Taina
SINNERS IN SECRET
I never thought I’d be a college dropout. The future once seemed so bright from where I stood.
I was enrolled at UT Austin, staying in an apartment near campus and spending weekends out with my friends.
Funny, I can hardly remember that time in my life anymore.
Now I sit here at the dining table, wondering why my parents insist on using the fancy china for fucking takeout. Who’s gonna tell them that there’s no reporters peeking into our house? That we don’t have to be perfect all of the time.
“How was therapy?” My dad asks, and I want to roll my eyes.
I swallow the pad see ew I’d been chewing and clear my throat before answering. “About as helpful as this small talk is.”
“Taina,” my mom snaps. “Have some respect.” She’s holding on to her fork, her glare attempting to pierce me in a way she no longer holds the power to accomplish.
I don’t say anything, staring at my food as I wonder when the fuck life is going to “go on” for me.
Honestly, do I want it to ?
Maybe after I’ve killed the man responsible. But the old me? She was too soft, too naive. Entirely too trusting that people were inherently good and all of the bad things in the world were so far from me.
That no one would touch a politician’s daughter, and that if they did, hell would rain down on them.
My parents are very well-connected after all.
But none of those things proved to be true.
So now I take things into my own hands.
“Where’ve you been going lately?” Papi asks, taking his flimsy role as Congressman de la Matta seriously now that it isn’t needed. I wish he would shut the fuck up.
“The gym,” I mumble, twirling my fork to pick up more noodles. I bring the fork toward my mouth, hovering it as I say something else. “I don’t want to sit in this house anymore.”
I’d been hinting at it, but this is the first time I’ve said anything remotely close out loud. With the fork now in my mouth, I let the metal prongs scrape my teeth as I pull it out to combat the fresh wave of annoyance at his reaction.
My dad grins, as if these are the words he’s always wanted to hear from me.
At last, we can move the fuck on.
But he could never say that out loud. No, that would make him a terrible father.
Instead, he offers, “I can see if there are some internship opport?—”
He glances at my mom, as if I couldn’t see her body jerk when she kicked him under the table. With a swift and almost imperceptible shake of her head, the subject is closed.
“You’re not ready,” she murmurs, staring past me at the wall opposite her.
Almost like she can’t stand to look at me. Does that morning haunt her the way it does me?
“I don’t?—”
“You may continue with the gym. Let us know if you need clothing, money for a membership, anything. But you aren’t ready to work on anyone else’s time right now, Taina.”
Fair.
I hadn’t wanted to work anyway. But I thought maybe going back to school would’ve been beneficial. I’m only a few credits shy of my criminal justice degree.
Ironic.
We finish dinner, and while my parents engage in small talk, I wrestle with the idea of sneaking out tonight. There are a few loose ends I need to check on.
Because everyone knows you don’t just stop at Plan A.
I wish them goodnight and trudge up the steps, deciding to shower to kill time until they fall asleep. Between Papi’s snoring and Mami’s sleep medication, they sleep through anything.
It was made even more apparent the morning I was dropped off on the front steps about nine months ago and it took them over an hour to find me. I couldn’t stand, couldn’t call out for help, and none of our neighbors even noticed.
Now inside my en suite bathroom, I turn on the shower, making sure it’s as hot as I can stand. Quickly, the air becomes heavy with moisture.
Only in these quiet moments alone do I feel a semblance of safety.
The steam is kind, making it hard to see my reflection as I step in front of the mirror. Without preamble, I remove my clothes until I’m completely naked. Tiny scars litter my back and arms.
Every time I stare at myself, I can feel him .
I can feel every thrust, every abrasive touch, every bit of violence he injected me with. I don’t know softness anymore. And I never got to mourn its loss.
Because there are no funerals for those types of losses.
For a long time, I avoided my reflection. I once loved everything about myself .
My long curly hair, my full lips and dark eyes.
Even the freckles on the apples of my cheeks.
And then someone marred these beloved things, ripping my hair from its roots, causing ungodly sounds to come from my lips, forcing me to witness things my eyes will never forget. After that, I thought I’d never want to see my reflection again.
To have someone steal your desire to exist in your own body is a cruelty that deserves more than death. And that’s why the greatest mistake he ever made was letting me live.
Once under the showerhead, I allow the water to wash over me, even as it stings.
Hot showers make me feel like it’s killing every bit of my skin that he touched. Because I know, even once I kill him, I’ll still feel him.
And it makes me want to kill anyone he’s ever loved.
I wash my hair, knowing I’ll have to put it in two braids under my rolled-up ski mask to avoid being too cold in the shadows tonight.
I’m not going to see the monster who ruined me tonight. Surprisingly, he gets the night off, in spite of my desire to fuck with him.
Tonight, my focus is on someone else’s routine.
Every other Wednesday at The Otis, two sinners meet in secret. Two sinners whose morality are linked to their professions.
Unbeknownst to them, I’ve shown up for their last two standing appointments. And tonight, I planted the final piece to get the proof I need.
It’s shameful, really. Typically I wouldn’t care, but plans A through Z require me to; to secure this evidence.
Those with much to lose should be more aware of their surroundings.
It’s a lesson I learned the hard way.