Bane (Sinners of Saint 4)

“I told you, Snowflake. I ain’t gonna fuck up what we have.”

“So you keep saying,” I said.

“And so you keep not listening. Change of topic. What do you wanna do on the last day of your freedom?”

“Freedom?” I sounded dumb, even to my own ears. It was the cinnamon breath mixed with the ocean salt of his hair that did it. Standing so close to the man without running for my life felt like an accomplishment, but it didn’t leave me unaffected.

“Yeah.” He kicked his joint with his boot, shooting it to the sand like a soccer player. “Before you start gainful employment tomorrow.”

“Don’t you have any poor unfortunate souls to embezzle?” I tilted my chin up, crossing my arms over my chest. Bane laughed.

“Happy to report all the unfortunate souls I’m in charge of are blissfully embezzled. Have you done your ten-mile run for today?”

“How do you know about my ten-mile runs?” My forehead crumpled. Sure, he’d seen me jogging the night he scared away Henry and Nolan—but that seemed a particularly specific number. Ten miles. Bane’s eyes widened before his casual smirk returned.

“Mother Dearest told me a little about you today.”

“There’s nothing dear about her.”

“Looks like we’re in agreement on that one.” He unleashed his devil’s smile, then snapped his fingers and pointed at me. “Italian ice cream.”

“People will think it’s a date.” I bit my lower lip, hating that I cared. I was allowed to get out of El Dorado. I was allowed to date, if I wanted, not that I did. And I was allowed to go on an ice cream run with a male friend. I knew, logically, that all of those things were true, but it didn’t make them any less frightening.

“Right.” Bane tucked his wallet into his pocket. He was already striding toward the stairs. “Remind me who cares?”

“I do.” I stayed cemented in place. “I have a bad reputation.”

He stopped, staring at me. “Mine’s worse.”

“Wanna bet?” I snorted bitterly. He smiled one of his relaxed smiles that felt like a lullaby. His next sentence came as a hushed whisper. “Already told you. I heard all the rumors about you, Jesse. Fuck ’em. Fuck ’em to death. Fuck this town, and its preppy, judgmental residents, and every idiot who looks at us funny. Don’t you get it? We’re the outliers. The rejects. We’re free. Free to do whatever the hell we want, because it won’t matter. We’ll never fit in here, so we don’t have to try. We’re liberated from all this bullshit.” He motioned around us with his hand. “They can’t hurt you if you don’t give them permission to. So don’t.”

I took a step toward him, hesitant. People were coming in and out of Café Diem, and no one looked at us funny. Maybe that was part of the reason I liked hanging out with Bane. People weren’t quick to disrespect him. I still found it hard to believe that he wanted to hang out with me after all the rumors.

They’d said the night in the alley was not really in an alley, but in Henry’s house, and that it had been a consensual orgy. The abortion news also leaked into the eager ears of townsfolk. I once heard Wren’s friend, Kandi, say, “The baby probably died of embarrassment. Could you imagine? Being conceived in a mass orgy?”

But Bane didn’t care.

He screwed for a living, for God’s sake.

No wonder he was the only one here to accept me.

He said it was personal, and maybe that’s what he meant. Maybe he just hated slut-shaming so much, I was a pet project for him. The worst part was that I didn’t even care. I was still grateful for the friendship.

“All right,” I said, the words so heavy in my mouth I said them again, this time louder. “All right, let’s go.”

We walked silently to the ice cream parlor, basking in the glorious sun. Our hands almost brushed when he opened the door to the shop for me, prompting something inside me to rise like a tide then soar like a tsunami. I ordered two scoops—two more than I would have eaten any other day.

There was something about Bane that made me want to reinvent myself. To try something fresh. I went for pistachio and Eskimo ice cream. And for the first time in a long time, the food I was eating actually had a taste.

It tasted new.

I liked it.

When we got out of the ice cream parlor, I turned around and told him, “About us holding hands in Dr. Wiese’s clinic…”

I was feeling brave, but then he stopped, turned around, and looked at me seriously. “Yeah. Wasn’t thinking. Won’t happen again.”

“No,” I said, stopping, too. We were now the only people standing in a busy promenade, disrupting the rest of the people, and not giving much of a damn. “I was wondering if we could do this again sometime. Not, like, in a weird capacity or anything. I just want to know that I, uhm.” I swallowed, glancing around. “Can.”