Page 2 of Penance

“Your shirt buttons are in the wrong holes,” she whispers innocently, dropping her gaze to the tight grip I have on her wrist.

I release her quickly, turning my back on her. Taking over undoing and redoing my shirt buttons, avoiding eye contact with her while I pretend to concentrate. I see her behind me in the mirror reflection, her eyes boring holes in the old carpet. Her shoulders slumped, thick curtains of hair hiding her angelic face from view and my chest aches.

I’m a fucking arsehole.

“Rosie, I’m sor-”

“No, it’s okay, I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it, I was just trying to help.”

“Lala,” I implore, turning back to face her.

Her watery eyes look back up at me as I cup her cheek, taking her wrist in my other hand, massaging the reddened skin. She looks at me like I’m her whole fucking world and something inside me just breaks. A single tear rolls down my unshaven cheek as I drop my forehead to hers, my breath shuddering as I wrestle to contain the sobs that so desperately want to rip free.

“You can cry if you want to, Maxi. You’ll still be the bravest man I know, I won’t tell anyone,” she whispers and that shit hits me straight in the fucking soul.

God, I love this girl.

“Let’s go, Princess,” I whisper.

Dropping a chaste kiss to her forehead, pulling back and getting myself together. I tuck my shirt into faded black jeans, buckle my belt, and turn down my shirt collar. I grab my leather jacket. Kick my unlaced boots on and grab a large black umbrella on my way down the stairs. Kyla-Rose waits for me at the bottom, peering out the open door at the dreary day. I poke the umbrella out first, popping it up and holding it for her to step under. I drop my jacket over her narrow shoulders, watching as she burrows into it. I slam the front door shut behind us.

* * *

The cold church is almost empty. The Vicar stands in his pulpit, a small choir off to the side and a few people I don’t recognise sit in the pews. Grey stone floors, high vaulted ceilings and heavy rain battering the stained-glass windows, all add to the sombre mood.

I prop the wet umbrella beside the door, Kyla-Rose clutching my warm hand in her cool one. She looks up at me, offering me a kind smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. She’s devastated just as much as I am. We both loved my grandma, almost as much as we love each other, as selfish as that sounds, it’s the truth.

Sometimes another person enraptures you so much, nobody else really matters.

Lala’s skinny fingers squeeze my thick ones. Tugging me forward, we traipse down the aisle, taking a seat at the very front of the church. The Vicar approaches, offering us his condolences. Saying a short prayer over my head and telling me he’ll pray for me. It’s a nice gesture, church just isn’t for me, I’m not religious. I only turn up when someone needs burying.

Tragic really, I suppose. I wonder if I’d be happier if I did believe in something, had a group of people who prayed for me and shit. I guess that’s out of the question now, knowing that the devil’s claws are already hooked in me deep, there’s no way out of hell when you only purchased a one-way ticket.

The Vicar’s voice carries through the vast building but I’m not really paying attention. All I can think about is not having my grandma waiting to greet me when I get home every day. Lala nudges me with her shoulder, my head snapping in her direction, she gestures with her head towards the Vicar.

His dark eyes hold nothing but pity.

“Would you like to say a few words, son?” he asks me gently and I look back at Lala in a panic.

Fuck, I’m no good at this, I didn’t know I’d have to speak…

“I can, if that’s okay, Maxi?”

“You don’t have to,” I shake my head, running my sweat slicked hands down my thighs.

“I’d like to,” she murmurs just loud enough for me to hear.

I give her a relieved nod, knowing I’d fuck it all up.

Lala steps up, the Vicar taking her hand and giving it a gentle squeeze, she takes her place behind the wooden podium. She flutters her lashes, knotting her fingers together. It’s her nervous tell. She licks her cracked lips, looking up, her eyes finding mine, she takes a deep breath.

You can do this, baby.

“Ruth Sharpe was the most beautiful, caring soul I ever had the pleasure of connecting with,” she smiles softly, her big eyes crinkling ever so slightly at the corners. “She was always waiting for us when we got home from school…”

I don’t focus on the rest of her words; I just watch Lala’s face. Her big grey-green eyes focus on mine throughout everything she says. She smiles, laughs, occasionally glancing down shyly, her eyes always reconnecting with mine when she looks back up. Her eyes betraying her every emotion, she’s baring her soul, showing me just how much my grandma meant to her, to us. I feel a small smile tilt my lips as she slides back into her space beside me, her thigh pressing up against mine. I drop my palm to her knee and squeeze.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

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