Shelter Me (15 page)

My fists were clenched at my sides. His desire was palpable, and there was a part of me that wanted very much to buckle. To give him what he wanted. But I knew his approval would be fleeting. In a few days, or hours, or minutes, he'd turn on me. He'd blame me for "making him stumble." I had to be strong when he couldn't, for both of our sakes.

"Mari, please," he said, softly.
 

I shook my head.

"Why not?" he almost whined.
 

"You're going to regret it," I said.
And blame me
, I added silently.

"I swear I won't breathe a word of it," he whispered. "Not after tonight."

I swallowed thickly. It would be so easy, to just reach under the hem of my shirt and pull it off. Just for a moment. Enough to satisfy him, at least for now.

And then, impossibly, I felt myself doing it. I couldn't look at him, but I managed to slip the fabric over my head and set it down on the sofa next to me. I couldn't let go of the shirt afterwards, clenching it in my fist like that everything better.

His breathing grew harsher. I gripped the shirt even more tightly, staring at the carpet, feeling goose bumps rise on my exposed skin. My nipples were stiffening too. Tears were gathering in my eyes, and all I wanted to do was to put my stupid shirt back on, or maybe go back in time to before I'd taken it off in the first place.

I knew this was going to be a mistake.

"Look at me," he said, softly.

I forced myself to do as he asked.

He was just a few inches away, and I was acutely aware of his closeness - but at the same time, I felt like I was a million miles away. The look on his face was unlike anything I'd ever seen. He was smiling a little, but there was something else in his eyes.

"Please don't cry," he said. "You're beautiful."

"I'm not crying," I said. My voice sounded distant; timid and weak. What was wrong with me? Why was I doing this? Why couldn't I stop?

It was like I was watching myself in a dream. I wanted to scream or throw things or wake myself up somehow, but I knew this was all too real.

He reached out and touched my arm, lightly. I shuddered, but I didn't pull away.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. He was completely silent as I hastily pulled my shirt back on, and the tears I'd been holding back finally came. I ran out of the house, slamming the door behind me and running all the way home.

My parents were sitting at the dinner table, but I ran past them before they had a chance to look up or say anything to me.

I didn't come out of my room for a long time, but I could hear them talking about me through the vent.
 

"They probably had a fight," was all my dad said. "Happens to everybody."

"Well, she can be irrational sometimes." My mom was scraping her fork along her plate, in that way that always set my teeth on edge. "They've always seemed to get along so well, though."

"Sure, but that doesn't mean she'll never get her feelings hurt."

I tried to imagine explaining to my parents what had just happened. How would they react? I couldn't decide if they would accuse me of lying, blame me for seducing him, or actually believe me. More than that, I couldn't decide which would be worse.

I couldn't shut off my brain. The scenario of telling someone played out like a movie in my head; the dark looks, the suspicious whispers, a thousand times worse than they'd ever been before. Whether or not anyone believed me, that was almost guaranteed to happen. And even if someone did, I could never show my face around those people again. Not that I wanted to. But my parents would never forgive me for tarnishing their reputation even further than I already had.
 

And really, on reflection, what had he actually
done
to me? He didn't rape me. He barely even touched me. Back when I was a kid, my mom always told me that if an adult ever made me feel pressured to something that made me feel uncomfortable, I should tell someone right away. But I wasn't a kid anymore. I was a grown woman with a fiancé who loved me and wanted to see me topless. That wasn't inappropriate. It was perfectly natural, in fact. There were plenty of people out there in the real world, outside of our community, who slept together, or even lived together, before they got married. And really, despite what I'd been told my whole life, they seemed perfectly happy. Maybe Mark and I were finding our own way of enjoying each other before marriage, without technically violating any of our beliefs. After all, I had decided to take my shirt off. I'd done it of my own free will, no matter how much it had felt like someone else doing it.

I kept going back and forth in my own mind, between the part of me that wanted to trust Mark and believe in his good intentions, and my cynical side that was convinced he was just taking advantage of me as an authority figure.
 

In the end, I decided to just pretend it never happened. Hopefully, he'd do the same.

***

The next Sunday, Mark had a big conference at school that he had to attend. It was strange, after service, not to have him at my elbow. I fell back into my old habit of standing in the corner by myself, and after a while, I noticed Jacob watching me out of the corner of his eye.

We hadn't spoken since I ran into him at Ashefield's. I could tell he'd been stunned when he saw my engagement ring. Couldn't blame him, really - I was still a bit stunned myself when I thought about it.

During open prayer time, Jacob's mom had a few words to say about Sara. It was vague, but enough to let me know that they were going through a difficult time again. I decided to extend the olive branch.

"Hey," I said, sidling over in his direction. "How's things?"

"Good," he said, smiling. "Really good. Work's pretty okay, and I've got a ride planned next weekend that's going to be amazing."

"Cool," I said. His fascination with biking had always eluded me. Then again, I hadn't ridden since I was a kid. Maybe if I tried it, I'd figure out why it made his face light up all over. "I was - you know - what your mom said about Sara, I just wanted to make sure you were okay." Ugh. Why did everything have to be so awkward with me?

"Oh, yeah." His face changed. He looked down at the carpet, jiggling his leg in a sort of nervous tic. "Well, you know, you get used to it." For a while, we were both silent. "I wish it wasn't so hard for her right now."

"Me too," I said, which was stupid. But what else could I say?
 

Jacob didn't talk much about his sister. I'd picked up what I knew from prayer requests and overheard conversations, usually between his parents and someone else. I rarely brought it up, trying to be respectful of his apparent reluctance to discuss it. But sometimes I wished he'd just talk to me. Or someone.

She'd started having the seizures pretty much as soon as she was born. Neo-natal, they called it. Jacob had gone to spend a few weeks with his grandparents right after she was born, as his parents had to stay in the hospital while they figured it out. On the surface she'd seemed like a healthy, happy baby, but the doctors picked up that her kicking and squirming wasn't quite what it appeared to be.

Things certainly turned out better than they could have. Mr. and Mrs. Warren had called her their "miracle baby" on more than one occasion. It reminded them, I suppose, of how lucky they were to have her. Even when things seemed like they'd never get better, it was worth remembering that things could have always been worse.

But Jacob, no matter what kind of brave face he put on it, suffered. He suffered, not just because he felt for her, but because his parents had been consumed with her since the day she was born.

If I asked him, I was sure he'd say he got plenty of attention. He'd never complained. Not even once, in all the years I'd known him. But it was impossible not to see how much it affected him.
 

"My mom, too," he said, suddenly. "She's really having a hard time lately. I wish there was something I could do."

"Well," I said. "I'm sure you're helping out every way you can."

"Sure, but nobody bears the burden like she does." He made a conciliatory gesture with his head. "I mean, except Sara, of course. But in a different way."

"It's got to be hard, as a mom," I said. "I can't imagine."
 

"Neither can I." He was about to say something else, I could tell, but it took a while for him to actually spit it out. "Do you think I seem like I don't care?"

"What?" I was thrown off by the candidness of his question. "About Sara?"

"Yeah," he said, looking uncomfortable. "Or...I don't know. I don't talk about her much, I know that, but it's just...you know, it's personal. It's hard to talk about. I'd just rather keep it to myself. But I guess my mom, she thinks I'm too cold or withdrawn or something. She told me I need to talk to Sara more about her problems, but Sara doesn't want to talk to anyone about anything. Except her games. And honestly, I hope this doesn't make me a bad person, but I can only listen to so much of that. I don't know what she's talking about. I don't care about her game. I can't talk to her about anything else. My mom thinks I need to show sympathy, but that's the one thing Sara can't stand."

I digested all that for a moment.

"It's complicated," I said, after a while. What an understatement. "I mean, I'm sure she wants to know that people care about her, but at the same time, people caring too much reminds her of everything that's wrong."

Jacob nodded. "And I can't untangle that for her. I wouldn't even know where to start."

"Well," I said. "You don't necessarily need to."

"I don't know what to say to her."

"It doesn't take much." I shrugged. "I don't know. I like it when people can just listen to me talk about things I like, even if they don't really get it. Can you just let her tell you about her game? Maybe eventually it will start to make sense."

He laughed. "I doubt that. But you're probably right."

"I think she just needs a friend," I said. "And your mom sees that. She knows it can't be her, so I think she's hoping you can be a sort of friend to Sara, even if it's hard or it doesn't always feel like Sara wants you around."

"Okay," he said, nodding slowly. "I guess that makes sense."

I glanced around the room; there was no one else within hearing distance. It was weighing so heavily, too heavily on my mind to ignore. I had to say something.

"Jacob," I said. "Can I ask you something? Something personal?"

"Of course," he said. "What is it?"

"Do you think there's anything wrong with the way I dress?"

He frowned at me. "What do you mean? Like, immodest or something?"

I shrugged.

"Did somebody tell you that?" He was looking me up and down. "I mean - no, I'd never think to say that about you. It's just...it's strange that somebody would choose that to pick on. You pretty much dress like everybody else."

"Yeah, that's what I thought." I smiled. "Thanks."

"No problem." He folded his arms across his chest. "Was it your mom? Because, you know, when it comes to you...she's a little disconnected from reality."

I smiled at the floor. Leave it to Jacob to say what nobody else would. "No, it wasn't her."

"Well," he said. "Whoever it is, they're just messing with your head. Probably trying to make you feel self-conscious or whatever. Don't even worry about it."

I let out a long breath. Jacob had no reason to lie to me, but...
 

"You can tell me," he said, after a while. "I'll keep it secret. Promise."

Looking over my shoulder first to make sure no one was in earshot, I lowered my voice to answer him. "It was Mark."

Surprise briefly registered on his face, and then he frowned. "Well," he said. "That's weird, isn't it?"

I nodded.
 

"I guess..." Jacob was lost in thought for a moment. "Maybe - you know, sometimes it's hard, when you really care for somebody, it kind of distorts how you see them. Maybe if he's not feeling super secure, or a little jealous, you know...he looks at you and he sees you differently."

"Maybe," I replied. It was a nice idea, certainly. He loved me so much he was afraid of losing...what, exactly? My virtue? That had never belonged to him in the first place. But if I asked him, would he say it did? "I just don't know what to do. I don't want him to be uncomfortable, but I feel like I can't possibly see myself the way he sees me. I think I'm all covered up, then I go over to his house for dinner and he..."
 

I stopped. Jacob's face had changed somewhere in the middle of that sentence, and he'd opened his mouth as if to speak, but hesitated.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing," he said. "It's nothing. I...go ahead."

"No, what?" I was terribly curious now.

"I just..." he shook his head, looking at the far wall. "I was - I'm surprised you go over to his house, that's all. I assume you're alone."

"Well, yeah," I said. "He's, you know, he's Mark. I guess nobody's really worried." The desire to spill everything, to tell him what had happened last night, was rising in my throat. I had to physically swallow it down.

"Sure," said Jacob, still frowning. "He's Mark, but Mark's only human. I would've thought...I mean, if I was him, I'd want to set an example for everyone by making sure I was extra careful."

"Well, nobody knows we're alone together except my parents. And you, now." It occurred to me that maybe it was supposed to stay a secret. "I'm - I probably shouldn't have said anything. Keep it to yourself, okay?"

"Of course," he said. "I'm sure it's fine, I'm not saying it's not. It just surprised me, that's all. He's a good guy." Jacob exhaled. "You're lucky to have him."

I couldn't bring myself to respond.
Would a good guy make me take off my clothes?

Another part of my brain taunted:
nobody
made
you take off your clothes, whore.

"And he's lucky to have you too, of course," said Jacob, quickly, smiling at me. He'd wiped all traces of worry and discomfort from his face. "Congratulations, by the way. I don't think I ever told you."