Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 78006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78006 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
"She's playing again," he says softly.
A new ache lances through my chest at his confirmation. Mercedes hasn't played since our father died. And it gives me a strange sense of hope for her. Perhaps, she will be alright after all.
"Would you like to see her?" Judge asks.
I consider it carefully, weighing my options. Truthfully, part of the reason I came here was to see her. I needed to ask her about the aspirin. But now, I am questioning it.
"She would like to see you," he adds. "I am certain."
When I don't respond, he rises to his feet and sets his glass aside, gesturing for me to follow. "Come. I'll take you to her."
* * *
Mercedes sits at the piano, her body swaying as her fingers whip over the keys with a proficiency that betrays a lifetime of study. The tune is beautiful and violent. Melancholy and deep.
I had forgotten what it was like to witness her this way. In our father's absence, I have often noticed my sister molding herself to be more like me. For reasons I have never understood, she idolizes me, and she has made herself colder because of it. She would have everyone believe there is no passion in her heart, but when she plays, it is undeniable. She feels deeply. But she has become too good at hiding it.
When I glance at Judge, he's watching her with an expression I'm convinced I've never quite seen before. Equal parts awe and frustration, maybe. But something else. Something much more intense.
I glare at him, and it seems to break the spell, at least momentarily.
He clears his throat. "She's very good. But she can do better. I make her practice several hours a day."
The sound of our voices behind her alerts Mercedes to our presence, and she glances over her shoulder briefly, her fingers halting over the keys.
"Don't stop," I tell her gruffly. "Finish the song."
Relief shines in her eyes, and she offers a tiny nod, swiveling back around to resume. For the next two minutes, Judge and I watch her in silence. The performance is moving, even for me, and I find that it brings up unexpected feelings. There is a tightness in my throat and chest. A gloomy shadow settling above me as if to say this is what sadness feels like.
The song makes me think of my wife. My child inside her. And for a moment, I consider perhaps there is some truth to what Judge said before. Maybe I am broken. Because I can't deny that there are feelings in me I don't recognize. Feelings I still haven't figured out how to identify. But they are there, lurking in the depths. And the notion of extricating them now feels almost as unbearable as ending her life.
Still, there is a part of me that knows I must extinguish them. These seedlings will continue to grow if they are fed in her presence. It has to be now or never. I have to figure out how to hate my wife forever or live with the uncertainty that the decision might not be my own.
The song comes to an end, and Mercedes turns, eyes shining with sadness. She's searching my face for the hatred she is certain she'll find.
"Santi?" she whispers. "You came to see me?"
"Yes." My tone is cold, and a small part of me wishes it wasn't when her face falls. "I came to ask you about the aspirin you left in my wife's room."
She clasps her hands together in her lap, answering softly. "Aspirin?"
"Yes," I grit out. "The aspirin you gave her. The aspirin she used to try to kill herself and my child."
"Child?" she repeats, her voice fracturing. "You... you got her pregnant?"
For a moment, her anger returns. Her eyes harden, and she shakes her head as she rises to her feet, sneering in disgust. "How could you? She's the enemy, Santiago. What part of that don't you remember?"
Judge walks to her, his shadow falling over her face as he clasps her jaw in his hand, leaning in to whisper a threat that seems to hold more power over her than I'd expect.
"Behave."
She glances up at him, her face softening a fraction before she dips her head and nods begrudgingly. Admittedly, I am surprised by this. I knew Judge to be more than capable of guiding her, but I did not expect her to be so pliable just yet. It leaves me to wonder if there is more between them than he is letting on. If I should have even left her here at all. But Judge wouldn't betray my trust by exploiting Mercedes’s vulnerability. He wouldn't risk his position within The Society by ruining her for another man who actually would intend to marry her. And I feel more confident in that knowledge when he turns back to me, his expression as cool as always.