Forgive Me My Sins

I open my mouth, but before I get a chance to speak, the door opens. We all turn to find Madelena De Léon standing like she’d had her ear to the door all along. Her hair is wet, and she’s wearing different clothes than she’d worn to the funeral. She looks like she’s been crying for days. She glares at her father, then, without any hesitation, she shifts her gaze to me and holds mine. And I know in that instant, in the look in those eyes, that this girl will not bow meekly and do as she’s told. Not now. Not ever. 

Odin steps toward her. “Maddy,” he says through his teeth. “I told you not to come down here.”

He’s protective of her. I would be the same if I had a sister—and there’s no way I’d let her sign a contract like the one Madelena will be made to sign tonight. 

“It’s fine. I’m fine,” she tells her brother. 

I watch the two of them together. I know what she looks like. I’ve seen her before, although not often. Where we used to be the scum of Avarice, now Augustines and De Léons socialize in the same circles. Who’d have thought it? But all it took was one screw-up. It had been inevitable. We only had to be patient. Because Marnix De Léon screwed up big. I know the cost of that sort of mistake well and he will pay.

She takes in the room while I take her in. Dark hair, sad eyes. Anger. Just behind it, there’s fear. I see it, smell it, even as she tries to mask it. But it would be stranger if she wasn’t scared. Standing in a room with the Augustine family can be a frightening experience, especially when you’re a De Léon. But like I said, I’m not a monster. And she is fifteen.

I hold out my hand, palm up, and beckon her with a curl of my fingers. No need to drag this out. 

Odin takes hold of her wrist, but she looks up at him. A silent communication passes between them before she shakes her head and frees herself. I notice she’s barefoot when she steps toward me. It stands out, that little detail. The vulnerability of her pale feet. The vulnerability of her. 

When I look back up, she’s near enough to take my hand. She studies it. This close in the dim light, I see the remnants of eyeliner hastily wiped away, the smudges of black on one temple. Finally, when she shifts her gaze up to mine, and I see the pain inside her copper eyes, I decide something. It’s not a conscious thought, but it’s decided all the same.

Her father should protect her. It’s the way it should be. But sometimes fathers don’t protect daughters. I know that well. Even though I will do what I am about to do, I decide that where her father has failed her, I will not.  

*Text edited for website.