Page 25 of Sin

I kept my attention on the ceiling as Mend went about the exam. He was polite, making idle chit chat while he told me about his four birds: D’Artagnan, Porthos, Aramis, and Athos. Apparently, he really liked The Three Musketeers.

Still, despite my lack of interest in his pets, the sound of his soft voice soothed my nerves and helped me relax for the examination. I was a little raw after revealing how far my mental state had fallen, but I appreciated his kindness in trying to make me as comfortable as possible.

He tutted when found the lingering bruises around my rib, frowned while he prodded at the mostly healed burns beneath my dampening cuffs, and pursed his lips as he changed the bandages over a few remaining lacerations. When he came to my head though, he paused.

“You received a dose of my blood before you were discharged, correct?”

“Um, last night, yeah. I had a couple of doses.”

His brows rose. “A couple?”

“Yes.”

He scrutinized my body again with a low whistle. “Wow. Must have had some pretty bad injuries if several doses of my blood didn’t heal them completely.”

“Like I said earlier. It’s been a little bit of a rough week.”

“Yes, I know. I was given a copy of your medical history. There were quite a few reports of instances where you needed medical assistance from this past week.”

Playing it cool, I shrugged. “I’m not very popular in prison.”

“No, I bet you’re not,” he agreed, not unkindly. His attention was drawn back to my head. “In the last report, I read a little bit about the incident, though the details were fairly vague. They said you had a panic attack in your cell and had to be knocked unconscious for your own well-being.”

My headache pulsed as if in response to the memory of being knocked unconscious. Instead of answering his unspoken question, I made a noncommittal noise.

He didn’t relent though. “That was one nasty panic attack to set you off like that.”

I knew what he was doing. He was trying to give me an opening to talk about it. But I’d had enough heart to heart for one day. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Do you know what triggered it?”

Hands around my neck… Rancid breath against my ear… A bottle of oil in my pocket…

“Sin?”

My heart sped faster and faster. My neck and face heated. The little bit of food I’d eaten seemed to rot in my stomach. A swell of power spread through my blood, searing my veins. It was met with resistance, and I needed an outlet. I needed some way to release it or else it was going to consume me…

“Sin,” someone said, though it sounded like it was spoken from underwater.

“What would that boy of yours think of you,” Mike continued with a sneer, his voice lower even while his buddies’ laughter intensified, “if he knew what sort of things you’ve done for me? The way you scream so prettily when I—”

“Sin!”

I don’t want anything from you anymore, Sin. I used to want everything, but you showed me just how stupid that was, didn’t you?

“Hey,” a familiar voice said close to my ear. I knew that voice. I loved that voice. The noise in my head lessened just a little. “Hey, it’s going to be okay. I’m right here. Can you breathe with me, Sin?”

“¿Me das otro chance, hijo?” my dad asked from behind a glass barrier. It wasn’t often I heard my dad speak Spanish, usually only during times of stress or high emotion. A trait, it seemed, I shared with him. He placed a palm against the partition separating us, and the cuff locked around his wrist clinked against the glass. “Will you let me prove that I’ve changed?”

I wanted to. I wanted to help him so badly. He’d made mistakes, horrible mistakes which had landed him in this prison. But… he had changed. I’d seen him change over the years. He wasn’t the same man who’d hurt so many people in the name of revenge. He was softer now. Regretful.

But there was still that little bit of doubt which made me hesitate to give him a response.

My father saw it, and his expression crumpled, filling me with guilt. “You’re right. I deserve to be here. I know I do. But, hijo, I don’t want to die down here. How can I ever make up for the past if I’m locked up? You know they’ll never release me. I’ll die alone in this place. There are so many things I’ll miss out on if you don’t help me. I just want to be part of your life, to see you grow up. Is that so wrong? Or do you hate me? I wouldn’t blame you if you did. But please, Sinclair, please don’t hate me. Vos sos lo único que me queda.”

You’re all I have left.

My heart ached at the words because he was all I had left too.

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