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chapter fourteen; betting on feelings
Amaya was sitting on James' lap, straddling his thighs as he sat on his bed, propped up against the headboard, his eyes looking up at her with such emotions Amaya would dare, in that moment, call it love. Her heart was racing as she readied herself to tell him everything.
"You don't have to tell me, love," he said softly as if he sensed her unease. "Not if you aren't ready."
"I want to. I trust you."
He nodded, a smile tugging at his lips as he patiently waited for her to start. And Amaya did just that. She started telling him the story of Goldsaint, how her father grew bored and decided thievery was the greatest hobby, and how he created his legacy. She told him about how he raised her, and when she mentioned the Unforgivables, James' hold on her thighs had tightened, his jaw clenching.
"Is that what you're so scared of? In your dreams?" he asked, his voice tense.
"That's a part of it."
His eyes looked heartbroken for her and he pulled her closer, grabbing her hand in his. "Go on."
She swallowed a lump in her throat, and did as he said, fiddling with his hand as she did. "He died a few years ago, in London. We were in his townhouse, he'd bought it as Goldsaint—he used to wear a golden mask that was impossible to take off by anyone else, and that's where he made his deals. I was in his office and he was trying to teach me to use a wand for the first time. I hated those things, still do in part, and I was being difficult. He was getting mad, James, he was sick of my failures, and he wanted me to "man up" and be more like him. He was in the middle of teaching me a lesson with the Crutiatus curse when a door burst open downstairs.
"He shoved me in the closet and I was still weak and shivering, and I could barely move—" she hadn't realized she started crying until James wiped her tears away, "—and then they burst in. These masked men, Death Eaters, and before my father could speak they'd cut off his hands... I remember his screams, James, I remember his pain until he died. And I did nothing. When they left I barely could breathe, I tried to bring him back, use the healing he showed me, but I—His hands were on the ground and the stench was—" Amaya raised a hand to her mouth as she choked on a sob.
James softly grabbed her face, kissing her forehead. "You don't have to keep going."
"No, but there's more, James. I have to tell you. Please let me tell you everything," she found herself pleading with him, she wanted to show him everything she had gone through and see if he still wanted her after that. James nodded softly, his own eyes glossy as if he would cry for her.
"Alright."
She nodded and went on. She told him what happened after, the Aurors that came to take him away when she called, how she paid them a heavy sum from whatever she found in the house for them to keep it under wraps. She told him about the look on her mother's face when she went back home, the heartbreak in her eyes, and the accusation towards Amaya because she did nothing.
