Chapter 7 - Joan
JOAN
I lie in the tub, eyes closed, consumed by the warmth of the water. The bathroom is gorgeous—marble floors, ornate, luxurious. A far cry from the tiny showers back at the convent.
I take a deep breath as the steam rises around me, and once again, my thoughts go back to Amon. Try as I might, I can’t keep images from yesterday from flooding my mind.
The way he took me in his arms…kissed my chest and neck…
…the way he spread me…stretched me…filled me and claimed me…
Even my punishment has me tingling as I think back to him tying my hands, strapping my ankles to the floor, and forcing me to sit on that…thing for an hour.
I swear I thought I was going to die. It was just pure sensory overload. But somehow, I took it. And now, lying here alone, I feel hollow.
I’d hoped I’d wake in his arms, cradled like a treasure. But I woke alone. I checked the house, but Amon was gone. I guess he went to work.
And the longer I lie here, the more alone I feel. The more my body yearns for his affection—for the firm grip of his big, strong hands on my wrists.
I called him Daddy, and he didn’t even flinch.
It wasn’t planned. The name just simply fell from my lips naturally, as if calling upon something deep inside of me I wasn’t aware of until that moment.
And it felt so right.
Taking another deep breath, I think back to the moment he summoned me. “Unzip my fly,” he’d told me. And I obeyed.
The bath water is hot, but my body starts to warm as I replay our encounter. Slowly, I reach down between my legs, remembering the way he touched me…
…the way he used his thumb on me while inside me and sent me over the edge.
“No,” I snap, snatching my hand back and opening my eyes. This is wrong. What Amon and I did was wrong.
The nuns—I can’t even imagine what they’d say. And Momma would kill me if she knew.
“I knew it. Satan has his hold on you!”
She’s said it before, and she’ll say it again if she ever finds out about Amon and me.
Head spinning, I stand up and grab a towel. I took my cross off to bathe, but I quickly snatch it up from the vanity and slip it over my neck.
I’d hoped it would give me strength, comfort. Instead, it feels heavy, like God himself is accusing me of being a bad person.
I dress quickly and go downstairs. Maybe some breakfast will fill this emptiness in me. To my surprise, Amon’s in the living room reading some documents. He glances at me briefly, then returns to his papers.
“Hey!” I stutter, shocked. “W-when did you come home?”
He shouldn’t scare me. Not after what we did together. But something about his posture, the way he regards me so casually, makes me feel small.
Without looking up, he says, “Making brunch? I’ll take an omelet.”
A shiver runs through me.
“An omelet?” I ask, waiting for more. But he gives me nothing. “So…I’m still your housemaid?”
Finally, he looks up at me. His eyes are so strong as he scrutinizes me. And after what feels like the longest moment ever, he nods. “And a pretty good one at that.”
My stomach flips, and I take a step back. As he looks back at his work, I catch a glimpse of what might be a smile on his lips.
Slowly, I turn and move into the kitchen, feeling small beneath the enormity of the Bleakson mansion—of Amon himself.
I switch into auto-pilot mode as I cook. He wanted an omelet, so I make one for him and one for me. But when I go back to the living room to bring it to him, I find it empty.
I set it on the coffee table where he’ll find it, and on my way back up the stairs, I hear his voice from outside. As usual, he’s talking business. Something about shorting a stock that will make them millions.
Maybe it’s just work distracting him, I think as I sit cross-legged on my bed and fork a slice of my omelet. But just like the bath, it does nothing to distract me from the urges steadily rising within.
My inner thighs are tickling as I think back to his touch.
Maybe I should go back downstairs and smash his plate or scatter the chess board. Then he would have to punish me. Give me his attention.
It’s cold in the house today, and I don’t even have socks on, yet my body is on fire. I can barely finish my meal before I’m back in bed, twisting and turning, yearning for something from him. Even if it’s only his presence.
A hunger lives inside me now. Or maybe it’s always been there like Momma said, and it took Amon to truly awaken it.
It would be so easy to sneak down to the closet and punish myself. Ride the saddle until I can’t take it anymore.
But would it really be the same without him? Without his discipline and control?
I hear his voice again outside. He’s laughing, talking about how no one can beat him.
I try to control myself, but something snaps inside. I grab my plate and am just about to rush downstairs and demand his attention when my cell phone rings.
It’s the first call I’ve received since I left the convent, and it’s Momma.
No. She is the last person I want to talk to right now. But I know if I don’t answer, she’s just going to keep calling and calling. And God forbid I let it go to voicemail.
So I answer.
“Hey, Momma, this isn’t really a great time—”
“Your father and I just landed and are about to get in the car,” she replies, cutting me off. “Did you get your letter from the convent?”
Instantly, goosebumps break out across my arms.
“Letter? I don’t think so…”
“Okay, well you need to be back there on Monday,” she says. “So make sure you’ve been keeping up with your prayers…”
I start to zone out. Back on Monday? That’s in three days. What is she talking about?
“Momma,” I say slowly. “I left the convent.”
“Yes, yes you did.” I can hear the disapproval in her voice. “But we both know that was just temporary. You can’t push God from your life, sweetie. Do you want to end up like those floozies shaming themselves on the Internet?”
For some reason, her words feel like they have an extra bite to them. She may have overreacted when she found my thong, but I managed to shrug it off. I hadn’t done anything wrong. Does God really care about what underwear I choose to wear?
But now…I’m hiding something big from Momma. She and John would surely lose it if they found out.
“No, of course not, Momma,” I reply. My stomach sinks so low I feel like I’m melting into the floor.
“Good girl,” she replies. I hear John’s voice in the background. “Oh, I’ve got another call. See you when we get home!”
Before I can even reply, she hangs up.
It’s all I can do to not throw the phone against the wall.
My breath comes in short, labored gasps as I take the stairs to the kitchen. Amon has left his plate for me, and I quickly wash them both. It’s actually a welcome distraction from the truth that now sits in my mind like a poison.
Momma’s coming home. John is coming home. The day of reckoning is coming, and I can’t hide forever.