Craving Resurrection
Page 21
“As much as I want ye, yer not a quick fuck,” he said adamantly, lowering his face close to mine. “I’ve known ye weren’t since de moment I met ye, yet I keep playin’ wit’ fire just to be close to ye. I knew better dan to kiss ye tonight, I knew dat t’ings would get outta hand.”
“That’s stupid.”
“It’s de truth. I’d like nuttin’ better den to sink into ye, darlin’. But dat’s not right.”
“You yelled at me.” My voice was shaky and I sniffled again.
“I’m sorry.” He tilted his head until our foreheads were touching, closing his eyes. “It’s not ye I’m angry wit.’ Forgive me.” His lips met mine softly in repentance, and I sighed against his mouth, my body beginning to relax.
He was like a hypnotist, controlling my emotions with a small movement or word. I knew it, yet I couldn’t seem to stop it. It was as if my body followed his, my emotions mirrored his own.
As soon as his mouth lifted from mine, he crawled from the bed. When he stood, I couldn’t help but stare at his hips where he was still hard and pushing against the zipper of his jeans.
“I’m leavin’ after church wit’ Mum in de mornin’, so I won’t see ye again before I go.” He said, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s probably for de best.”
“So, this, us, it’s over then?” I asked, rolling to my side to watch him as he moved to the door.
“I didn’t say dat.”
I finally looked away from his body and met his eyes in confusion. “You just said—”
He shook his head once as my words drifted off. Turning to open the door, he looked at me one more time over his shoulder. “I’ll just have to marry ye.”
Chapter 11
Amy
I knew from previous Sundays searching for Peg in the pews of our church that she attended a different one, but that didn’t stop me from looking for any sign of her or Patrick the next day. He’d left me reeling the night before, questioning everything between us in an endless loop that hadn’t allowed me to sleep. He’d have to marry me? I was seventeen, for goodness sake. I didn’t even have my driver’s license in Ireland or America. I hadn’t even graduated from high school!
I also couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea of there being two categories for women—fuck or marry. It wasn’t the nineteen-fifties anymore. The sexual revolution had changed things, and frankly, the idea of saving virginity for marriage seemed archaic. Who wanted to wait to sleep with someone until after they were married? What if they were horrible in bed? Then you were stuck with them for life, especially if you were Catholic. There’d be no escaping.
I zoned out for most of the service, my mind wandering and causing my heart to race in both anger and confusion. My inattention didn’t really matter, though; we always stood at the same time, replied at the same time, knelt at the same time, received communion at the same time. Catholic services were comforting that way, always the same, never surprising or different.
The days after that passed slowly, especially after I realized that Patrick must already be gone from Peg’s and on his way back to college. It was like the spark that had been burning in my chest while I knew he was close was suddenly gone, and the days spread out before me under a dreary Irish cloud. The only sunshine during those days was Peg.
We dropped back into our normal routine pretty quickly after Patrick was gone. I met Peg at the same time every day after school and ran to her house under the cover of darkness on the nights my parents entertained. The only thing different about those times at Peg’s were the days that she received a letter from Patrick. They always had a word or two for me in them, nothing profound or embarrassing, just a little something that assured me I was in his thoughts still. She let me read them sometimes, and other times she read them aloud, never letting me even glance at the page. I knew those letters contained things she’d rather I didn’t know about, and I hated when he wrote them. I wanted to see his words, the small cursive handwriting that sometimes had crossed out letters and words as if he was thinking too fast for his fingers to keep up with and he didn’t even have time to erase or start again. I needed to see the one or two lines he’d written especially for me.
The day of my birthday, I felt especially low. My parents had told me the night before that we had plans for dinner, and I dreaded the hour-long affair that I knew would include trying to politely converse with them as if they knew and cared about anything happening in my life. They’d had company the night before, and I’d held out as long as I could before the noises in their room had become so loud that I’d once again climbed out my window. Subsequently, my reluctance to run to Peg had caused both of us to stay awake late into the night, me because I’d been too afraid to go to sleep and Peg because she’d been too afraid for me to sleep. I’d promised her as I left the house that morning that I wouldn’t do it again, and the bags under her eyes made me feel like a complete asshole as she’d left for work.
Peg wasn’t waiting for me as I walked home that day, and my gut clenched in worry as I reached her bare front stoop. Was she okay? Even if it was raining, she was usually at least standing in the doorway as I’d made my way to her house. The sight of her had never been absent in the two months since Patrick had left again for school.
“Peg?” I called, knocking on her door before turning the knob slowly to find it unlocked. “Peg? Are you home?”
“That’s stupid.”
“It’s de truth. I’d like nuttin’ better den to sink into ye, darlin’. But dat’s not right.”
“You yelled at me.” My voice was shaky and I sniffled again.
“I’m sorry.” He tilted his head until our foreheads were touching, closing his eyes. “It’s not ye I’m angry wit.’ Forgive me.” His lips met mine softly in repentance, and I sighed against his mouth, my body beginning to relax.
He was like a hypnotist, controlling my emotions with a small movement or word. I knew it, yet I couldn’t seem to stop it. It was as if my body followed his, my emotions mirrored his own.
As soon as his mouth lifted from mine, he crawled from the bed. When he stood, I couldn’t help but stare at his hips where he was still hard and pushing against the zipper of his jeans.
“I’m leavin’ after church wit’ Mum in de mornin’, so I won’t see ye again before I go.” He said, running his fingers through his hair. “It’s probably for de best.”
“So, this, us, it’s over then?” I asked, rolling to my side to watch him as he moved to the door.
“I didn’t say dat.”
I finally looked away from his body and met his eyes in confusion. “You just said—”
He shook his head once as my words drifted off. Turning to open the door, he looked at me one more time over his shoulder. “I’ll just have to marry ye.”
Chapter 11
Amy
I knew from previous Sundays searching for Peg in the pews of our church that she attended a different one, but that didn’t stop me from looking for any sign of her or Patrick the next day. He’d left me reeling the night before, questioning everything between us in an endless loop that hadn’t allowed me to sleep. He’d have to marry me? I was seventeen, for goodness sake. I didn’t even have my driver’s license in Ireland or America. I hadn’t even graduated from high school!
I also couldn’t wrap my mind around the idea of there being two categories for women—fuck or marry. It wasn’t the nineteen-fifties anymore. The sexual revolution had changed things, and frankly, the idea of saving virginity for marriage seemed archaic. Who wanted to wait to sleep with someone until after they were married? What if they were horrible in bed? Then you were stuck with them for life, especially if you were Catholic. There’d be no escaping.
I zoned out for most of the service, my mind wandering and causing my heart to race in both anger and confusion. My inattention didn’t really matter, though; we always stood at the same time, replied at the same time, knelt at the same time, received communion at the same time. Catholic services were comforting that way, always the same, never surprising or different.
The days after that passed slowly, especially after I realized that Patrick must already be gone from Peg’s and on his way back to college. It was like the spark that had been burning in my chest while I knew he was close was suddenly gone, and the days spread out before me under a dreary Irish cloud. The only sunshine during those days was Peg.
We dropped back into our normal routine pretty quickly after Patrick was gone. I met Peg at the same time every day after school and ran to her house under the cover of darkness on the nights my parents entertained. The only thing different about those times at Peg’s were the days that she received a letter from Patrick. They always had a word or two for me in them, nothing profound or embarrassing, just a little something that assured me I was in his thoughts still. She let me read them sometimes, and other times she read them aloud, never letting me even glance at the page. I knew those letters contained things she’d rather I didn’t know about, and I hated when he wrote them. I wanted to see his words, the small cursive handwriting that sometimes had crossed out letters and words as if he was thinking too fast for his fingers to keep up with and he didn’t even have time to erase or start again. I needed to see the one or two lines he’d written especially for me.
The day of my birthday, I felt especially low. My parents had told me the night before that we had plans for dinner, and I dreaded the hour-long affair that I knew would include trying to politely converse with them as if they knew and cared about anything happening in my life. They’d had company the night before, and I’d held out as long as I could before the noises in their room had become so loud that I’d once again climbed out my window. Subsequently, my reluctance to run to Peg had caused both of us to stay awake late into the night, me because I’d been too afraid to go to sleep and Peg because she’d been too afraid for me to sleep. I’d promised her as I left the house that morning that I wouldn’t do it again, and the bags under her eyes made me feel like a complete asshole as she’d left for work.
Peg wasn’t waiting for me as I walked home that day, and my gut clenched in worry as I reached her bare front stoop. Was she okay? Even if it was raining, she was usually at least standing in the doorway as I’d made my way to her house. The sight of her had never been absent in the two months since Patrick had left again for school.
“Peg?” I called, knocking on her door before turning the knob slowly to find it unlocked. “Peg? Are you home?”
