The towel was white.
My eyes widened. I jerked my chin towards the towel and snorted, “I am not using that.”
He lowered his eyes down at the towel. “Why not?”
I choked out, “It’s white!” He stared at me, clearly not getting it. I rolled my eyes. “It’ll be red by the time I’m done.”
He shrugged. “I’ll say I cut myself shaving.” I hesitated, and he sighed, “Do you want me to find a darker towel?”
“Yes, please,” I muttered thankfully.
The room fell silent when he slipped on his jeans and headed out. It only took him a minute to find another one. When he returned with a red towel in hand, I stood, walked over to him and held my hand out for it. He glowered at my hand and pulled the towel back, out of reach. “You want it; you need to pay for it.”
My eyes narrowed. “With what?”
His eyes grew hooded. “Come here.”
Taking a single step closer, I squeaked when his arms wrapped around me and he lifted me off the ground, holding me close to his bare chest. He took my lips in a demanding kiss. A kiss that felt wonderful and left me feeling wanted.
When he let me go, he looked down at me and pushed a stray hair behind my ear. “Debt paid.” He handed me the towel, and taking the water bottle to a deserted corner of his room, I washed myself in silence with my back to Marco, glad for the fact I couldn’t see my own blood on the soft fabric I cleaned myself with.
Before long, I was done, and as soon as I came within a foot of the bed, I was pulled back onto it and into Marco’s welcoming arms.
Lying next to him made me feel small, and the way his body towered over mine left me feeling safe and protected. His gentle nature was a definite surprise, as was his need to touch me. I expected something different, but I was happy with what I got. Extremely happy.
Lifting my hand high, he played with my fingers and avoided my gaze. “Don’t go.”
He was so sweet and attentive, and I really, really wanted to stay. But away I went.
He kissed me hard by his door, and then pressed kisses to my hands, the hands he held in his. He tried hard to convince me to let him walk me to the church building. I assured him I was a big girl and had walked the lot this early thousands of times. Reluctantly, he let me go, and I walked the entire way to my room with a huge smile on my face.
As far as first times go, that was pretty good. I was delightfully sore—just enough to remind me of why, but not enough to make me want to never do it again. The perfect amount.
As I walk into my room, I glance up sleepily at the clock in my room. The time reads 4:25 a.m.
My lip curls. No time for sleep this morning. If I try to sleep now, chances are I’ll sleep the day away. I’m already pulling away from my chores enough; I don’t want to disappoint Father Robert, so I shower as quickly as I can, secretly smiling to myself when I gently wash the soreness between my legs, dress in my conservative uniform and veil and head down to the kitchen.
Still dark outside, I switch on the lights above the workbench and start taking out ingredients for the bread. I’ve not needed a recipe for bread since I was ten years old. This is second nature for me.
I knead the bread then allow it to rise. I tap my finger on the edge of the counter and purse my lips.
What now?
I catch myself a second before my head hits the counter.
Damn it.
My eyes feel heavy as slumber silently attacks me. I need to do something quick, or I’m going to fall asleep standing. Shaking my head vigorously, I force a cough and open my eyes as wide as I can, then yawn and stumble down to the hall closet. Mopping seems the best thing to do right now. It’s something I have to use my entire body for.
I nod, blink and fall asleep twice while waiting for the mop bucket to fill.
Then fall asleep using the mop as a crutch in the middle of the unwashed kitchen floor.
Then again while waiting for the bread to bake.
When the oven timer dings, I jump awake into a low, defensive crouch, arms out, ready to attack.
The bread is out cooling, and while the oven is still on, I decide to make breakfast muffins. I get to work mixing the batter, stretching and yawning all the while. I pour the mixture unevenly into a muffin tray and all but throw it in the oven.
Must. Stay. Awake.
I quickly mop the other half of the kitchen, wash all the dishes, clear the workbench then sit at the kitchen table to wait for the muffins to bake. When the oven timer wakes me a second time, I jump out of my chair mid-snore, swinging my arms at my would-be assailant. Frustration has me fuming. “Fuck!”
The muffins now out of the oven, I turn it off and resign myself to a day outside doing my favourite thing in the whole world—tending to my garden. And by tending to my garden, I must mean falling asleep on the bench by the large oak, because that’s exactly what I do.
***
“Cat?”
I swat away the hand at my forehead.
“Cat, wake up.” The voice in my head is persistent. Firmer this time, “I swear to God, girl, if you don’t open your eyes and give me some sort of sign you’re okay, I’m throwing you over my shoulder and taking you straight to the hospital.”
What?
Where am I?
Groaning, my hand flies to my pounding head, while my eyes try to open. After a few seconds, I manage to peek through one eye and look straight at an extremely concerned looking Bob. Sitting up on the bench, I stretch and yawn. “I’m sorry, Father. I didn’t realise I fell asleep.”
His brows lower. “Been trying to wake you for some time now. Are you feeling okay?”
My mouth feels like sandpaper. “I’m fine. Sorry I worried you. I woke earlier than I normally do and got my chores done before it was light out. I came out here to do some gardening and must’ve passed out.” He doesn’t look convinced. I suppose a small truth won’t hurt. “I really didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Okay, well, why don’t you go get some sleep? I can get someone else to work tonight.”
My eyes widen at that. “No!” Bob’s brows rise in surprise, but I can’t stop myself from getting defensive. “I know I’m the youngest here, but if I were anyone else, I already would’ve had ten jobs, Bob. Stop treating me differently than everyone else. I should be getting those jobs. They’re my fucking jobs.” My blood boils. I grit my teeth and bare them like a rabid dog. “What the fuck do I have to do to prove to you that I’m ready?”
He sits there watching me through an expressionless gaze. I’m immediately contrite; I lose some steam.
Running a hand down my face, I sigh, “You always said this was what I was here for, that this is why I was brought to you. This is God’s will. So why are you denying me my lot in life?”
Bob dips his chin and looks down to his shoes. His voice is uncharacteristically soft. “I didn’t watch the others grow up. I didn’t chase away the monsters from under their beds when they were seven. Or read to them ‘til they fell asleep. Or cut their meat for them ‘til they were ten. I didn’t raise them as my own, Cat.” He pauses. “Be mad at me all you want, but this is hard for me. I didn’t expect to feel this way when you were ready to go out on your own, and in a way, what happened with James was an excuse for me to hold onto you. So I grabbed it. I grabbed it with both hands. Because I wasn’t ready to let you go.”
My heart squeezes tightly in my chest. I feel my pulse beat through my temples. I don’t know what to say to that.
Bob nods. “You want me to treat you like one of the crew, so you’ll go alone tonight.” He smiles, although his eyes are filled with sadness. “This is your job, girlie. You can do it. I have faith in you.”