The Naughty Sins Of A Saint (32 page)

His dad shook his head. “Saint, you’re the type of person who’d flap his wings all day believing you can fly. You’d jump off a building and be surprised when your guts splatter.”

“No, Dad. I’m the type of person that would invent and build an airplane. Nothing is impossible in my eyes. If I never walk again, it won’t be because I didn’t try. I’m not giving up. I have a life to live. I have a wife to protect and love. I want children some day, and I won’t let anyone stop me from getting what I want. You’ve never understood that the world I live in is different than your reality, and it doesn’t mean I’m insane or naive. You were proud of me as long as I was doing what you expected. You didn’t want a son who cursed all the time, talked about sex, and seemed vulgar in your eyes. I can understand that, but I have to be me. You’ve told me several times I was a disgrace. I always knew you loved me though. You always told me you did and took care of me. I’ve accepted that we aren’t one in the same and will probably never be close. You said just now that you were afraid I wasn’t going to make it, because I’m the last part of mom. What about being afraid I wasn’t going to make it because I’m the last part of you? You’re the walking dead. You no longer did the things you loved after Mom died. You no longer played chess. You stopped going to your favorite cafe to read and have your tea. I never heard you laugh or saw you crack a smile. I was still alive, but it didn’t matter. You barely noticed me after her death. I’m the living crippled, but I refuse to accept it. I won’t lie here and die,” Saint declared.

Saint’s father shot up and stormed over to him. He leaned down close to his son’s face, almost nose to nose, “But if
she
had died,” he cut his eyes sharply over at Xenia, pointing to her stomach as he knelt low, “you’d understand my pain, much – much – better!” his voice shook. Saint’s eyes met his father’s. They stared at each other, tension building as each moment passed. Saint could feel his father’s sorrow. It seeped into his unevenly beating heart and gripped it with the sadness, fear, and anger only a grieving man could manifest.

“You’re right,” Saint conceded. “You’re absolutely right. I’m sorry,” Saint said humbly.

His father stood up and thought for a moment. “Just like your mother.” He rubbed his son’s hair back as tears fell down his cheeks. “Always betting too much, no matter how the deck is stacked against you.” He kissed the top of his son’s head.

* * *

CHAPTER 10

Two weeks later…

“I’ve got nothing but time on my hands,” Saint said to himself as he flinched in pain. He looked at the pain pills on the table and shook his head. Xenia had helped him lie back on the couch. He listened to her in the kitchen, the pots and pans rattling as she tried to find the colander to strain pasta for dinner that evening.

“I still can’t find it,” Xenia called out. “Are you sure it’s in here?” she asked.

“Yeah. It’s black.” He opened his laptop and immediately noticed he had received a new email from Raphael. He read it.

To: Saint Aknaten

From: Raphael Jenkins

Subject: Now you can’t escape

Saint,

I know you hate it when I start off convos like that, but when I was looking at you the other day, it reminded me of what a strong person you are, and I had to bring this up again. With everything that’s happened, you need to look at your faith and life. I’ve been begging you for years to look at yourself. We’re more than best friends, we’re brothers. I wouldn’t be doing my duty if I didn’t bring this up. I know that the calling of your life is bigger than you want to realize sometimes. I’m not talking about the meetings, conferences, your books – none of that. I’m talking about the shit you’ve been able to do, the freaky shit, since I’ve known you. And when I say ‘freaky,’ I’m not talking about the sex shit either. I think you know what I’m talking about – the dreams. Something bigger is going on here. I want to sit down and talk to you. I can’t stop thinking about some of the stuff we experienced as children, especially right after your mother died. It seems that pain caused you to see things you hadn’t seen before. I need to talk to you about something I saw happen in the hospital. Xenia never left your side except to call your father, and when she did, I was there and saw you levitate above the bed again. It happened for only a split second, but it was the same shit I saw when you ran away from home and were living with me for a few days. I told you that first night you were up in the air. You knew it was true but told me I was high or making up stuff. I could see in your eyes you knew it was true, and you’d done it before. It would’ve normally scared the shit out of me, but I already knew years ago that something was going on with you. I’m not afraid of you. I actually feel safe with you. I also saw smoke come out of your mouth the week before we flew out to L.A. I turned away because I knew you wouldn’t want to talk about it. You can’t keep running from this. Now that you’ve got some time and are at home, I think this is a good opportunity for you to look at this closer. I want to help you and I’m not going to drop it.

– Raphael

Saint grimaced and deleted the email.

“Found it,” Xenia called out as she started the kitchen faucet water.

“OK, Baby,” Saint responded. Raphael’s email lingered on his mind. Saint looked occasionally at the television. He had memorized the room, remembering when he was standing, walking around hanging the pictures. He looked over at the love seat across from him and recalled bending Xenia over it, having his lustful way with her much to her delight. He looked down at the floor by his corner fireplace, recalling their conversations on his
faux
bearskin rug, as they lie naked together, blissful after another love making marathon. He turned away quickly and looked back down at his computer. He opened up his browser and typed in “psychic soulmate.” He spent the next hour reading all that he could. His eyes shot back and forth as he scanned the information, going from page to page, website to website. He clicked on one more.

“Saint, dinner is ready. I just need to put your salad in a bowl, and I’ll be right in,” Xenia said as she looked for utensils to toss with.

“OK, Baby. Thanks,” he responded, his eyebrows furrowed as he read his computer screen.

A psychic’s quest to find his or her soulmate is sometimes more complicated than one could imagine. Many psychics don’t arrive at their full potential until after the age of thirty-five. At this time, they have acquired enough life experiences to accept and appreciate their gifts. Thus, the time for finding a mate is optimal.

When the psychic’s subconscious is in overdrive, he/she may unknowingly send signals to their soulmate. This may manifest itself as the psychic moving to a location he/she has never been. It is also common for the psychic to pray for his or her soulmate, hoping to touch that person wherever they may be. Psychics with particularly strong abilities are often times able to dream of their soulmate and cast the dream to the object of their affection so that he/she may see them before actually meeting. This is called a “soul-connect love letter” and is quite powerful. The person on the receiving end always remembers the dream and feels the sender’s love. He/she may already know the person, but often not well.

Saint closed his eyes tightly, causing small lines to appear across his forehead as he rubbed his cheeks roughly with his hands.

‘I can’t believe this shit,’ Saint thought. ‘I’m buggin’ out. Xenia had the same dream as I did. Did I really do that? Shit, of course I did. We met right afterwards. Raphael, I hate you for making me think about this!’ Saint read on:

A psychic with these abilities may not realize the power he/she has until learning the heart communication language. “HCL” is what psychics are able to do with their soulmates. By placing their hand over their lover’s heart as their lover reciprocates the gesture, the psychic can read the mind of their beloved. The psychic can sometimes do this with others as well, but it will always be strongest with their soulmate and with children produced with the soulmate.

“That’s it – no more – computer off.” Saint angrily slammed the laptop closed.

“Hey, Baby. Here you go,” Xenia said as she walked into the living room with Saint’s food on a wide black tray. Saint moved his laptop and avoided eye contact. She handed him a cold bottle of water before setting the tray across his lap. She sighed as she looked down at him. “Are you OK?” she asked.

Saint slowly looked up at her and took her hands in his, “Now I am,” he responded.

* * *

Her low-rise jeans continued to fall below her middle thigh as she struggled to keep them up while helping her husband.

Saint looked over at her and smirked. “Where’s your belt?” he asked. “You have ‘plumber’s crack,’” he joked.

“Oh, hush! I have no idea where my belt is. That’s the problem with having only a few clothes at your house. I need to go shopping for a few more things after I make sure you’re settled.”

“You’ve lost weight. You need to eat.” Saint ran his hands along the wheels of the wheelchair, trying to brace himself.

“I really don’t think that’s a good idea,” Xenia said as she helped him up. “You need to stop trying to do everything yourself. Now be still.”

“I don’t want another bath, Xenia. I want a shower.” He lie on the floor, pulling his shirt over his head. His angel tattoo now had a bullet hole through the left wing.

“Saint, I can’t hold you up that long, Baby. You’re heavy. Let me call your nurse and see if she can come back over.” Xenia turned to grab the phone.

“No,” he grabbed her arm. Xenia looked at her husband lying helplessly on the ground. She bent down to try to hoist him up. “No!” he yelled. “Don’t call anyone anymore to help me, and don’t try to help me yourself, either.” Saint struggled on the cold bathroom floor, moving his arms down, removing his pants and underwear until they were bunched around his ankles. The single goldfish in the bathroom aquarium swam back and forth, the blur of its orange body moving about. Xenia moved to take Saint’s clothing the rest of the way off. It was impossible for her to not notice his fifteen-pound weight loss. His face was more drawn in despite his aggressive attempts to eat larger meals and lift hand weights.

“Xenia, goddamn it! I swear. Stop it!” he yelled, looking into her eyes.

“Saint, I’ve had it up to here with you today! All I’m doing is trying to help. I don’t understand why you can’t…”

“I don’t want you to help me anymore. That’s the whole point. Ever since I was discharged from the hospital, you’ve hardly slept. You insist on doing everything for me. You scold me like I’m some child if I try to do anything for myself. You’ve already taken off work all this time. That’s unfair enough. I told you to go back to L.A., and I’d hire someone, but now you’re jeopardizing your career for something unnecessary. You get mad at me when I try to stand up. I already had a mama! I need you to be my wife and friend – that’s it! And besides, I’m the one that’s supposed to take care of you, not the other way around.”

“You can’t walk! I’m your wife, through sickness and health, remember?” Angry tears brimmed in her eyes. “Saint, I’m not going to let you keep doing this. Since after the first week home, you’ve been giving me a daily migraine. I can’t sleep because I keep waking up to you falling all over the damn house because you insist on trying to walk. You’ve fallen at least twenty times in the last four days. Look at your arms and legs! They’re black and blue! What if you accidentally go down on a table and bust your head open? I guess I’m supposed to just sit back and let that happen, huh?”

“I want you to turn around and close the bathroom door behind you. I don’t want you to come in here unless I call you. I don’t care how long you don’t hear from me. Walk out and close the door.”

“Saint, did you hear anything I just said to you?”

“Xenia! Now!” he screamed out, slamming his fist against the bathroom wall, causing the wall hangings to shake.

For the first time since she had ever laid eyes on him, she was afraid of him. The rage that burned in his face made her afraid to even turn her back. Saint saw her fright and was instantly changed.

“I’m sorry. I lost my temper. I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I don’t mean to scream at you, Baby, but please, do what I ask. I don’t want to argue with you, but I need you to leave me alone right now, please.” He turned away from her, his face turning red as he strained to roll over to his side. Xenia slowly closed the door and walked into their bedroom. She climbed on top of the bed, listening intently as she heard her husband repeatedly flop around. She tried to push her concern away. She winced as she heard him knocking things around, trying to raise his body up. Occasionally he would yell out in pain, but he did not ask for help. So many times she would hear him drop to the floor and wanted to rush in and help, but she knew if she opened the door, he would never forgive her.