Chapter 2 #2
“I’ve let him touch me over my clothes,” I say in a small voice. Leon’s kisses are nice, but when his hands start to roam I feel…nothing. But maybe that’s a good thing? I won’t be tempted to crave more.
“Do you perform oral sex on him?”
The blunt question has me cringing. “No, Father.”
“What about thoughts of him? Any impure thoughts?”
“No, Father,” I reply promptly. Please, let that be the end of it. I’ve been truthful, and I haven’t got anything else to confess.
“You sound very certain. No impure thoughts at all, a healthy young woman of your age? I find that hard to believe. Surely you have lustful thoughts. Sinful thoughts.”
I feel my face turn scarlet. I had a dream this morning between sleep and waking. A dream that made me ache between my legs. A sharp, sweet ache of longing and desire.
But it wasn’t about Leon.
I imagine a bolt of lightning coming down from the sky and hitting Father Connell, making him drop dead on the spot.
A second and third bolt of lightning strike Aunt Frieda and Aunt Astrid next, burning them all to a crisp, their hair standing on end and smoking.
What a sweet relief it would be if they all died right now, if God smote them down like he’s always smiting people in Father Connell’s sermons.
I’ve hesitated too long, and now Father Connell knows I’m lying to him.
“I’ve had impure thoughts,” I finally admit.
“About this boy?”
“No. About a…man. An older man.”
I think about tall, broad, handsome Mr. Grant.
In my dream, he held me tight while his deep voice whispered into my hair.
There was a dark glint in his eye as if he were a dangerous trap I’d fallen into, but I didn’t care.
His big hands caressed my body, and I was hungry for him to do so much more than just hold me, and I could feel he wanted more as well.
I’ve never felt more turned on in my life.
“Um, he touched me a little, but that’s all. Is that a sin?”
The priest snorts in disgust. “Of course it’s a sin, you stupid girl.”
“Oh. Right.” I stare at my hands. I’m stupid as well as lustful. I’m so glad I came here.
“Is there anything else?”
A lot, actually. “I don’t really understand how thoughts can be sins. I can’t help my thoughts.”
Right now I’m thinking about toppling this confessional over with the priest still in it.
“Your thoughts reveal your true character. You must pray to be rid of your sinful thoughts, so they do not lead you into more sin.”
“Sometimes I wonder if praying really does anything. ”
The priest breathes sharply through his nose. Now I’ve done it.
“Wait outside,” he seethes in a low voice.
As I emerge from the confessional, I see Father Connell marching over to my aunts and gesticulating as he speaks. A few minutes later, he marches down the long aisle of the church. That’s not supposed to happen. He’s supposed to tell me my penance, and then I perform it.
“I have never been more humiliated in my life,” Astrid says as I approach them, two red spots burning in her cheeks. “Father Connell told us that there were such shocking things coming out of your mouth that he could not continue to hear your confession.”
“You have shamed us,” Frieda says coldly, peering down her long, sharp nose at me. “Everything you do reflects on the women who raised you.”
“Whatever I say to Father Connell in the confessional is supposed to be private,” I protest.
Astrid gasps. “How dare you suggest Father Connell would break the sanctity of confessional. He spoke generally about your sinful ways.”
I rack my brain trying to remember what I said that was so terrible. Can I not voice my doubts? “Father Connell was rude and shaming to me.”
“What you thought was rude and shaming was him pricking your conscience and challenging you to conform your life to Christ more faithfully,” Astrid says.
“We are gravely disappointed in you, Elena,” Frieda says. “These are not the actions of someone who is trying to prove they are a good and moral person.”
My stomach twists up in knots as I watch them turn and stride away from me. Learning my mother’s identity seems farther away than ever.
I leave my double shift dying for a shower.
It’s been a long day of running back and forth to the kitchen, bussing heavy plates, and smiling like my life depends on it, which it kind of does.
No smiles mean no tips. I learned that lesson quickly at Archer’s Diner.
It doesn’t matter if I’m exhausted or miserable, I have to smile.
If my boss stares at my breasts instead of looking me in the eyes, I have to smile.
If he tries to cheat us out of some of our pay, I have to smile.
I think the only time I smiled genuinely in the past week was when a tall, good-looking man who turned out to be Leon’s dad got down on his knees to tie my shoelace.
I have wondered if Mr. Grant only did that for me because he knew who I was, but the surprise on his face when he realized Leon and I knew each other seemed authentic.
That means Mr. Grant was nice to me just because he wanted to be, which gives me a warm, melty feeling.
I spy Leon’s car as he starts the engine. I get in and lean over to give him a kiss. “Thank you for picking me up. You didn’t have to. ”
He pushes his dark hair back and gives me a quick smile. “If I didn’t, I would barely see you this week.”
There’s a note of recrimination in his voice. I wish I could see him more often as well, but my schedule is crazy right now, and it’s going to stay that way for a while.
“I miss you, too,” I tell him.
Leon puts music on as he drives me home, and I lean back in my seat, close my eyes, and smile. A few moments of peace with my boyfriend. I stretch my aching feet and sigh.
When I was sixteen, I was so miserable that I wondered if it was even worth going on.
I scribbled reams of lurid, violent fantasies in my diary about all the people who were hurting me.
My aunts. Teachers who gave me bad grades that I was certain I didn’t deserve.
Girls at school who made fun of me for my old, ugly clothes.
The depth and darkness of my unhappiness frightened me, and so I made a list of all the things that I believed would bring me true happiness.
Learning my real mother’s name was the first thing on my list. Being free from my aunts’ critical and contemptuous words and looks was a close second.
Renting a place of my own. Getting a job.
A boyfriend. A boyfriend would mean that someone has chosen to love me, protect me, and always think of me.
Often I despaired, believing that it was never going to happen.
It took me more than four years to achieve everything on my wish list. Well, almost everything.
Life might be challenging right now, but at least it’s my life, and look at the wonderful boyfriend I have.
Smart, cute, funny, and on the way to being successful.
He studies hard at college and earns good grades, and now I’ve met Mr. Grant I can see why Leon is so well-adjusted and capable.
His father is the perfect role model. I might not spend as much time with Leon as we both want, but I’m always thinking of him and our future.
With his brains and my determination, I think we’ll be able to make a good life together.
Renovate a house. Adopt a dog. Have a family one day. It sounds like heaven.
“What are you up to tomorrow?” Leon asks me.
Opening my eyes, I think for a moment. “Two shifts at the diner. How about you?”
“Class in the morning. I wish you could blow off work so we could hang out tomorrow night.”
“I wish I could too.” But there’s no chance of that when rent’s due next week.
“I can’t wait for summer break so we can actually spend some time together,” Leon says.
My heart sinks. I still haven’t found the right time to tell my boyfriend that I’ll need to pick up more shifts over the summer, not fewer.
It’s embarrassing to explain to Leon that I don’t have much choice when I’m barely keeping my head above water.
Between living expenses and paying back my aunts, I’m always stretched thin.
I’m not sure Leon understands money worries.
I don’t know that Leon’s parents pay for his tuition and living costs while he attends the expensive Blackport University, but seeing as he doesn’t have a job, I assume they do.
“Do you want to see a movie this weekend?” he asks .
I hesitate, because I wanted to take him out the next time we had a date. I remember Aunt Astrid hungrily counting my tips and shoving them in her handbag. I clench my hands so tightly that my nails cut into my palms.
He gives me a pleading smile. “Please, I never see you. I’ll pay.”
“I’ll get the tickets next time,” I promise.
“You don’t need to, I’ve got plenty of money,” he says with a careless wave of his hand.
Must be nice, I think, and then I feel guilty that I’m not more grateful for Leon’s generosity.
We arrive at my apartment building, and after he switches off the engine, he turns to me with a smile, takes my face in his hands, and kisses me.
His kisses are comforting like chocolate.
I’m lucky to have such a smart and cute boyfriend.
Leon’s breathing grows heavy, and I wait for some of the desire he’s feeling to well up inside me. Nothing happens.
“Can I come up?” he asks.
“I have to be up early,” I say apologetically, and I give him another kiss that I hope eases his disappointment. “Night, Leon.”
“Yeah. Good night.”
My roommate is already asleep in her room when I let myself into our tiny apartment.
I creep about, making myself a cup of herbal tea and taking it into the shower with me.
I already ate at the diner, so I brush my teeth, change into an oversized T-shirt that I use as a nightshirt, and get into bed.
When I close my eyes, my mind travels back over the week.
I shudder when I think about my aunts and Father Connell.
My mind moves on to Mr. Grant. He doesn’t much resemble his son.
Leon has dark hair and boyish features, while his father is bigger and sturdier with sandy hair and hazel eyes.
I can still feel Mr. Grant’s strong grip on my laces as he ties them tightly.
It’s strange how vivid my memory is of him.
Sleepily, I imagine Mr. Grant caressing my ankle and then sliding his hand up the inside of my calf and thigh.
Big hands. Big, warm, strong hands that make my eyelashes flutter.
I wriggle in bed, squeezing my thighs together in frustration, and then turn over.
Thoughts I have no business having about my boyfriend’s father parade through my mind.
Shouldn’t I be thinking about Leon, who I know actually wants to touch my thighs?
I make myself picture Leon touching me, even if I have to confess it later, but the hot feeling drains away.
My throat burns, and I whimper into the pillow.
Leon is so patient with me, but after five weeks of dating, I worry that his patience is running thin.
We haven’t slept together, and he’s only seen me topless once, though it hadn’t been my intention.
I didn’t realize the top I was wearing was so easy for someone to pull off. I haven’t worn it again.
Whenever I think about having sex with Leon, my aunts’ disapproving voices and Father Connell’s fire and brimstone sermons ricochet through my mind. But there’s also a tiny voice that sounds like me, wondering if more intimacy with Leon is what I really want.
I bet you make people feel safe all over Blackport.
I groan and feel myself turning red all over again. But I meant every word. No wonder Leon is so easygoing and confident. With Mr. Grant protecting me, I’d feel like I was in the safest hands in the world.