Page 77 of Sinful
"Language," Mom chides gently, but she's smiling too.
"I love you, Helle," Dad says, eyes already closing. "Don't forget that. Don't ever forget."
"I love you too, Dad."
He's asleep again before I finish the sentence.
But something in my chest—something that's been locked tight for three years—finally loosens.
He forgave me.
For the leak, at least.
If he knew about Andrés—knew what I really did—would he forgive that too?
I don't know.
And I'm too much of a coward to find out.
Around four AM, Elfe physically removes me from the room.
"Go," she orders. "Shower. Eat something. Sleep if you can. Mom and I have him."
"But—"
"No buts. You're useless if you collapse. And you smell like death."
She's right. I reek of blood and sweat and gunpowder.
"Fine. But call me if anything changes."
"We will. Now go."
I go back to our family’s old room… but I can't stay in here.
It's too much. Too many ghosts.
So, I grab clean clothes and head to the communal showers.
The hot water is a fucking miracle.
I stand under the spray for thirty minutes, maybe more, watching pink-tinged water circle the drain.
Blood washing away—Javier's, probably.
Maybe others'.
I stopped keeping track after the third body.
Nine people.
I've killed nine people now.
Andrés plus eight Los Coyotes members.
What does that make me?
Monster? Survivor? Warrior, like Dad said?
