CHAPTER 2
ABSOLUTION
"Wash me thoroughly from mine iniquity, and cleanse me from my sin. For I acknowledge my transgressions: and my sin is ever before me." — Psalm 51:2-3
No, you were definitely an unlucky bastard. It was the only possible explanation.
The ceiling of your room had never seemed quite as interesting as it did that morning, the day after the bad news had arrived from the village. You hadn't wanted to get out of bed for nearly an hour; you’d simply taken a sip of water and checked your phone, as if some stupid message were actually going to come through anyway.
You didn't even need to look out the window, for you already knew it was still raining. It had been raining all damn night, in fact. The only variations in the weather had been: drizzle, rain, and storms. Simply delightful. It wouldn't be at all surprising if, should you ever leave this place, you walked away with chronic depression.
Two taps on your door pulled you out of your pit of misery.
"Mr. Nicolo," came the voice of Sister Raffaella. "Please come down for breakfast."
You took a deep breath. Right, you had almost forgotten you were in a convent.
"I'm coming, Sister."
Reluctantly, you sat up on the bed, stretched, and rose to your feet. You left your room, went to brush your teeth first, and finally headed to the refectory, where you took a seat. Sister Gabriella, who was standing beside Raffaella in the kitchen, approached you and placed an empty cup in front of you. Into it, she poured coffee from a pot.
"Good morning," she said.
"Good morning, Sister," you replied, taking a sip of your coffee once she had set the pot aside.
"Since you will be staying here for a few more days, I feel it would be appropriate to clarify the rules you are expected to observe."
You sighed and nodded, staring blankly into space.
"Just spit it out, Sister."
"You are permitted to move about the guest quarters, this refectory we are in, the kitchen, and the courtyard," she began. "The cloistered area and the sisters' private dormitories are strictly off-limits to you."
As she tidied up the kitchen, you noticed Raffaella nodding silently, casting furtive side-glances in your direction.
"And what about the bell tower?" you asked. "It's in the courtyard."
"I fail to see why you would have any need to climb the bell tower, least of all in this rain."
"But I am allowed to, aren't I?"
"As long as you don't jump off the top, I suppose it will be fine."
You let out a dry, nasal chuckle. It was the first time she had said something genuinely funny.
"No, Sister, however desperate I might be right now, I’m not going to commit such an act."
"Good to know."
Sister Gabriella left, only to return minutes later with your breakfast. You waited politely for the two of them to sit down and eat before you began your own meal, earning yourself a sweet smile from Raffaella.
After breakfast, you offered to help with the household chores. Raffaella seemed willing to let you, but Sister Gabriella flatly refused and sent you back to your room. Once again, like a scolded dog. Or like a prisoner. Both scenarios felt disturbingly similar to your current situation.
Not that you lasted very long there, anyway.
Around two in the afternoon, you bundled up and headed out to the courtyard to get some fresh air, or just to do something; anything was better than being cooped up inside, staring at the ceiling.
As it turned out, Sister Gabriella was out there. She was standing beneath the arches on the north side of the courtyard—near a small shed beside the bell tower—trying to haul a spare butane gas canister inside so it wouldn't be exposed to the dampness of the rain. She looked weary, yet also reluctant to ask anyone for help.
What a stubborn woman.
You walked with a steady stride and grabbed the gas canister with one hand to help her, lifting the heavy weight.
"Let me help you, Sister," you said.
Sister Gabriella grew visibly tense at the interruption.
"What do you think you're doing?"
"Helping," you replied, the heavy canister still in your hand. "I don't imagine you want to develop scoliosis at such a young age, do you?"
She opened her mouth to say something but ultimately just shook her head.
"You are a relentless man."
"Thanks. So, will you let me help you or not?"
Reluctantly, Sister Gabriella stepped ahead of you and opened the metal door to the small storage room. You walked in quickly with the canister and set it down inside; it left a small smudge of soot on your hand, which you wiped off on your sweatpants.
As you turned to leave, however, you found yourself face-to-face with the tall young woman, who had stepped closer with the intention of adjusting the position of the gas canister.
You both froze beneath the doorframe, your breath misting in the frigid air. The last time you had been this close to her was a couple of nights ago, when you felt your time had come, and she was there to bring down your fever.
My guardian angel. That was what you had thought back then.
Stiff as a board, Sister Gabriella couldn't help but hold your gaze for a moment before taking a step back, quickly re-establishing a proper distance. Purely out of instinct, she readjusted her habit and cleared her throat, still blinking nervously, her gaze cast downward.
"Thank you, Mr. Nicolo," she said curtly, before turning on her heels and disappearing down the hallway, leaving you standing there feeling somewhat awkward, with the drizzle just a few feet away.
—------
Dinner that night was just as awkward. Or at least, it was for you.
You sat with the sisters, both keeping their usual distance from you. The meal was essentially the same as on previous nights: pasta with something. On this occasion, it was pasta Bolognese (delicious, as had become the norm).
You expected that, once you finished eating, everyone would simply get up and leave, as you always did, to retire to their respective quarters; but Sister Gabriella clasped her hands beneath her chin and looked at you with those cold, calculating eyes. You stopped immediately, plate still in hand.
"May I ask you something, Mr. Nicolo?" she asked.
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