Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
A man who makes me dinner and fucks me so hard I forget the emotional torment in my life. When he bites me, when his dick is inside me, I only live in the moment, and that’s always so cathartic, deep down I know I’m the one who doesn’t want to let go of this new drug.
“Let’s just see what he wants from me,” I decide, and the fact that it is my choice makes me feel powerful, even if I still need Saint to end Galanis.
He shrugs, but his lips remain pressed together, since he doesn't attempt to hide his feelings about my waffling. Maybe to him my hesitation seems weak? After all, he admitted himself that some of the vengeful kills he carries out are petty and he still has no issue going through with them. My indecision must be a nuisance.
The silence becomes uncomfortable, but I simmer in it, trying to distract myself by looking around. A metal box with a little padlock sits on a shelf behind the desk with the word donations scribbled on it in the hand of a child. Yet another reminder of Galanis’s charity endeavors, since he’s such a good guy now.
Or is he? Can he really be called that if he didn’t take responsibility for his past? His confession would have added to my witness statement, and the bastards could have been convicted. Instead, he got himself an alibi.
I stiffen when the door behind us opens. Saint glances over his shoulder, but I can’t bring myself to follow his example, so I only see the somberly-clad pastor when he sits down across from us.
It’s shocking that if I haven’t looked him up over the years, I might not have even recognized him in the street. Gone is the messy hair, the dry skin patches, the dark circles under the eyes and shaky hands. The man before me is a picture of good health, with neatly cut hair and a depth to his gaze, which might have converted many a lost soul.
But the longer I study him, the more familiar he seems, and I sink into the padded chair as the reek of smoke and blood reaches my nose. I’m crawling through the basement, legs broken while Galanis and his buddies scream at each other. He might have claimed death and pain wasn’t what he wanted for my family, but he was still ready to sacrifice us so he didn’t have to take responsibility for his actions.
He doesn’t deserve mercy when my family paid such a big price for his return to health.
But I sit in silence, waiting for his move. What kind of pathetic apology will he come up with to excuse what he did?
‘Oh, I was on drugs, I didn’t know what I was doing’?
Galanis takes a deep breath. “We need to speak alone, Rowan.”
Saint straightens, and despite our little spat, I couldn’t feel safer. His presence is the only cure for the anxiety I’ve been living with since the attack. He’d sooner rip Galanis’s throat out than let the fucker anywhere near me. A comforting thought.
“Anything you want to say, you can say in front of him.” My voice is dull, but I manage to speak, which is no small feat.
“Oh, so he’s your muscle,” Galanis says, resting his elbows on the desktop and entwining his fingers as if he were about to pray.
I’m thrown off by his words but don’t say a thing until he meets my gaze, pinching his lips so sharply they turn pale.
“It’s been years. How dare you accost me like this?”
Saint squints at Galanis but says nothing, giving me the space to confront my demon.
“E-excuse me?” I utter. “‘Accost’ you?”
Galanis’s face darkens with a flush, and in this moment he’s no longer a benevolent pastor, or a pillar of his community but a rabid dog who claimed a juicy bone and would rather bite than give it back. “You heard me! I’m a changed man, doing great work for my congregation. What’s done is done, and you’re here to what? Shove the past in my face? Ruin what I managed to build? You’ve got some nerve.”
‘What’s done is done’? That’s it? I stare at him in disbelief. It’s as if he’s grown horns right in front of me. My tragedy, my broken life, my nightmares, my anxiety and fear are just “the past” to him.
I suppose they are. He’s not the one who had to live with them all these years.
The knife Saint gave me burns the inside of my jacket.
“You fucking bastard…” I whisper, filled with righteous fury.
Galanis glances at Saint, but then his attention settles back on me. “What could you coming here possibly change? You’ve gone to the police before, and the matter was closed. You should take that as a sign. I did! A sign from a higher power, that there is redemption for each and every one of us.” He gets up as if he were about to give us a sermon on how God gave him an alibi and the murder of innocents was actually a good thing, because it inspired him to become a pastor. “I understand. Everything has a price,” he scoffs at me with an ugly twist to his lips. “I’ll give you money, but I never want to see your face again.”