Everything Under The Sun

“I really want to do it, Atticus,” I lied, and grabbed the flopping fish into my hand. I can do this…I can…

Despite the confidence, I still thought of my father as I cleaned the second fish; I thought of him standing at the sink cleaning the fish I’d brought from the lake because he knew I didn’t like it. I thought of his kind, happy eyes and the way his tooth used to hurt him so terribly. As I cut off the fish’s head, I thought of my father sitting in his favorite chair; him coming home with squirrels and rabbits to eat and how he’d told me he’d killed them in one shot so they did not suffer. As I cut off the tail and pulled out the guts, I remembered his teachings and his advice and how he made sure that none of the men in our small town ever touched his daughters. And as I dragged the knife over the scales—scrape, scrape, scrape, cringe, scrape, cringe—I heard my father’s cries as he rocked my dead mother in his arms; his shouts as he told me and Sosie to run and hide in the cave; I saw his final moments, heard his final thoughts: Lord, please keep my daughters safe…I will gladly spend an eternity in Hell if only You’ll spare my daughters, and I saw him curse the raiders who came into the house after him. And I saw him die. I saw him die. I saw him die…

Atticus caught me when I collapsed. He held me in his arms as I wept.

(I held her in my arms where no one could touch her but me, where no one could ever hurt her again. “Shh,” I whispered onto her hair. Shh…)





37


THAIS





We lay together on the mattress later that night; Atticus behind me, his arms wrapped around me. We stared out the window at the black tree limbs jutting into the navy sky; the scattering of stars; the moon glow. We still smelled of fish even after scrubbing our hands in the pond. I didn’t care; I wanted him wrapped around me no matter what he smelled like. I melted into the heat of his chest; his warmth alone could ease me into sleep. His protective arms alone could ease me into Heaven.

“Atticus?”

“Yeah?” He squeezed me gently, spooning me.

“Do you ever wish that I was somebody else?” My voice was soft, quiet.

He squeezed me again, a little tighter this time.

“No,” he said. “Why would you ask me that?”

I shrugged. My eyes remained fixed on the sky through the open window. I stared at one star, hardly blinking, mesmerized by it though entirely absent to its presence. I was picturing something else. Many things. Bits and pieces of this and that.

“Why would you think I’d wish you were somebody else?” He pressed his lips to the back of my head.

“I saw how Rachel back at the farm looked at you.”

“You noticed that?”

“Yes.”

“Did it bother you?” His arms tightened around me again.

I nodded.

“I was afraid you might leave me at the farm and take her to Shreveport instead.”

His mouth fell on the side of my neck; shivers moved along my spine and into my cheeks; that tugging sensation between my legs returned. Tug—tuuug. I tensed a little, squeezing my thighs together to stave off the feeling, worried Atticus might sense it. Or was it an attempt to prolong the feeling? Did I hope he could sense it? I thought maybe it was both. I was still scared of having sex. But my fear of it was overshadowed by my desire for it—for Atticus. It wasn’t the act of sex itself that I wanted, it was the act with Atticus.

“I’d only ever take you with me anywhere, Thais.”

We were quiet for a moment; only the sound of our light breathing and the crickets outside could be heard. There was no Whippoorwill singing in the night, but I was okay with that. I had Atticus to comfort me now.

“But…you never touch me.”




ATTICUS




My body stiffened.

I couldn’t say anything. I was afraid to. The one thing I wanted more than anything as of late was to touch her, to be inside of her, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Guilt was already a heavy burden I carried always uphill. I didn’t trust myself. I was afraid that if I started, I wouldn’t be able to stop. Thais would be Evelyn in that moment. She would be Petra. She would be lost.

“Why don’t you touch me?” she repeated.

I sighed. “Thais…I’ve told you before I just can’t—”

“You can kiss me,” she pointed out.

She turned to lay facing me, and she looked into my eyes. “And you only did that because I asked you,” she said. “If I asked you to touch me, would you?”

I grew harder, and tried not to think about it.

Thais moved her body closer, tucking her hands together pressed between our chests; she was so tiny in my engulfing arms. One hand fell on her bottom, and I pulled her closer; the thin fabric of her dress was cool between my fingers, her flesh warm beneath it. My heart was about to burst out of my chest. The stiff ache between my legs grew uncomfortably. My mouth went dry in an instant and my tongue felt like cardboard.

“Would you?” she asked in a gentle voice; never seductive, never with the wiles or intentions of a skilled woman; only with naivety and sweetness.

Oh, how is this possible? I thought. How can a woman do so much inflict so much damage, provoke every emotion with just the thought of her? How is this possible? Why does it hurt so much? Why are You doing this to me? I fucking hate You. I fucking love You. But God would not hear me, because I was not a man of God. I was a deserter. A betrayer. An angry shell of a man who coupled with violence and sex. I had judged and harmed and maimed and murdered and kissed the mouth of sin every night I lay with a woman, with Evelyn, with the women before her. And I did not regret it. I would never regret it. Because I owed God nothing. And God owed me everything.

I laid my head back on the mattress and raised her face to mine, my fingers tucked underneath her chin, and then I kissed her.




THAIS




I touched my fingertips to his lips when he pulled away. I always loved to touch his face, the shape of his strong-set jaw, the stubble that tickled my fingers, the perfect curve of his nose, the warmth and softness of his lips…always his lips. I was fascinated by them. The shape of them. How they tasted. How strong they felt against mine, as if nothing could ever hurt me or touch me when he kissed me.

“Would you, Atticus?” I asked once more.

“What would you like me to do?” he asked, but with what felt like a heavy heart.

“Whatever you want to do?” I kissed him lightly, just a peck.

He shook his head. “No, don’t say that. Never say that to me. Do you understand?”

I didn’t understand.




ATTICUS




“But why?”

“Because I said so,” I told her.

“But that’s what I want,” she said, her sweet breath laced with dandelions and caramel candy wrapping around my senses. “I want you to do whatever you want to do.”

“No.” I shook my head with emphasis this time. “Thais, I will never touch you if you give me that kind of freedom. Never. Not now, not tomorrow, not ever.”

She frowned.

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