The Original Sinner: The Saint Part 48

"What can I say? We're all mad here."

"Elle ..." Wyatt ran his hands through his red hair. She did love his punk red dye job. Be brutal, Kingsley had said. Make it clean. She threw a lock on her heart and put a bullet through her compa.s.sion.

"Let me ask you a question, Wyatt. You ever flog a woman?" She took a step forward.

"What? Flog? No way."

"Cane her?"

"No."

"You know how to use a single-tail?"

"I don't even know what that is."

"Got a St. Andrew's Cross in your bedroom?"

"A what?"

"I am not what you think I am," she said. "You are in love with someone who doesn't exist."

"You're kind of freaking me out here," Wyatt said, his eyes wide and scared.

"I haven't even begun to freak you out yet."

"Elle?" Wyatt's voice went quiet and solemn. "What can he give you that I can't? Seriously. I want to know the answer."

She turned her back on him and walked toward the waiting taxi.

"Everything."

Alone in the back of the darkened cab, she let the tears fall. No more. She'd never let herself care about anyone else other than S0ren again for the rest of her life. It hurt too much. In the privacy of her mind and in the midst of her sadness, she made herself a promise she knew she would keep. No more vanilla guys ever. She couldn't do this, couldn't straddle the line between two worlds anymore. It hurt too much. Hurt Wyatt, hurt her. It could hurt S0ren, would have hurt S0ren had he known. And he would know. She'd have to tell him.

She paid the driver and trudged through the sooty snow back to her dorm. She pulled one of her roommate's wine coolers out of their little fridge and drank it faster than she should have. She heard noises from across the hall-the unmistakable sound of a party.

Eleanor sat on her bed with another drink in her hand. Was there anything in the world more pathetic than a lovesick girl sitting in her dorm room getting drunk by herself? No was the answer to that question. She shouldn't be drinking alone while thinking about how much she'd miss being Wyatt's girlfriend, how much she'd miss sitting with him at lunch and dinner, talking about books and poetry and the profs they loved and hated. She shouldn't be drinking alone and thinking about how good it felt to lie underneath him last night naked from the waist up as he kissed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and nipples. She shouldn't be drinking alone while thinking about how erotic it felt simply to sleep in his bed with his arm around her all night long. He made her want things, Wyatt did. Things completely different from the things S0ren made her want. She wanted to strip Wyatt naked, tie him up, bite him, kiss him, suck him, make him beg her for more. Maybe she'd give him more. Maybe she wouldn't. Maybe she'd get an ice cube and torture him with it. G.o.d dammit, where did these fantasies come from? She was a submissive, S0ren's property. She couldn't imagine topping S0ren. It was ludicrous to even think about it. So why did she want to do it so much? Why was that all she could think about when she and Wyatt were alone together? Didn't matter. A fantasy. She'd forget about it by morning.

She set her wine cooler bottle on the bedside table and stared at it.

Drinking alone was definitely the worst idea ever. She decided to pour the bottle down the drain.

Before she reached the sink, what sounded like a dozen fists pounded on the door.

"Party in the corner suite!" came a cacophony of voices both male and female. They moved onto the next door, banged again and repeated the call.

Typical Friday-night invitation.

Eleanor stared at the bottle in her hand. This morning as she'd tried to leave Wyatt's bed, he'd woken up, pulled her against him and whispered, "I'll wait as long as you want, but you have to know I'm dying to be inside you."

His words and the feel of his erection against her back had left her aching with need all day.

Friday night. A terrible idea to drink alone.

She took a drink and headed to the corner suite.

Why not drink with everybody else?

29.

Eleanor BLEACH. SHE SMELLED BLEACH. THAT'S WHAT THAT was. The acrid scent wrinkled Eleanor's nose as she struggled to open her eyes. Why bleach? And ... disinfectant?

"Eleanor? Are you awake?"

"No," she answered.

"Eleanor, I'm Lisa. Can you open your eyes for me?"

"No. But I can open them for me."

She opened her eyes. Bright lights everywhere. Bright lights, white tile, white sheets and lab coats. She closed them immediately.

"Do you know where you are?" the woman, Lisa, asked.

"h.e.l.l?"

"You're in the hospital, Eleanor. Your friend thought you had alcohol poisoning."

"Did I?"

"Yes."

"b.u.mmer."

At some point last night she'd decided not to drink alone, but to drink with everybody else. Drinking had been her first mistake. The company she'd chosen had been her second.

Eleanor tried to sit up but Lisa stopped her with a gentle hand on her arm.

"You've got a saline IV in your arm. You're dehydrated. Try not to move."

"Are you a doctor?"

"No, I'm not. I'm with the rape crisis center. They called me."

"Why?"

"The young lady who called 911 said she found a boy on top of you."

"I'm gonna kill Katie."

"Katie?"

"My freshman-year roommate. Women's studies major. She's the one who called, right?"

"I believe so, yes."

"Sean and I were making out. Katie overreacted. She's trained to overreact."

"Sean who?"

"Sean, the drunk guy. I pulled him on top of me because we were both drunk off our a.s.ses and wanted to make out. I fell asleep in the middle of it. As drunk as he was he probably didn't even notice. I think I puked on him."

"Eleanor, many victims go through a denial stage-"

"Oh, my G.o.d." Eleanor lowered her voice as her own words caused her brain to vibrate against her skull. "I am hungover. I am exhausted. I am dehydrated, and I need a ten-hour shower. And last night I was stupid. But I am not now, nor have I ever been, a victim of anything or anyone but my own bad decisions, okay? Now, I'm sure somebody got raped in this town last night. How about you go help her?"

"Eleanor," Lisa said with an annoyingly soothing voice. "Please let me help you."

"You can help me. I'm going to give you a phone number. I need you to call it."

"I can do that, Eleanor. Am I calling your mom?"

"A woman named Sam will answer the phone. Ask for Kingsley. Tell him what hospital I'm at. Tell him I was brought in for alcohol-induced stupidity and, for G.o.d's sake, tell him to please come get me."

Eleanor closed her eyes and willed herself back to sleep. When she woke up again, she had a much firmer grasp on consciousness. She turned her head and saw a woman, about forty years old, sitting in the chair next to her making rapid notes onto some sort of form.

"Are you Lisa or did I dream that?"

"I'm Lisa. Can I get you anything?"

"Did you call that number?"

"Yes."

"Good."

"Do you want to talk about what happened to you, Eleanor?"

"I got s.h.i.+t-faced and pa.s.sed out. I woke up puking."

"Would you consent to a rape exam?"

"I must be speaking a foreign language. No means no, you know? No, I didn't get raped. But do the test if it'll shut you up finally."

That didn't seem to be the answer Lisa wanted or expected. Still, two nurses and a female doctor came in her room only minutes later.

The exam was over and done in a few minutes. She'd never had a pelvic exam before but knew what was involved. The speculum didn't hurt, although it made her stomach feel weird. In ten minutes, she had her clothes on again.

"They'll run some tests on the swabs they took, but they didn't see any evidence of trauma. In fact, your hymen-"

"Is intact. And so is my brain."

"It's still possible ... We'll wait for the test results."

"Can I go now?" Her head ached, her body ached, her heart ached.

"We'll get your discharge papers. There is someone waiting to see you."

"Is it a superhot French guy in Hessian boots?"

"Um, no. This man is a priest. But if you don't-"

"Let him in. Right now. Please. And you can go."

"Of course." Lisa gave her a kind, sympathetic look that Eleanor wanted to rip off her face.

She left the room and seconds later S0ren pushed open the door. Before she could even speak S0ren had her wrapped in his arms.

He wore his collar and clerics and she'd never in her life been so grateful to be in love with a priest. The clergy were more welcome in a hospital than any other place on earth.

She rejoiced in his arms around her, rejoiced in his chest that she rested her head against, rejoiced in that scent of him, clean as a midnight in winter.

"You're back early," she whispered through tears.

"I wanted to surprise you."

"Any reason?"

"I never need a reason to come back to you."

She looked up at him.

"I guess I ruined the surprise."

He brushed tears off her face.

"Never, Little One. Never."

He kissed her forehead, and she clung to him even tighter.

"I was at Kingsley's when the hospital called. They said you had alcohol poisoning."