Sinner's Creed (Sinner's Creed #1)

by Kim Jones

  They go to leave, and I have to force them to take the wad of cash. I don’t know their financial situation. All I know is that she is mine and I will take care of her. When I tell them this, I might have growled it because they stopped arguing.

  —

  Wednesday, Saylor stayed in bed. She was so sick Tuesday night that her body was too physically exhausted to get up. I’d had to carry her to the bathroom, and even hold her head while she was sick. Her mouth was covered in sores, making it painful for her to talk and impossible for her to eat. Due to her condition, Dr. Zi sent over the home health nurse again to administer more fluids.

  Donnawayne and Jeffery came over Wednesday evening, and I had never been more thankful to see them. They brought not only wigs, scarves, and pajamas, but large, cloth changing pads, new sheets, Pedialyte, Ensure, and a home spa kit. After the fluids, Saylor was marginally better and was able to drink a bottle of the grape-flavored Pedialyte.

  I stood in the doorway and watched her smile through her cracked lips at the men as they modeled all of her new wigs. She chose the short purple one to wear to treatment to match her purple stage-three dose of Skittles. Saylor told me to get out of the house awhile, but I couldn’t leave her. I didn’t want the responsibility to fall on Donnawayne and Jeffery, but after thirty minutes of them convincing me that they could handle it, I finally gave in.

  I was missing my bike, and was more than surprised to find it sitting at the clubhouse. Shady had pulled it on a trailer back with him when he brought our car. His kindness earned him a hug from me.

  After only an hour of riding, I was anxious to get back to Saylor. I found her in bed, with green mud shit on her face and cucumbers on her eyes, wearing one of her new scarves and gowns. A straw sat in a half-empty bottle of Ensure, and an empty bottle sat beside it. The sight of her relaxed and not sick and in pain made me smile.

  Then I noticed the two men who lay on either side of her. How had I not noticed them? They too were covered in green mud and cucumbers, wearing jogging pants and nothing else. Both of them held one of Saylor’s hands in theirs, and even though it made me feel weird, I grabbed Saylor’s camera and took a picture of them together. Either they were asleep, or they didn’t know I was here. I was betting on the latter.

  —

  Thursday was more of the same. The vomiting and diarrhea were now pure liquid, and the mouth sores were so bad I called the doctor again. He called in a prescription for some kind of medicated mouthwash and told me to have her rinse with it every couple of hours. Because of the pain, we had only done it twice today.

  Without my knowledge, Saylor had asked the guys to pick her up some of those adult pull-on diapers. I didn’t realize it until I found her struggling to remove it. I helped her take it off, put on another one, and we never said a word about it. I just kissed her on her head, told her she was perfect, and was rewarded with a smile.

  Carrie came over that night and painted her fingernails and toenails, then laid in the bed and watched Sex and the City until Saylor fell asleep. Before she left, she told me she was only a phone call away, which was reassuring considering she was a friend and a nurse.

  Every day, Saylor managed to find the time and strength to write in her diary. And I always managed to find time for myself too. But, if it was pushups in the hallway or TV in the living room, I was always only a few steps away.

  By Friday, Saylor was so sick I was afraid she was too sick for her treatment, but she managed to find the strength to tell me to help her get dressed, that she was going. So I did. And that included putting on her purple wig.

  When we got to the hospital, the report from the doctor was good, even though Saylor was anything but. Since she hadn’t been prone to any infection, or had yet to be hospitalized, they felt confident that her body was responding well to the treatment.

  But it’s Monday and we are at the emergency room at UMC. Saylor came down with a fever earlier today and when I called Dr. Zi, he said to bring her in. I’m watching her sleep and listening to the monitor around her beep while they pump her body with antibiotics and fluids. She’s lost a total of fourteen pounds and it shows. She looks small and fragile, almost lifeless. And the good doctor just informed me that things are fixing to get worse.

  We are moved to a room and they assure me she will be fine while I run home to get clothes, toiletries and, of course, Saylor’s diary. I call Donnawayne and Jeffery to let them know, giving them the doctor’s orders that her visitors have to wear masks, gloves, and gowns. Then I call Shady and inform him of where I am and ask him to let Rookie and Carrie know.

  I’m gone only an hour, but I can hear Saylor’s cries when I step off the elevator. I’m down the hall and through the door in half a second, ignoring everyone in the room but the woman who is crying my name.

  “I’m here,” I say, and to confirm it, I push my lips against hers and rub her head. When she sees me, smells me, and tastes me, she instantly relaxes.

  “I don’t know what happened,” a panicked orderly says. “I was just checking her vitals and she woke up and asked for you. I told her I didn’t know where you were, but I’d see if we had your number. Then she became hysterical.”

  I’m listening to the woman, but I’m talking to Saylor. Telling her over and over that I’m here and I’m not leaving. I explain to her where I went and that I wasn’t gone for long, and that I’ll tell her before I ever step out of the room again.

  “I didn’t know where I was,” she whispers, running her hands over my face and arms.

  “You were out of it when we left the house. I should have told you.” I lean over the bed, kissing her, whispering to her and rubbing her smooth head until she falls back to sleep. By the time I stand, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.

  Dr. Zi comes in later and tells me that her white blood count is up and she has a yeast infection in her oral, vaginal, and anal areas, and that is what is causing most of her discomfort. I didn’t know she had any discomfort because she hasn’t complained. When I tell him this, he only nods in understanding and says that they will keep her until it is cleared up, but he can’t promise that it won’t come back.

  It’s Tuesday and I open my eyes to find someone dressed in a gown, mask, and gloves standing at the door. When I see his boots, I know it’s Shady.

  “Hey, you,” I hear, and both our heads turn to find Saylor sitting up in bed, smiling. Her color is back, her voice is clearer than I’ve heard it in days, and her eyes are bright green and shining.

  Shady walks up and kisses her head, but all I can do is lay here and stare at her. She looks incredible. When her eyes meet mine, her smile widens and for the first time in days, I’m smiling too. I go to the bed and kiss her good morning before going to take a shower. When I come back, she is eating. It’s only Jell-O, but at least it’s something.

  “How come you don’t have to wear this shit?” Shady asks, looking down at his ridiculous fucking wardrobe.

  “I’m special,” I say simply. He looks to Saylor and she nods in agreement.

  “He’s special.”

  The truth is that since I’m her primary caregiver, I’m exposed to her as much as she is to me. Dr. Zi seems to think that if I had anything, she would have caught it by now, and since I haven’t left her side since she’s been sick, I haven’t had the chance to be exposed to anything that could potentially hurt her.

  Then he tells me that Saylor said she wanted to see my face, that it was what kept her pushing on. I’m sure it was just a tactic she used to try and keep him from making me wear it, afraid of what I might say. She had nothing to worry about. I would’ve worn a fucking pink jumpsuit if it was required. Thank fuck it’s not.

  The rest of Tuesday was good. Wednesday, we had even more visitors including Donnawayne and Jeffery, who accessorized their gowns with jewelry and paper bows. Surprisingly, I found it funny.

  Rookie and Carrie came, bringing in a big basket of junk food that I knew wouldn’t last long with Shady arou
nd. But I had managed to salvage all the Skittles. After everyone left, Saylor asked me to lay with her. So I am.

  “I didn’t get a chance to write in my diary Monday. Will you do it for me?” she asks, laying on my arm while I flip channels on the TV.

  “How about I tell you what happened and you write it?” I ask, hoping she agrees. She doesn’t.

  “I want you to.” Reluctantly, I grab her diary from the side of the bed and open it up. I try not to glance at the pages, but I can’t help but notice some of the pictures that are in it. There are pictures of her and our friends, some of just our friends, but most are of me and her. “Did you take a picture on Monday?” she asks, her look hopeful. I had promised Saylor to document every day for her. And of course, I kept good on my promise.

  “I did.”

  “Okay. I’ll add it when we get home.” Home. Home was in Nevada, and it was a place I never thought I would long for, but now I do.

  “How do you want me to start this? Dear diary?” I ask, thinking how stupid it already makes me feel.

  “I want you to write it like you’re writing me a letter. But wait till I’m asleep.” I sigh and put the book back on the table. Saylor laughs at my reaction and I smile at the sound. I look down at her, noticing how bright her eyes shine now that her eyebrows and eyelashes aren’t obstructing their view.

  “You are so beautiful,” I say, running my fingers across her face.

  “You got a fetish for baldies?” she asks, blinking up at me.

  “I got a fetish for you.”

  “You know, there is a plus side to losing my hair. I don’t have to shave my legs.” I laugh and have to agree with her. I kiss the top of her head and pull her closer. Today was a good day. Yesterday is gone and tomorrow doesn’t matter. Only today, only this moment, and only me and her.

  24

  FRIDAY, SAYLOR IS strong enough to walk down for her treatment—stage-four blue Skittles. She is wearing a colorful head scarf, shorts to show off her smooth legs, and a hoodie. I brought a blanket with us just in case. The room is always cold, and considering Saylor’s attire, she is probably going to need it.

  It had become tradition for me to leave and get candy, and this time was no different. They had already done the blood work in her room and had it sent down, so we were able to bypass that part. I kiss her at the door and leave to go on my weekly store run. I’m in the parking lot when I get a call from the hospital.

  “Hello.”

  “I need you to pick me up something else,” Saylor says, and her voice is sad.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask, already making my way back inside to her.

  “I’ll tell you when you get back. Will you please pick up some markers and a poster board for me?” I pause in the lobby.

  “Saylor, will you please tell me what is going on?”

  “Dirk, will you please just pick it up? And bring extra Skittles,” she adds, and the smile in her voice is enough to have me heading toward the car.

  “I love you,” I tell her, knowing she can’t hear it enough and I can’t say it enough.

  “I love you too. Hurry up.” She hangs up and I’m laughing.

  —

  I push open the door to find one of the reclining chairs empty. Someone has died, and the room is so melancholy, that even I feel depressed.

  “Okay, guys,” Saylor says, addressing everyone and taking over the show. The nurses are staring at her like she’s lost her mind, and one is on the phone asking someone to come up. “The doctors here think that we shouldn’t talk about our friends when they pass. Well, I think that’s bullshit.” All the patients take turns looking at one another, probably thinking that Saylor has lost her mind.

  “Marcus would have wanted to be remembered. I’m not saying we have to mourn his death, I’m saying we should celebrate his life. So, my handsome lover Dirk has been kind enough to pick us up some things to help us do that.”

  I cross the room to Saylor, thinking that maybe she has lost her mind. No one says a word and all eyes are on me and Saylor and the bag in my hand.

  “Ralph,” Saylor says, addressing the old man to her left. He looks at her with raised eyebrows, or what were once eyebrows, and looks nervous that she called on him. “What was your favorite thing about Marcus?” Ralph stutters before answering.

  “Um, well. He was a nice boy. Said he worked on his daddy’s chicken farm. I like that he was a hard worker. He was respectful too.”

  Saylor writes on the poster board with one of the markers as Ralph speaks. When I see her struggle with it in her lap, I locate a table next to the nurse’s desk and bring it to her—shooting a look to the nurse when she starts to object.

  “Thank you, baby.” Baby. I like when she calls me that. “Hershel?” Saylor looks pointedly at the man to her right, and he looks around the room before answering.

  “He had a good sense of humor. And he laughed at all my jokes, even the ones that ain’t real funny.” Saylor writes again, and so it goes until every patient in the room has said something they like about Marcus.

  I take a minute to look behind me and find six nurses, some that I’ve never seen, and four doctors standing behind the desk. There are tears in the eyes of the nurses and curious stares on the faces of the doctors. Some are even smiling.

  “Dirk?” I look back at Saylor, who is waiting for my thoughts on Marcus. Hell, I didn’t even know the boy. All I knew was that he couldn’t have been out of his teens, and always asked for extra Skittles.

  But Saylor wants something, so even if I have to make it up, I’m going to give it to her. When determination steps in, she is impossible to argue with. But, I do remember something about Marcus, and it’s not a lie.

  “He always made you smile.” I watch Saylor fall more in love with me. She nods, brushing her tears from her eyes and laughing before leaning down to write my answer.

  “Yes, he did.” When she looks back up, she is even more determined as she looks at the doctors and nurses. I move out of the way so she has a full view of them. “I don’t care how long you say I have left. As long as I live, I will honor every person I share this room with if they leave here before I do. So, either you can jump on the celebration-of-life bandwagon, or you can be soul-sucking, coldhearted demons. It’s your choice.”

  I feel my dick swell in my jeans. It’s wrong. Fuck, it’s wrong. But I can’t help it. When Saylor takes on bitch mode, it makes me horny as hell.

  Dr. Marks, who I haven’t heard say one word ever since I’ve known him, walks up to Saylor and squats down at the side of her chair. “You, Saylor Samson, are an incredible young woman. The world needs more people like you.” He kisses her cheek, then shares his favorite thing about Marcus.

  By the time her treatment is finished, Saylor’s poster board is full. On our way out, she stops to tape it to the wall for everyone to see. When I open the door for her, I glance up and see the signatures at the bottom, including my own, with a title above it that reads In Loving Memory of Marcus.

  Saylor is sent home Saturday morning. When we arrive, the house is full of people waiting for us. Donnawayne, Jeffery, Shady, Rookie, and Carrie. Knowing that this might be the only good day she has this week, we take the time to do something she wants. And what she wants is to go bowling. So that’s what we do.

  Saylor wears another one of her head scarves and even puts makeup on. Donnawayne assists her in drawing on fake eyebrows and even though she is superthin, she looks like herself. I try to encourage her not to overdo it, but she stops me by saying, “The bad days are gonna be bad regardless, so I’m gonna enjoy the good while I can.” So I just shut up and kiss her.

  We bowl and eat, and I show Saylor how to shoot pool. I don’t let her win, because she asked me not to. And by the fifth game, I’m trying like hell to beat her. When she lines up a perfect combination shot and puts just the right amount of English on it to sink the eight ball, I know I’ve been hustled. “My teenage years were spent in a pool hall. It’s kinda my
thing,” she tells me. Little shit.

  It’s after midnight before we get home, and I’m more exhausted than Saylor is, although I don’t let her see it. We shower together, then lay down, and I rub Saylor’s back while she writes in her diary, trying to fight the heaviness of my eyelids.

  “You want a back massage?” Saylor asks, and I’m reminded once again how unselfish she is.

  “No, baby. But I’ll massage yours,” I offer, thinking that would wake me up and have me beating off in the bathroom.

  “Turn over,” she says, jumping out of bed and disappearing into the bathroom. She comes back holding a bottle of lotion and makes a motion with her finger for me to turn over. “Please?” she begs, poking her lip out, and I can’t argue with that face.

  I roll onto my stomach and Saylor climbs on top of me, her weight barely noticeable. When she digs her fingers deep into my shoulders, I can’t help my moan of appreciation.

  “I know you’re exhausted. I know you’re tired and sore and I know the sacrifices you are making for me. And I don’t know if I’ve told you, but thank you.” Her thanks aren’t necessary, but it feels good to hear her say it.

  “There is no place I’d rather be, and nothing else I’d rather do.” I wish I could look at her when I say this, but she knows the sincerity of my words. And as I drift, not only do I feel her hands on me, but she is singing and her voice is the perfect ending to this perfect day.

  —

  Sunday morning I wake up to the bed shaking. I picture Saylor jumping on it, trying to get my attention, and smile. But then, I feel something hit my back. And again. And I turn over to find Saylor seizing beside me with white foam running out the side of her mouth.

  I’m screaming, panicking, rolling her to her side, and holding her down. I’m lost. I’m desperate and I’m still screaming, but this time it’s for help. I hear banging on the front door, but I can’t leave her to answer it so I scream at whoever is there to call 911. And I scream it over and over again until I hear sirens in the distance.