The Vows We Break - Serena Akeroyd Page 0,48
psych evaluations after the surgery,” she mutters. “They were making me talk about that period of time. I had to lie in the end. Or they’d never have let me out. They’d have locked me up just to stop me from harming myself.
“That’s how I knew it was meant to be. When I learned you were in Rome? I had to come here.”
“That’s what brought you here?”
“Yes. I finally found out where your new parish was. Not all of your archdioceses would tell me what was going on with you, some were trickier than others.”
“So the catalyst for you leaving the hospital was me?” I question, aghast at the prospect.
“Yes,” she murmurs, her eyes soft as her graze drifts over me. “It’s always you.”
I release a shaky breath, not certain I want the responsibility—
But then, she untangles the hold we have on each other’s wrists, reaches for my hand, and with a delicacy that takes me aback, presses a kiss to my palm.
The gesture is so sweet, so tender, I can’t freak out. I mean, I want to. But I can’t.
Whether she needs help or not, she’s too open for me to shut out.
It would be like kicking a puppy.
I clear my throat. “Didn’t you ask your friends to explain?”
“They’re all over the world. It wasn’t like they could come into the hospital. They didn’t believe the emails they sent either.”
Clearly, the doctors had believed she’d sent the emails.
Even as I questioned if that was true, if maybe she had created these friendships, she sighs. “You don’t believe me either.”
“I’m not sure what to believe,” I reply honestly.
“I have wings.”
“If that’s supposed to convince me—” I start, my tone rueful, until she twists over and shows them to me.
They’re mostly hidden beneath her camisole, but I can see the ink playing peekaboo.
Of course.
So, her every delusion is founded in a truth.
I get what she’s saying.
The ink is definitely not new, but still pristine. All swirling curlicues for feathers, and when I peer closer, I can see that each curlicue is a word.
It’s not something I can read. No language I’ve come across. It’s neither Latin nor Greek.
I can no more stop myself from reaching out to trace a word than I can stop my pulse from pounding.
“What language is it?” I ask thickly.
“Aramaic.”
My brows rise. “You speak it?”
“No. I was told what to inscribe there.”
I shy away from her justification, and it’s quite clear why the specialists thought she was mad.
I mean, I think she’s nuts too. And when she says things like that? It sounds nuttier still.
But, even if I’m a shitty priest, we’re taught to find miracles, to embrace them, not outright reject them.
Even if it all sounds a little too insane to be believed.
And with her past? Her illness?
Even a priest could be forgiven for discounting her story.
“I showed the doctors Diana’s pictures, the ones she sends me, and they said she was a figment of my imagination. I told them what I did, but they wouldn’t look into it. Her father is in prison, for God’s sake. No matter what I did, no matter what I said, they wouldn’t listen,” she whispers. “So I lied. But I won’t lie to you. I promise.”
She sounds so heartsore that I let my hand press to her back, to the smooth curve.
“I believe you.”
And God help me, I’m not lying.
My words have her flipping over, and excitement fills her eyes. I’m surprised when she jumps off the bed with more exuberance than sense considering her condition, and pads out of the room. For a second, I sit up, unsure what’s happening.
Light spears my eyeballs as she turns into the hall and hits the switch beside my door, and then I hear rummaging around in her room before she returns.
Phone in hand.
I settle back, waiting for her to climb into bed—I don’t even think to question how right it feels for her to come to me the way she is. My focus is elsewhere.
She didn’t turn off the hall light on her way back to me, and it halos around her as she moves. It falls on her in a way that’s uncanny, and I look away because it’s disconcerting. Sure, light pools that way around everyone, but it almost makes her skin gleam like gold and that’s nothing to the way it hits the blonde notes in her hair.
When she climbs into bed, I’m glad, because it means I can’t see that anymore, and she tilts her screen to