I was supposed to be free of this room—with its blinds that never close all the way, the drawings I did with a stolen pen on the wall above my ugly Spartan bed. With the particleboard desk, shitty chair, and cross hanging by the door. I knew it would hurt to come back, but I want to slam my fist into the mirror until pieces of glass jut out of my knuckles. I want to tear myself apart so I don’t have to see myself like this.
Breathe.
Dad told me that I am a man, and nobody can take that from me. I am a man no matter what Mom makes me wear. Besides, guys in the ALC wore skirts and dresses sometimes, and they were still men. It doesn’t make me a girl. It doesn’t make me a girl. Besides, nobody wears masks inside the walls of New Nazareth, so everyone will see my razor-sharp, jumbled mess of teeth and rotting flesh. I could pull out one of my fingernails and not feel a thing. When people look at me, the first thing they’ll think is monster, is Seraph, not girl.
But I’m wearing the white dress from my engagement ceremony, from my unveiling as Seraph’s host. It hugs my waist and lays embroidery across my chest as if demanding that you look. My hair is too long, reaching the nape of my neck, and my name is Esther again. Within the walls of New Nazareth I am a girl, and God—God—I don’t know if I can do this.
I deserve this. I have to repent for the mistakes I’ve made. I want to destroy everything I see, but it’s just easier if I don’t fight back. I need to save my strength for the absolution, and I deserve it, don’t I? If it’s happening, I must deserve it, right?
Repent ye therefore, that your sins may be blotted out…
“Just,” I say. “Don’t say anything to Mom.”
“It isn’t right,” Theo whispers. “I love you.”
No, he doesn’t. He burned the ALC. He killed my people. He did this to me. I want to bludgeon his head against the cinderblock walls until his skull comes apart in my hands, seeping brain and shards of bone between my fingers.
I have to pretend I want to be home.
I say, “I love you too.”
Since Mom is one of the most important people in New Nazareth, our family’s apartment-style dormitory is a decent one. We’re in one of the biggest residence halls, closest to the heart of campus, overlooking the courtyard nestled in the middle of our U-shaped building. I even get my own room. That’s a blessing, because if this had been Mom and Dad’s room too, I wouldn’t be able to handle it. I’d keep seeing him over my shoulder. I’d keep screaming for him.
This is repentance.
Theo presses his face into the crook of my neck and stands there with me until Mom calls from the living room. It’s time to go.
“She may not be the most accepting,” Theo reminds me, “but she does care about you.”
I nod like I believe him.
“We all love you,” Theo says, and he holds out a hand for me to take. I accept, and my other hand touches the pocket of my dress, where I’ve hidden Nick’s note.
* * *
Sister Nelson plays the piano since Sister Shoemaker, the usual church pianist, sprained a tendon in her wrist while I was gone. Every note rises to the towering ceiling of Kincaid Chapel, twinkling like invisible stars. I wasn’t expecting to have a panicked reaction to an instrumental version of “When We All Get to Heaven,” but here we are. Theo squeezes my hand as I fight to breathe, and Mom smiles as if she can make up for the gory mess of my body.
For the whisper of the boy she’s tried to erase from me.
Kincaid Chapel is the centerpiece of New Nazareth, and it has been kept perfect even through the end of the world. The reception area is full of banners and murals, the sun beams through the glass walls, and there are so many people waiting for us that it feels like coming to the gates all over again. An apprentice reverend has left out a basin of water for us to wash our hands as we enter.