Sancte Diaboli: Part Two (The Elite King's Club 7)

Pulling open the top drawer, I find a pack of matches and begin lighting the wicks of the candles that are scattered around. It is lovely in here, though not as nice as the one back in the manor. Picking up my phone, I snap a photo of the bath, now filled with crimson rose petals floating in the soapy water. I scroll through Instagram and get ready to type my second post. My fingers hover over the keys. My eyes are heavy, needing sleep that no amount of time could ever satiate.

Am I dreaming, or am I still awake?

I type out the caption… A dream is just a nightmare wearing makeup.

I push post and slowly remove my clothes until they’re a pool around my feet. I dip my first toe into the water and wince when the sting grips me, but continue to sink my whole body in, ignoring the bites of heat. My phone begins vibrating beside me, but I close my eyes to ignore it. I’ve become good at disregarding that damn vibrate. Sinking deeper into the water, I allow it to wash over me, my tears floating away with the rose petals. No one will know I’ve been crying deep in here. There’s nothing but white noise and the distinct dripping of the water falling into the tub. I arise and swipe the excess from my face, finally snatching my phone when I notice it’s still popping off. I unlock and go to Instagram.

So.

Many.

Comments.

But one sticks out. It isn’t because the words are kind, or that she is a friend. It’s that the poster reads @Frankenstein. I curl my lip. Are you alone, or did Samael follow you in there, too? Haven’t seen him since you both disappeared into the Garden of Eden.

I pause.

I know that realistically speaking, she can say what she wants about Sam and me. That it’s no one’s concern anymore. I know I don’t have to worry about Brantley flipping out or calling me like a psychopath, or even worse, appearing here and causing a scene. My heart rate beats at the same tempo as the tap. I don’t have to worry because I’m not his problem anymore. I’m much worse. I’m—I can’t even say it.

I ignore her comment and go through the likes.

@kingmadison I miss you. A sincere smile comes onto my face. One that doesn’t feel heavy or forced. @kingtillie we’re fighting. I roll my eyes at her comment. She may not be my biological sister anymore, but blood isn’t thicker than a soul bond. I hit reply to them both. @saintvitiosis why have you both changed your usernames? Am I missing something already? I finish up in my bath and don’t slide out until the water turns cold and my fingers have aged one thousand years. I’ve just changed into a new set of clothes when there’s a knock on my door.

I plaster a fake smile onto my face. “Come in.” I have to swallow the bitterness I’m holding in my gut. I don’t want to be around anyone right now. Or ever, maybe. There’s something inside of me that has been taken. The light. It wasn’t Brantley’s darkness that blew my light out, it was the truth.

“So, we’re bringing you snacks, movies, and water, because I love you, but I don’t think alcohol is a good idea with the state you’re in.” Ophelia walks into my bedroom like she owns it, placing bags of junk food on my bed, Ivy following closely behind her. Ivy pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose and tucks her shoulder-length hair behind one ear.

Ophelia looks between us. “Ivy is cool. She is team you.”

I smile at Ivy and she slowly moves onto the edge of my bed while Ophelia gets comfortable and turns on the TV that’s in the corner of my bedroom.

“So what are we watching?” I ask, taking three Cheetos out of the bag and nibbling on them.

“Some slasher-type shit.”

I choke on my “food” and we both burst out laughing. I think I even saw Ivy shed a small hint of laughter.

Saint

All three of us fell asleep mid-movie last night. When I say mid-movie, I don’t mean the slasher one, since Ophelia got scared and wanted to change it to something happy and cheerful, so we were stuck watching old reruns of South Park. I push off my mattress, careful not to wake Ivy and Ophelia, who are both snoring peacefully in my bed. Cheetos are tangled in Ophelia’s hair, with a spoon of ice cream sticking to Ivy’s cheek. The glue courtesy of Ben and Jerry. We skipped dinner last night. I would do it again and again because I’ve come to realize that Ophelia, and I’m hoping Ivy, too, soon, will be a lifetime friend. A forever friend. I agree that people come into your life at certain parts to either help you or to teach you, but there are other people who come into your life and you know they’re there to stay. Ophelia is one of those people.