Page 7 of Perfect Sin

Sin

The closetin my room is stocked full of clothes. More clothes than I’ve owned my entire life. The conspicuous consumption is unsettling. I know what it’s like to go without, but that doesn’t seem to be a lesson my parents are familiar with. Yet, with all the articles of clothing in this giant walk-in closet, none of them appeal to me.

Suits, slacks, and button down shirts hang from the racks, all color-coordinated. Drawers are full of accessories. Still, I can’t find the simple items I’m searching for. All I want is a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. I move on to the dresser, and still nothing.

A timid knock sounds on my door. I groan and exit the closet to traverse the bedroom as big as the apartment I recently shared with Lucien and Raven. Even thinking her name sends a spear of pain straight through my chest. When I open the door, Carina is waiting.

“I was wondering if you needed help choosing an outfit.” Her voice is as meek as the tapping she made on the door. It makes me want to shake her and see if her spine falls out. She doesn’t seem to be using it.

There are so many comments I’d love to make about the waste in this room alone, but it won’t serve my purpose. “I’m guessing there’s an accepted dress code for dinner?”

She smiles. “You don’t have to wear a suit, but slacks and a jacket would be appropriate.”

Staring at her, I blink. “There’s a difference?”

For some inane reason this makes her laugh. “It’s less formal, and they aren’t a matched set like a suit.”

“Of course,” I comment. I have no idea why I say that though, because it seems like splitting hairs to me, but whatever. “How did all of these clothes manage to get here if you only found me yesterday?”

Carina twists her hands. It’s a nervous gesture. Steeling myself to find out they knew where I was the entire time, I stare her down.

“You’re probably going to find this pathetic. Some of the clothes may not fit well. I’ve guessed your size based on your father. I’ve kept this closet stocked since you were four years old. Every time I imagined you’d have grown, I’ve donated all the clothes and replaced them. Your father gets irritated with me, but a mother doesn’t stop needing to care for her child just because she isn’t with him.”

My mouth falls open. She managed to do one thing not many others have done, surprise me. Without thinking about it, I give her the hug she was so desperate for yesterday.

She sobs quietly, and I hold her tight for longer than I intended, but it’s not actually that bad. “Thank you,” her voice is a husky rasp from crying.

“I’d appreciate help finding something to wear. Would it be too much trouble to get my clothes from the apartment back in California?”

Her nose wrinkles. She might be a caring mother, but she’s still a bit of a snob. “You don’t need anything from there. Your father really wants you to make an effort to forget all about that past and embrace your future. Wouldn’t that be lovely? We’ll get your transcripts and get you enrolled in college. It’s a fresh start, Jackson.”

I exhale. We were doing so well. “I need you to really hear me. My past is not something I’ll ever forget. And even if I could just to exorcise the nightmares, I wouldn’t because it brought me Raven. I might fit into the clothes you’ve stocked for the Jackson you wanted back, but I’ll never fit into his life.”

“Would you stop speaking of yourself in the third person?” she snaps. Ah, there might be a bit of a backbone in her after all.

“No one calls me Jackson.” Well, Ford and his crew did when they thought that was my name. How would she feel if she knew it was the alias I used? That’s what that name represents to me, a fake person I might pretend to be, but never will be. “My name is Sin. You really want to get to know me, use it.”

She scoffs. “I will not call my child Sin.”

I shrug. “Then our relationship will only ever be superficial.”

I turn my attention back to the clothes. If I say any more about my name or the future she thinks I’m going to have, I’ll risk alienating her, and I need her to want to show me off at the country club or wherever rich people hang out. “These clothes are fine for dinner parties, but I’d like jeans and t-shirts for the rest of the time. Some hoodies would be nice too, and a pair of boots.”

“Oh, I’m sure you have boots,” she murmurs and moves deep into the closet toward a wall of shoes. An entire fucking wall. She selects a pair of leather boots that looks like something Raven would wear, not me. “See, I knew there was a pair in here.”

“I don’t think that’s my style. No offense, but they’re too fussy for me.” As is everything in this closet, but I keep that commentary to myself.

“If you give me a list of what you want and sizes, I’ll send my shopper out for them. I don’t suppose it could hurt anything to give you some familiar items.

“For now,” she continues speaking mostly to herself. She grabs some slate gray slacks, a white button down shirt, and a darker gray jacket. “These should do.”

When she steps out of the room I begin to get dressed. I’ve pulled on the slacks, which do fit, and have just pulled off my shirt when she walks back in. Her hand slaps over her eyes. “I’m so sorry, but I forgot to tell you that shirt needs cufflinks.”

“I’m wearing pants if you want to go find them. It’ll take me hours if I try.” I start to put on the shirt, when she gasps.

What could possibly be her problem now? I follow her gaze to my chest, up near my shoulder, and figure out what is bothering her. Lucky for her only the bullet wound is visible. The scar caused by the knife wound on my side is long and jagged.

“You were shot? Who shot you?” Her hand trembles as she reaches out to touch it, but this time she remembers she shouldn’t.

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