’re always fidgeting with… it was a gift from her, wasn’t it?”

  I stop walking again and my gaze drifts to his eyes, making sure I read him right. “How would you know that?”

  “When you’re happy… really annoyingly happy…” He always has to throw in an insult to keep it from being too sincere. “You play with your very enchanting, I might add, bracelet. You just smiled—lit up, in fact—talking about her. She must have given it to you.”

  “You know… for a person who prides himself on not being a sympathetic human being, you sure do dare to say the most invigorating and enchanting things.”

  “I unfortunately retain useless information.”

  I sigh and tilt my head to the side. “You amaze me,” I smile. “I know what you were doing back there with Cody.”

  “What do you assume I was doing?”

  “You were trying to give him courage by pissing him off. You knew she already liked him. You knew that the fact that Cody despises and in some way envies you meant that describing the filthy things you would do to her would finally get him to crack.”

  “Well that’s your theory.”

  “It’s a good one too because I believe that if Cody didn’t take the chance… you wouldn’t of made a move.”

  He leans in, his eyes strained like he’s trying to convince himself. “See that’s where you get things misconstrued. I would have gone after her. He would need to be taught a lesson.”

  Never mind, I think he means it.

  “And what is that?” I ask.

  “That you must always go for what you want. No one is ever going to just give you something… well unless you’re filthy rich like us.”

  “And what about when you told me about your mum? Was that the start of getting what you want? ... which is me, if you haven’t realized by that statement.”

  The corner of his mouth tries to turn up. “I don’t know yet.”

  “Okay.” We start walking again. “Confusion is normal in the beginning of change.”

  “You are a persistent one.”

  “And you are a complicated one… I think I’m going to be able to crack you now.”

  “Just like I cracked you a few nights ago.”

  “Ha! There it is. I was wondering when you would bring it up. You didn’t crack me, Hugo. What you did was just hit my sweet spot. You didn’t crack me because… there’s nothing to crack.” He stops walking now and looks at me, curiously. “See that’s the key. My mormor always taught me to just put myself out there. Waste no time being mysterious.”

  “She didn’t understand that men liked mystery?”

  “Oh, no she did, but she always found mystery to be depleted. Mysterious is only as good as a one night stand with a prince—her words, to be exact. Now, I don’t mean just put every detail of your day’s schedule or what type of dental floss you like to use, but just be bold—say what you mean, mean what you say. Jessie too, the girl from the roof you know about. She doesn’t care what she says now and neither do I. Life is too short, it’s an old, used saying but it truly is true. It’s too short when you waste time and too short when you try to speed things up, if that makes sense. I think if you go with the flow, it can seem like forever… close to it anyway. We’re surrounded by liars, why join them when you can shock them?”

  “You certainly add shock value,” he says softly. He stares off into the park and I join him. People are everywhere on the green field, some reading, some playing with their dogs, others with each other. I see a couple having a picnic and I wonder what it would be like to go on a picnic with him. I never even knew I was into picnics. I sort of find them annoying, but now seeing and being this smitten with Hugo changes a lot of my initial beliefs. “Where else would you like to go?” he asks me.

  “I want to go to a museum.”

  “The Met?”

  “No, the Brooklyn Museum.”

  “Traffic is going to be a bitch getting there,” he says annoyed.

  “I know, which is why we are taking the Subway.”

  “What?” His eyes widen.

  “Are you scared?”

  “No, I’m just not interested in riding in a crowded train full of bums and thieves and sick children.”

  “Well, I guess you will have to hold on to that watch then and pack hand sanitizer.” I grab his wrist and drag him to our destination.

  Once on the Subway, we sit across from each other. It is indeed crowded. A few bums, a few coughing and sneezing children. I’ve been on the Subway with my dad a few years back. I actually enjoyed it. It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I glance at Hugo who is watching me. With each stop the train continues to get more crowded. An elderly woman boards; I look to see if anyone would give up their seat—of course none do. I guess I will do it, but before I do, I look to Hugo who is also staring at the elderly woman with a cane, a purple t shirt with a kitten on it, light blue jeans and a white hat that with a pink flower on it. His eyes look strained as he stares at the old woman hard. They then soften. He throws in an eye roll before standing up and offering his seat.

  “God bless you, young man.” The old woman smiles and rubs his arm before sitting comfortably and relieved.

  I smile up at him as he reluctantly holds on to the pole in front of me. He stares down at me and shrugs it off. Maybe life is sending me a test on hypocrisy because a woman with three little children and groceries in her hands just stepped on the train. Hugo eyes the stressed woman then me. He semi smirks, silently saying, ‘Your turn’ and I stand up without hesitation.

  “Here, you go mam.” I gesture to my empty seat. She smiles broadly.

  “Thank you so much.”

  While the woman settles, I hold on to the same pole as Hugo, facing him. The crowd of people surrounding us pushes our bodies closer. We’ve kissed and he’s had his hand down my trousers, but for some reason just standing here this close and staring at the eyes of Hugo feels different. Maybe it’s the fact that this time he can’t look away. People cover us and there is nowhere for him to run. He stares at me with anguish, but care. More people enter the subway car. I should move out the way, but Hugo isn’t letting me. He confines me to our perfect little imperfect space by wrapping his arm around my waist, pressing his hand against my lower back, pulling me in to him. I slide my hand up the pole and wrap my fingers over his. I gaze up into his one blue, one green. I’m starting to see deeper within the ocean. Somehow through that cold exterior it’s starting to crack and the need in his eyes pleads for me to both stop and push. I will choose the latter over and over again. I want to push through, bring it down with a sledgehammer and live in what’s inside.

  HUGO

  “Are you disease infested?” she jokingly asks me as we walk up the steps of the Eastern Parkway Subway stop.

  I give her a look. “Whatever, come on.” I place the palm of my hand on her lower back and guide her to the entrance of the Brooklyn Museum. I don’t even need to ask her, she already knows which exhibition she wants to see.

  “What are these?” I ask once we enter the white room on the first floor of the museum.

  “These are the Stone pieces
,” she informs me.

  “Sure you don’t want to look at the feminist art?” I’m unimpressed at the abstract paintings on display in front of us.

  “Oh, I plan on it, but I wanted to start with this one.”

  “Why?”

  “I find abstract art to be the most simplistic yet invigorating type of art.”

  “I can agree with that.”

  “This one.” She points. “This is by Jim Stone.” She tilts her head to the side. “It kind of looks like a face.”

  I tilt my head towards the other direction. “Maybe an animal.”

  She walks over to the next one. “This one reminds me of you.”

  I stare at the abstract painting with red and blue shapes overlapping each other. I shoot her a look. She laughs a little and starts to point.

  “See, that flat expression matches well with this. It has all these strong diagonal lines like your jaw line when you’re angry and geometric shapes—like you because they’re not distinct shapes just like you’re not a distinct person. The lines are controlled like you. But these shapes that look like blobs of perfect paint… they represent you also. They represent the wild you that is still in control. You stay in the lines, Hugo. You’re complex at the same time. You’re geometric… and a blob.”

  “Great, you’re a professional abstract analyst.”

  Her laugh is intoxicating and I just want to bathe in it. “Come on.” She pulls me by my arm and we venture through the museum and all I can think about is that painting and what she said. She calls me distinct, geometric. I’m of my own rare form, she thinks. I am a complex shape and the color stays in the lines, but ironically she has my color spreading across them.

  “I had fun with you today,” Juliet says once we step out of the taxi in front of our home.

  “It was a not so bad afternoon.”

  My less enthusiastic responses are hilarious to her.

  “I don’t get you,” I speak before I think.

  “What’s not to get?”

  My jaw twitches and I grind my teeth. I’m saying too much, giving too much like I don’t have a fucking care. And that’s just the thing I finally realize.

  I don’t fucking care.

  “Everything.” I barely can say it, but she hears it clear like she always does and her eyes willingly tell me along with just everything when it comes to her. This is where I might fold. I just might.

  “You bastard.” Juliet looks past my shoulder and her face drops. I know the voice, but it pains me to turn around. I turn around and I’m met with the pictures of Kelly and I in a very compromising position. “You sent my father pictures!”

  “Kelly, why don’t you and I go talk about this privately?” I grab her arm, but she yanks it away from me.

  “Don’t fucking touch me!”

  Juliet comes between us. “Hugo, what did you do?”

  “I’ll explain later, just go inside.”

  “No!” Kelly throws the photo at me. “Explain it now. Explain how you seduced me and took pictures of us and sent them to my father and your father because of some sick quarrel you have with him.”

  “I didn’t seduce you. You came willingly,” I fire back.

  Kelly laughs with tears in her eyes as Juliet stands back. “You’re right,” she agrees and comes closer to me. “You’re right, I did give in like the good little girl I am, right, Hugo? I always do what I’m told and what is expected of me. You expected that I was weak… and I am. I mean, how could I not be with men like my father… your father… and you?” I clench my fists, glaring at her. “You, Hugo, you are the worst of them all. People like your father, they just don’t care if they hurt us; they hurt us and they are done… but you… you bathe in the pain of the people you hurt, making you the filthiest human being I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Congratulations.” She steps back away from me as her driver opens her town car door. I watch as the car drives off leaving me with deep cut words. They shouldn’t bother me, but they do. I’m remembering that Juliet is standing behind me. Facing her is like facing the music and I’m not prepared for the anger plastered on her face.

  “What will the lecture consist of now?” I bitterly ask her. “Go ahead… lay it on me.”

  She shakes her head and walks backwards. “You don’t deserve a lecture from me. She gave one well deserving and she is absolutely correct. You are worse than your dad, Hugo.”

  She turns around, heading inside and I follow. “I am no way near a fucking prick like my father.” I pull that typical response.

  “Keep telling yourself that,” she says once we’re inside.

  I don’t stop following her. I think we pass a few people, but neither us pay attention to them. I follow her straight to her room. “What do you want, Hugo?” She angrily kicks off her sandals and throws her purse on the beige chair in front of her.

  “I want you to tell me how wrong I am. I don’t understand why this is a big fucking deal to you. You know who I am.”

  “You knew!” She whips her body around throwing her hands in the air. “You knew that this woman was already used and abused like every other woman you fuck. You knew that!”

  “Yes! I did!” For the first time in years, I scream. My heart practically jumped out of my body. I haven’t been worked up like this for a very long time. I clear my throat as she stares at me in shock. “Yes,” I softly say. “Yes, I did. I did know.”

  “And?”

  “It made her the perfect target. The perfect glass to break. The one that shatters into a million fucking pieces when broken.”

  “Like your mum?”

  I charge towards her and she steps back, frightened, which kills me. I don’t want her to be scared of me. Still she has no right. “Don’t you dare mention my mother.”

  “But that’s what it is, isn’t it? These women that you hurt… don’t you ever picture your mother’s tears when they cry for you? Do you picture her screams when they scream in agony? Do you picture her face right before she jumped off that balcony when the face of someone you hurt just looks like they want to die?”

  I reach for the closest thing in sight, a Waterford Crystal vase. With strength and rage, it shatters all over the floor. Fuck. I didn’t even take into consideration that Juliet’s feet are bare. She flinches at the glass surrounding her, but still stands her ground, glowering at me.

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” she softly says, tears slowly falling from her eyes.

  “Why are you crying?” I ask in a whisper.

  “Why do you look like you’re about to?”

  My tongue glides over my trembling bottom lip, blocking out the stupid emotions. “So you hate me now?”

  “I feel sorry for you… and maybe I am angry and disappointed in you because…” She shrugs. “Because I want you to be better. I said it. I’m human—I have my limits, I suppose. I guess I never knew until you. If I did hate you… would that even bother you?”

  “It would give me relief knowing that you gave up, yes. Me knowing that you are just like everyone else. It will satisfy me.” And it will disappoint me… maybe even hurt me.

  “Then maybe I should give up. I’m tired, Hugo. I’m tired of all the bullshit angst you think you have. I’m just tired of it.”

  I nod, clenching my jaw. I do what she wants—I walk away. I think that’s what she wants. I don’t know anything anymore. I want to continue being cruel, but I stop once I reach the door. I turn around and stare at the glass surrounding her feet. I walk hard over to her, the broken pieces of glass cracking under my shoes. She gasps once I sweep her up. I carry her over to the bed. Once she’s placed, I take one last look at her, shocked and confused, and leave.

  SCARLETT

  I’m getting ready for dinner tonight at Ms. Eleanor’s. Patrick’s mother and sister are joining us. No doubt, Jane wants to fish out more insight on me. The woman is a leech, I swear. She won’t be getting anything out of Ms. Eleanor but stories of her past loves and the makings of a perfect Blood
y Mary. Hugo hasn’t texted me today or yesterday for that matter. Kelly should’ve confronted him by now. Knowing his father, probably not. Jonathan won’t even know how to approach Hugo without seeming like the loser of the game.

  My cell rings. It must be Hugo. I walk from the vanity to the bed. It’s not Hugo. It’s Tom.

  “You better have good news for me.”

  “I do.” A bitter laugh escapes.

  “Go on.”

  “My father found a new investment. I made sure of it.”

  “Let me guess, you blackmailed someone else to free yourself from your own situation. It’s a never-ending cycle of selfish deceits. ”

  “Look, you got what you want. Keegan is out. Harper will announce the investors at the end of the summer. Townsend, I am sure of it, will be on the list.”

  “Yes, well Tom you have done well. If I wasn’t a soon to be married woman, I would suggest we rediscover old times. Then again you were always a little… limp for my taste.”

  My laughter is matched with his heavy breathing.

  “Say hello to your mother for me, Scarlett.” My smile completely evaporates. My cold heart bursts into flames and my hands begin to tremble. “My wife informed me that she’s back in town.”

  He hangs up.

  I am left with nothing but numbness. It’s like clockwork; the doorbell rings and I know it’s her. It’s fucking her. I head down the hall that seems to get narrower the closer I get to the door. Her name is already on the list of visitors who don’t need to be permitted to come up. She made sure of it when Patrick and I moved back.

  I open the door and there she is in red of all things. Always very fitting for her.

  “Mother,” It always hurts me to call her that.

  “Darling.” She kisses me on the cheek. She doesn’t hug—never has, never will. She walks in, the bellboy behind her with shopping bags. Of course she went shopping before she got here.