Epilogue
The whipping monologue lands in a house so quiet I can hear the light board fan.
“You think mercy is what I withhold,” I say, circling Jonas where he kneels. The line is still terrible. It doesn’t matter. My weight settles into each step, and the words ride on top like a passenger. “Mercy is what I am, and you will earn every ounce.”
Somebody in the dark exhales. One person, house left. I take my time getting to him.
I grab Jonas by the hair. Firm, decided, a fistful at the back of his head, and I tip his head back so he has to look up at me. And there it is on his face, the thing I couldn’t play to for a month of rehearsals—relief. He doesn’t have to choose where to look. I’ve chosen.
His shoulders drop half an inch, his hands go slack on his thighs, and his eyes come up to mine, open and unburdened, waiting for whatever comes next because whatever comes next is not his problem.
I know that face now. I’ve made it.
I kiss him hard, on the mouth, my grip keeping his head exactly where I want it. The script calls it “a kiss like a brand,” which is embarrassing, but the kiss itself is simple. He doesn’t wonder when, he doesn’t wonder whether. He just receives, both the actor and the character.
I pull back, hold him there one beat longer than the blocking, then release, and his head stays tipped back, following the memory of my hand.
The silence in the house has weight to it. It isn’t for the text. The text is doing its best.
Then a blackout, the audience roars, starting before the lights come back, curtain call.
The cast pours downstage. Jonas takes my hand and squeezes once, out of character, grinning.
The house is on its feet, a wall of noise and shapes.
I catch Anjali’s silhouette in the wings with her headset shoved down around her neck, Edith somewhere in the aisle already moving.
I bow. Come up.
My eyes go to the third row. Center, slightly left. Gabriel is there.
He’s applauding like everyone else.
Thanks for reading!