I fell asleep easily that night, my parents’ tired expressions divesting me of my worry about visitors in the house. I shouldn’t have been so confident of their plans since things had been changing so quickly, but the events of the day made my entire body sluggish, as if I’d spent hours crying. Even if I’d been afraid, I wouldn’t have been able to stay awake. I was exhausted.
When my mattress dipped later that night, my first thought as I slid into wakefulness was absolute disgust that I’d grown complacent in locking my door. But before that disgust could turn to fear, my arms were pinned by hands braced at my shoulders, pulling my blankets taut against my chest. Warm breath fanned my face as I opened my mouth to scream.
“Ye’ll wake yer folks if ye scream,” a familiar voice whispered, “It’s just me, love.”
I relaxed into the bed as relief rushed through me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” I hissed, pushing at the blankets that held me immobile. “How did you get in?”
“I told ye de locks were shite.”
“Let me up!”
He was silent for a moment while he considered my order. “What are ye wearin’ under dere?”
“Are you shitting me?” I paused, waiting for an answer that never came, then huffed loudly. “A tank top and shorts, you pervert. Happy?”
“No bra?”
My mouth gaped like a fish as I stared at him, my face heating. “You’re such a creep. No, I don’t have a bra on, what woman sleeps with her frigging bra on?”
“I’m holdin’ on by a t’read here, yeah?” he warned, leaning closer until I could see his eyes in the sliver of moonlight coming in through my window. “I know yer not seein’ much right now, but me eyes have adjusted already to de dark. I’ve seen what ye sleep in, lass, and I’ll not be seein’ it again tonight, yeah? Else, me good intentions will fly out yer window dere.”
“Okay,” I replied. He was serious, and I was a mixture of extremely pleased with his words and completely mystified by them. “You want me,” I commented stupidly to verify.
“Christ.” He leaned down and rubbed his stubbly cheek along mine, his lips brushing my jaw. “I’d give anyt’in’ to climb into dose sheets wit’ ye, but I won’t.”
“Why the hell not?” My voice was too loud in the quiet night, and he hushed me by putting his hand over my mouth, unwittingly freeing me from the blankets.
“I’ve no argument wit’ kickin’ de shite out of yer da, but ye might not want to deal wit’ de fallout of dat.” He pulled his hand from my mouth and ran his fingers gently through the hair at my temple.
“Sorry! God, you don’t make any sense. Why the hell are you doing this?” My body was heating from the way he was touching me, and it seemed really freaking cruel that he would continue to move his hand along the side of my face when he had no intention of following through. I jerked my head to the side and away from his fingers. “Quit it.”
His breath caught at my movement, and his head tilted to the side as he eyed the blankets that had pulled down my chest a few inches. They weren’t low, my breasts were still completely covered, but a wide expanse of my neck and collarbone were suddenly bare. He jerked as he processed what he was seeing, which was really just an innocent patch of skin. However, the expression on his face was like I’d stripped myself bare.
“Holy Mot’er,” he mumbled, lifting his hand to run it across my throat. “Do ye have any idea how appealin’ I find ye?”
His voice was thick with lust, and my heart began to pound in excitement. The tension between us seemed to grow stronger as he continued to run his fingers all over the skin of my chest, sometimes so incredibly soft that I could barely feel it and other times rough enough that I knew there would be faint fingernail marks from where he had dragged them across me. We were silent as our eyes met and held, but neither of us moved as he continued to caress me.
Finally, I couldn’t stand it anymore. My legs were tense under the blankets, my knees tilting slightly outward, and I needed so badly to arch my hips to try and find some friction that the restraint was causing my body to break out into a sweat. Before he could stop me, I’d shoved the blankets to my waist, the cold night air a relief that made goose bumps break out over my shoulders and my nipples bead tightly against my thin tank top.
He groaned deep in his throat and the sound gave me pause, realizing how far I was pushing him and the control he was exhibiting as he tried to hold himself back. His hand at my neck began to tremble as he watched it slide down to the top of my shirt. His eyes roamed over what I’d uncovered as he stood and turned toward me, his hand never leaving me.
His eyes finally met mine as he climbed on top of me, never removing the blankets that separated us from the waist down. My legs instinctively spread as his hips met mine. Perhaps I should have been more nervous than I was, but I was nearly eighteen years old. I wasn’t ignorant to male/female relationships and all that they entailed, and I’d never been more attracted to anyone. I wanted him there, between my legs—and though I may not have been ready to have sex with him, I knew deep in my gut that it wouldn’t get that far. I trusted Patrick implicitly, and it didn’t matter how hard I’d pushed him, he’d never go farther than I was comfortable with.
“Yer goin’ to kill me,” he said quietly, as he braced himself above me.
His lips met mine before the words were fully formed and the second he’d finished speaking, his tongue was in my mouth, rubbing against mine. He tasted like cigarettes, something I’d never imagined I’d enjoy, but I couldn’t get enough of him. There was something about the way he touched me, the way he held back even though I made it clear that I was all in—it turned me on even more. It gave me the courage I may not have had otherwise. I let go of the blankets at my waist, the need to feel his skin was so strong that I moaned into his mouth as my hands slipped under the front of his t-shirt where it was gaping between us.
“Yer beautiful,” he whispered as his lips left mine and played gently against my jaw.
I tilted my head back to give him better access as he moved to my jaw. The sensation made me both shiver and burn, and when I felt the gentle scrape of his teeth, I couldn’t stop my hips from rolling against his. The blankets were still between us, creating a barrier that I hated, but when I tried to push them out of the way his hips jutted sharply downward, immediately giving me the friction I craved and trapping the blankets more firmly between us.
“Ye’ll leave dose dere,” he ordered, giving no further explanation.
Our hips moved in tandem as he held my hands at my shoulders, bracing himself with his elbows. I hated the few inches that separated us then. I was no longer conscious of anything except the need to be closer, to rub my body against his and feel more of his skin.
“Please, Patrick,” I whispered into his ear as he bit down gently on mine. “Let’s just move the blankets. That’s all.” I brought my knees up as far as I could and laid them wide in an attempt to feel more of him, and my breath caught as I succeeded.
“Aye, move de blankets, she says,” he chided into my ear, his voice taking on a bit of Peg’s odd accent, “Dat’s all, she says.”
“Please. It’s fine. Please.” I didn’t care how I sounded. I needed him now. I wanted to break his control so badly he’d give me what I wanted. I arched my chest up—my coup de grace—and just like I knew they would, the thin straps of my tank top became trapped under my shoulders and the front stretched so far that my breasts popped from the top. Who would’ve known that having a ratty old tank top that left me half bare if I twisted just right would come in handy some day?
Patrick froze completely above me, before slowly lifting his face to meet my eyes. He was angry. So angry, that I immediately flushed in embarrassment.
He closed his eyes tightly, his nostrils flaring and his mouth pulled up into a grimace before he lost whatever battle he’d been fighting in his head. I watched him, my hands still trapped under his against the sheets as his head tipped down an
d his eyes opened, staring at my breasts. He didn’t move, but surprisingly, he didn’t even need to.
Knowing that he was looking at me obliterated any embarrassment I’d felt and immediately ratcheted up my desire even farther. I began to move my hips against his tentatively, waiting for his response and, after a moment, he shoved down against me again. As he did, his head moved and suddenly my left nipple was between his lips and he was sucking it against the roof of his mouth. My breath caught as I tried to be quiet, but it was almost impossible to keep the noises from pouring out of my mouth. It all felt so good.
Until suddenly, it didn’t.
Patrick dropped his hips, trapping mine against the bed and bit down on my nipple hard enough that it wasn’t quite painful, but wasn’t pleasant, either. That’s when I lost the battle against sound and let out a mournful and pained whimper.
“Ye’ll not move again, do ye hear me?” he asked harshly as soon as he’d let my nipple go. “I’ve made meself clear, yet ye keep pushin’ and pushin’.”
His tone was scathing, and I immediately felt tears hit the back of my eyes as I tried to pull my hands from his. I suddenly felt naked, the thought of his gaze on my breasts becoming something that turned me cold and made me panic.
“Let go!” I choked. “Let go! Let go! Let go!”
My words gained in speed and volume as I said it over and over again, but it only took seconds before his gaze turned from surprise to horror. He let go of my hands like they were on fire, and his mouth hung open as I pulled up my tank top and pushed at his chest.
“Leave me alone,” I sniffled as soon as I was covered again. “Just leave me alone.” I brought my arms to my chest to protect myself, curling my hands into fists at my neck.
“No,” he said quietly, bringing one hand to cup the side of my face and leaving it there even as I tried to pull away. “Ye’ve got it wrong, love.”
His voice was so gentle that my breath hitched, but I lowered my eyes. I didn’t want to face him. I just wanted him to leave, so I could curl up into a little ball and pretend that I hadn’t just made a colossal fool of myself.
“Amy, look at me,” he ordered. “I’ll not move until ye do.”
I hated him a little bit then.
When I finally forced my eyes to his, the gaze that met mine was solemn.
“Dere are two types of women in dis world,” he told me, rubbing his thumb along my cheekbone. “De ones ye fuck, and de ones ye marry.”
My body jolted, and I wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face. I knew I was glaring, and I felt the tears drying into little hard lines against my temples where they’d run off my face.
“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?”
“In here, darlin’ girl!” she called from the kitchen. The breath I’d been holding immediately left me in a relieved whoosh.
As soon as I got to the kitchen, I was greeted with the sight of a small cake complete with birthday candles. “Happy Birthday!” she yelled so loud I was sure the neighbors across the street heard her.
My mouth lifted in a huge smile as I looked around the kitchen. She’d hung up a homemade banner and streamers, and I could have cried at the trouble I knew she’d gone to.
“I can’t believe you did all this.” My heart felt light as I met her eyes.
“Of course I did! My girl is eighteen years today. It’s cause for celebration!” She carried the cake to the table and set it down, careful not to let the candles burn out. “I’m sorry I didn’t meet ye at the door. I wanted to have the candles burnin’ when ye stepped in! Well, blow them out then.”
I dropped my bag to the floor as I stepped closer to her, but I was in no hurry to blow out the candles. I hadn’t had birthday candles in years. I wanted to savor the moment, to take it all in for just a second so I could remember every detail later. When I finally leaned down to blow them out, she started clapping delightedly, a wide smile on her face.
“I love you,” I told her, my voice full of wonder.
“Sweet girl,” she murmured with a soft look, “I love ye, too.”
We sat down and ate the yellow cake she’d made, and as soon as I’d finished, she popped up from her chair to grab a small wrapped package from the couch.
“You didn’t have to—” I started uncomfortably.