Chapter 42 Avalynne
AVALYNNE
Fully dressed, I stand in the communal bathroom on the second floor of the convent in front of the porcelain sink, looking straight ahead at the de-silvered mirror.
Oxidized spots speckle the surface, obscuring the edges of my reflection in murky shadows, but when I look at it, I find I'm the same as I was this morning.
I don't know what I expected.
To feel different, maybe?
To look different?
Isa says losing your virginity isn't a big deal, that it's all just a preconceived notion to give men the final say over a woman's value. She's right, but that doesn't change the fact that what happened between Xade and me feels like a big deal.
I blink at my reflection and tug at my veil, flattening out a wrinkle in the white fabric. There's no "Not a virgin!" sign flashing above my forehead or a scarlet letter on my shoulder evidencing my so-called sin.
I feel the same.
If anything, I feel better than ever, and it brings a small smile to my lips knowing that Grandpapa would have a coronary event if he ever found out how bad I had been.
For as long as I can remember, I was taught to save myself for marriage and take pride in my virtue. For our twelfth birthday, Grandpapa bought Isa and me gold purity rings. My sister threw hers in the trash, while I wore mine every day, only taking it off at night.
Every so often during Sunday school, the priest at Grandpapa's church would quote 1 Thessalonians 4:3-5.
For this is the will of God, your sanctification: that you abstain from sexual immorality; that each one of you know how to control his own body in holiness and honor, not in the passion of lust like the Gentiles who do not know God.
Even now, after everything, I know the passage by heart. I wish I didn't, though.
I don't feel like I've done anything wrong or that I've committed some unforgivable sin. If anything, for the first time in months, maybe years, I feel loved, just for being myself.
It's in how my professor looks at me from his desk, his dark-eyed gaze drawn to me like I'm the center of his cosmos.
It's in how he helped me dress after we were done, his fingers deft and careful as he put me back together.
And how he kissed me before I left the classroom, his hands circling low on my back and drawing me close, like he couldn't stand the thought of letting me leave without one last taste.
Being with Xade is like the Earth orbiting the sun. Our path is inevitable, written in the stars.
I smile to myself in the mirror before I splash water on my hands and dry them with a paper towel. I leave the restroom and start down the hall. I could have cleaned up, but the truth is, I like knowing that I'm sullied by him, his release caking my thighs.
The sisters have disappeared, probably in the rectory or the chapel doing nunnery tasks, I guess. I'm headed to Xade's office, grateful to have avoided Reverend Mother for nearly a week. I wish I could avoid her for the rest of my life.
I see it now, though. I should have seen it before, but I didn't. I was blinded. I was built in my grandfather's image after all.
Reverend Mother is just another tool at Grandpapa's disposal.
Xade proved that to me, though it's not a surprise.
I should have known my grandfather would remain true to his word.
He's a lot of things, but the man has never been a liar.
He said it from the beginning. I could either tell him the truth and leave Isabella to bear the consequences alone or serve the remainder of my punishment at Saint Margaret's.
My sister wouldn't abandon me, and I won't abandon her, so I guess here I will stay.
I just have to keep off the evil witch's radar.
As though my thoughts drift to Reverend Mother, I turn the corner at the end of the hallway and nearly collide with the devilish woman herself.
Something rustles beneath her habit, and I catch sight of her leather cat-o'-nine-tails attached to the rope belted around her waist. The backs of my hands itch just by looking at them.
"Ms. Immorier," she says, huffing through her wide nostrils. "What are you doing out of class?"
I bow my head like she expects and focus on my feet, staring down at my habit skirt.
"Professor Thatcher let class out early today," I answer.
I feel her frown rather than see it.
"Very well," she remarks. "That's probably for the best. It's not good for your soul, spending so much time with that unholy man."
It takes everything in me to not roll my eyes. If she only knew just how unholy we were.
"Well, go to the chapel then." She tsks at me. "You missed the Sacrament of Reconciliation this morning. Go see Father Damienne. He will take your confession."
"Yes, Reverend Mother," I murmur, though my heart drops at her words.
Father Ezra is the last person I want to see at the moment.
He didn't believe me. He promised to help, but then he let Reverend Mother hurt me.
He betrayed me when I needed him most, and all I can think about right now is how a man who swore an oath to help others broke his word at my expense.
He might as well have wielded the whip himself.
If I'm being honest, though, he broke more than his word as a priest. He betrayed his word as a friend and a confidant, one I had dared to hope actually cared for me.
Reverend Mother continues past me without another word. I debate ignoring her instructions and going to Xade's office instead, but I have no desire to see what other punishments my grandfather has seen fit to save my immortal soul.
I navigate the maze of halls, exit the convent, and cross the courtyard. Two sisters clean the fountain, scrubbing mildew and dead leaves from the stone basin, but they ignore me. I'm just another ghost haunting this place, and that's fine with me.
I enter the church, the tall wooden door swinging shut behind me, and start between the rows of wooden pews, passing the holy water font without stopping.
"Avalynne," a voice calls, smooth and calm. I look across the patchwork of colors stretching from the stained-glass windows across the chapel to find Father Ezra at the altar, a polite smile on his face. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Pleasure.
The word grates my nerves and sends a bolt of anger barreling through my middle. It's almost like he's forgotten he failed to protect me from Reverend Mother. Sure, he's tried to apologize, not that I've accepted.
Once in Xade's office.
Once in the library as I tried to find a book.
Twice after Sunday services.
Actions speak louder than words, and I am tired of meaningless promises.
Despite whatever he's thinking now, just because I've here doesn't mean I've forgiven him.
"Reverend Mother sent me," I say, forcing the words out. "She said I missed confessional."
Father nods. "Yes, you missed the Sacrament this morning. Come this way. I'll be happy to take your confession."
He steps down from the altar, leaving unfolded linen at the pulpit as the son of God peers down from high on the wall, judging me.
I meet Father Ezra halfway down the aisle and follow him past the long wooden pew to the confessional booth at the back of the chapel.
He holds the door open for me, and I enter wordlessly.
On the other side of the lattice divider, Father Ezra takes his seat and makes the sign of the cross before he brings the heavy silver crucifix hanging around his neck to his lips and kisses it.
"In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit," he says.
I peer through the wooden lattice divider at his profile.
"And what is it you wish to confess, Avalynne?" he asks.
"Nothing," I reply. "I haven't done anything wrong."
"Surely, you have something," he remarks. "We are only human, after all."
"I haven't done anything wrong," I repeat.
He sighs and wipes his hands across his black trousers. "Talk to me, please, little dove. I just want to help."
His words make me laugh, and when I do, it sounds bitter, but I don't care.
"Help?" I ask him. "Where were you when I needed help?"
"Avalynne …" he frowns, and I don't have to look over at him to know he's chewing on his lip.
"Tell me, Father Ezra." I stare at the back of the wooden confessional door, tracing the intricate carved patterns with my gaze. "Will whatever I tell you leave this booth? Or will you go and run your mouth to Reverend Mother?"
He grimaces but doesn't take the bait.
"Please call me Ezra. And the Sacrament of Reconciliation, what we call confession, is absolute," he assures me. "It is Canon Law to not disclose anything you say. I could be immediately excommunicated should I breach the seal of confession. Please, Avalynne, tell me what is bothering you."
I say nothing.
"Please. Just speak with me."
Still, I say nothing.
"Please, Avalynne." His words are choked.
I let him sweat it out for another long moment before I reply. "Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been many months since my last confession."
He blows out a sigh, sounding relieved. He shouldn't be.
"May God help you to know your sins so that you may trust in His mercy," he remarks. "What are your sins?"
"I have none. But you do, don't you, Father?"
"Excuse me?"
Our gazes lock through the lattice partition. He's a patchwork of muted colors behind the wood grille.
"You left me to suffer while Reverend Mother whipped me."
He flinches, just barely, but I see it. If he wants my forgiveness so badly, then he can earn it.
"I am sorry, Avalynne. As I've said before, I wish I had been here, " he interrupts quietly. "My work …"
"Your work," I scoff. "While you were busy with your work, Reverend Mother tortured me and locked me in solitary confinement."
The words shoot out of me, each one a bullet aimed at him. When he swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing against his white priest's collar, I know that they've met their mark.
"I'm sorry," he tells me. "Georgina is trying …"
"I don't care what she's trying to do!" I hiss.
"I thought you were my friend! You told me you would protect me, but you weren't here.
You didn't believe me when I said I saw the Devil of Saint Margaret's.
And you lied to me, Ezra. I know he's real.
I saw him in the courtyard again, this time speaking with Reverend Mother. "
"Avalynne …" he sighs.
"Don't interrupt me!" I snap, my words frigid, in stark contrast to the rage broiling beneath my ribs.
"I don't care what Reverend Mother is hiding.
I'll do my time here just like my grandfather requires, but not for you, not for her, and certainly not for God.
I'll do it to protect my sister, but I am done trying to be whatever you and your Bible think I should be.
Damn you, damn her, and God damn this convent. "
My defiance poisons the air between us.
"Don't bring God into this," Father says, his voice strained. Through the light sieved by the lattice panels of the confessional doors, I watch a bead of sweat slip down his brow. "God wouldn't want this for you, Avalynne."
I scoff, and more words pour out of me before I have a chance to stop them.
I want to watch him squirm.
"Would God want me to fuck my professor, Father?" I taunt, turning on the seat to stare at him. "Would He want me to spread my legs for him and beg for his big, fat cock? I don't care what He wants, not anymore. I care what I want."
I'm taking it too far, but I can't stop.
I want him to beg after what he promised and what he let her do.
Father Ezra's honey-colored eyes snap to mine. The partition feels like a mere shadow between us.
"What are you saying, Avalynne?" he snarls as lines crease his brow. "Have you slept with Xade?"
He's angry.
Good.
"What. Are. You. Saying." His breath comes in fast bursts through his full, parted lips.
The booth reeks of his rage and burning myrrh.
I hope he feels the tether between us ignite, and I hope it burns him when it does.
"I'm saying I want to feel something besides the hate I feel for this place! I'm saying that I love it when Xade pins me to his desk and slides his hands up my skirt. I'm saying I love it when he pushes my panties aside and pushes his fingers into my soaking wet pussy …"
"These thoughts are unholy!" Ezra roars, his hands slapping his thighs. "Impure! The devil is trying to tempt you, Avalynne!"
"But if they're so bad," I challenge, "then why are they the only good thing I feel?"
He stares at me with a smoldering intensity that sends fireworks popping along my spine. Neither one of us blinks until, finally, he rises to his feet.
"Say 30 Hail Marys," he orders. "Every night for a month."
Then he's gone, leaving me alone with my thoughts.