It's wonderful.
8
The next morning was awkward, to say the least.
Emma sat on one side of the table. Her right hand felt bruised, damaged from beating up both Marci and Margo. Various other parts of her body hurt, as well, but the good kind of hurt – pain inflicted by hands seeking to give her pleasure.
Margo sat on the opposite side of the table, glaring at her daughter. Well, maybe glaring wasn't the right word – could a person glare with only one eye able to squint properly? Margo's left eye and cheek were a little swollen from Emma's attack. Three red scratches lined her cheekbone, a lovely little memento from their bonding moment.
Jerry sat at the foot of the table, for once without his newspaper. He was glancing around at everyone, though surprisingly his gaze actually looked a little ... happy. He gave Emma soft smiles when he thought his wife wasn't looking. Margo got warm eyes and pats on her hands. Saint Jerry, keeping the balance, ensuring the peace.
Before, no one had ever sat at the head of the table. Jerry usually took a seat at the foot or at the side. Margo always sat to his left. Emma tried to never sit with them, so it had never been an issue. She supposed if she'd ever thought about it, it would've seemed a little odd, neither the master nor the mistress of the manor taking the seat at the head of the table.
But it made sense now, because Church was sitting at the head. He'd taken his spot thoughtlessly and effortlessly, as if he'd always been sitting there. As if the seat had been left vacant specifically for him.
Maybe it had.
“I'm proud of everyone,” Jerry interrupted the awkward silence. Well, awkward for the mortals in the room. Church had tucked himself back into his silences and was concentrating only on his breakfast. He didn't even seem to be aware that other living, sentient beings were sitting at the table with him. “Yesterday was ugly. Real ugly. But I had a long talk with Margo and Church early this morning.” Well, that explained Margo's unusually docile attitude – Emma had expected to be choke-slammed into her breakfast. “I'm glad we were able to work this all out, as a ... uh ... as a family.”
He choked on the word family like it was a sharp bone in his throat.
“Well, I don't know if -” Margo started to interject, laying one manicured hand gently against her face.
“I understand that women are temperamental by nature,” he just kept going. Emma stared at him. Was this real life? “Mothers and their children, they fight. Why, Paul and his mom, they went round and round. It's natural. So I'm real proud of everyone for being able to lay it to bed and sit at a table together.”
Had it been laid to bed? Had it? Emma had spent the night in Church's room, learning a new religion. She hadn't even heard when Jerry and Margo had come home. She glanced at her mother, wondering if they'd heard her having sex. Wondering if anything had been resolved, or if it all just gotten a lot worse.
I wonder if he's ever fantasized about killing her ...
“Well, honey, I'm ... I'm glad you're glad. And Emma,” her mother spat out her name. “I want you to know I forgive you. For everything. And you should thank Church for speaking on your behalf.”
Emma glanced at the head of the table. Church still wasn't acknowledging the situation, just munching away at his Cheerios while he read a textbook. The man from last night, the one who'd been a live wire full of energy and chaos, he was gone. Silence had taken his place again.
Could they possibly be the same person? Could I have imagined it?
Of course she couldn't have. Emma had woken up in Church's bed. He'd been gone, the sheets and comforter on his side of the bed actually straightened and made up. When she'd poked her head into the hall, it had been to hear bacon sizzling in a pan and to see Church sitting at the table. She couldn't be sure when he'd gone out there, but she'd gotten the impression he'd been up for a while – which Jerry and Margo had just confirmed.
So she'd snuck back into the shitty little office and she'd taken a moment for herself. The first one in over twelve hours.
Holy shit.
The sex had been explosive. All of it – their first round, and then the other times which had occurred later in the night. Each time had been less frenetic, more controlled. More about feeling everything he wanted to do and say. His hands, they spoke all the words he held inside. Pinned her down and ripped her apart and shed her blood. It was glorious.
More than that, though, had been the actual talking. Church knew how to speak, it turned out, and once he'd gotten started, it had been hard to stop him. It had been exhilarating and terrifying and a lot like falling in love. She'd learned a lot of things about him, and about herself. Things she'd been too scared to explore or admit before him.
But Church, he was so self-assured, it was impossible for it not to rub off on her. He knew exactly who he was; what he was. And while he knew he wasn't good, he also wasn't ashamed. In fact, he was almost proud. He knew his flaws, he recognized them, he took steps to control them – all impressive feats, all things worthy of being proud of, so he was. The bonus part about being a semi-sociopath, it seemed. Not hurting anyone, not killing anyone, those were accomplishments to him. He deserved praise. He deserved worship.
Emma wanted to be his disciple. She hated herself for her flaws. She buried her fucked up thoughts. Punished herself for her bad feelings. It wasn't fair. Why shouldn't she revel in them? Hadn't she earned it?
Ridiculous. She would learn to be like Church. Embrace her dark side, recognize it for what it was, and appreciate herself for not giving into it.
And maybe, just maybe, learn to know when it was okay to give into that side.
Maybe he could learn that, too.
“So, Emma,” Jerry started again, apparently not done with feeling like the great peace keeper. She slowly drew her gaze away from Church and looked at his father. “My boss is friends with the dean of your school. I can ask for them to have a meeting, if you'd like.”
She stared at him like he was speaking a different language. Huh? Jerry had barely noticed her existence for the past couple weeks. Why did he want to take care of her now?
“I ... I don't know what to say,” she managed to babble. No one was ever nice for no reason – what would Jerry want in return?
“Well, I spoke with Paul last night, and he said how well you've been doing, how hard you've been studying. He spoke with the administration this morning, arranged a meeting for when you get in, and he's also even offered to tutor you, to get your grades up. I think between the three of us, we might be able to keep you in school, but you have to promise – no more fighting,” Jerry stressed.
Emma ignored him for a moment, back to staring at Church. He'd spoken to his father? The her school? First their parents, and now this – he hated speaking to anyone, and yet he'd done it. For her. A small thing from anyone else, but a huge deal coming from him.
This has to be love.
“I promise,” she finally managed to respond.
“Good. That's a good girl, Emma. I'm sure this will all blow over.”
Then Jerry was patting her hand, and Emma wanted to throw up a little bit.
I fucked Church, and now I'm eating pancakes with Margo and Jerry is comforting me. Did I die last night?
Abruptly, Church stood up. The chair legs screeching across the cheap tile floor seemed to fill the entire house. Everyone went silent and stared at him. He didn't look at anyone, just carried his bowl to the sink, then went back to his room. They could hear him collecting things, and Emma had long since memorized his routines – he was getting his stuff so he could leave.
One mind blowing night together and she'd already started thinking of him as a different person. Of course he wasn't, though. Words didn't really make that much of a difference. Not to a person like him, not at his core.
Emma quickly got up and put her own plate away. She exchanged glares with her mother, but avoided looking at Jerry at all. She still wasn't sure what to make of his niceness. Soft touches were
very rarely ever a nice thing in Emma's world.
She hurried around her room, not sure what all she should grab. She'd beaten someone up yesterday – should she even bother going in with him? Should she wait for the dean to call her in? When Church paused for a moment outside her door, she knew she should. She grabbed her backpack, ran a brush through her hair, then rushed to catch up to him just as he was going outside.
“Keep us posted on how things go today,” Jerry called out just as the front door was shutting behind them.
It was pouring down rain outside, they were both soaked by the time they got in the car. She wrung out her hair while they drove down the street, then she went about rolling some more cigarettes, anticipating a stressful day.
“Your father,” she finally broke the silence. Church flicked his gaze to her and she paused for a moment, waiting for him to respond. Apparently, things were well and truly back to normal.
I can't handle normal, not anymore.
“Is your dad really a nice guy?” she kept talking. His eyes were back on the road and he seemed to be smiling to himself. Mocking her. “I mean, beyond his milquetoast exterior. You told me about your mom, but what about Jerry? Was he always white bread?” Church's smile was gone. He looked bored with the conversation. “Did he ever fantasize about hurting people?”
A broad question, for sure, but she knew he'd understand. She watched his fingers clench and unclench around the steering wheel. Then, just as the college came into view, he took a deep breath.
“No.”
Ah. That voice. She'd almost wondered if she'd dreamed it. Low and serious, reverberating through her chest.
“Not ever?”
“I could light Jerry on fire and he would smile and say 'thank you'. I'm almost positive he's not my real father.”
“Really?”
It hadn't ever occurred to her, yet now that he'd said it out loud, it actually made a lot of sense. Church looked nothing like his father, whatsoever. Jerry had dirty blond hair, was pudgy and paunchy, and maybe average height, in shoes. His droopy washed out blue eyes matched his dishwater hair. His dishwater personality. He had nothing of the electricity that crackled in his son's gaze and mind.
They pulled into the parking lot and he took his usual spot, in front of the windows at the end of the row. Then they sat in silence for a while as Emma packed up her cigarette making paraphernalia. After she was done, she waited while Church seemed to take a couple moments to work something out in his head.
“Emma ...” he sighed her name, and her heart soared on his breath. “Everything is different now. You understand that, right?”
All at once, she was scared. This could be very good, or very bad.
“I'm sorry, what?”
“It's simple for you – you never shut up. It's just ... not for me. Every word I say out loud, it costs me. A piece of my ... my mind, whatever, my sanity. Something. I'm going to need you to help me now.”
Okay, phew. He wasn't ending them before they'd even really begun. The mere thought of it, the hint, had almost sent her into a tailspin. The actual act ...
This is beyond falling for someone. This is obsession. This is wrong. This must be love.
“Okay, so ... you don't want to talk anymore?” she checked. He frowned.
“I want to tell you things I've never said to anybody,” he corrected her, and her body instantly filled with flames.
“Sounds good to me.”
“But you have to understand ...” his hands were gripping his wheel so hard, his knuckles had gone white. “The things I want to say ... they're not ... I'm going to ask you to do things. To understand things. This isn't up for debate – you get what I'm saying? You're either with me, or you're not.”
Emma wasn't entirely sure she did get what all he was saying – but one thing was coming through crystal clear to her. Whatever was starting between them, if she said no to the things he asked, if she didn't understand the things he said, it would be over. And she didn't think she would handle that very well. So she gave him the only response she could.
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, I'm with you. I understand.”
“Don't say these things lightly,” he said, his gaze snapping to hers. She felt like he hadn't looked at her all morning. It stole the breath out of her body. “Don't be like everyone else.”
“Trust me, Church. I won't be like anyone else you've ever met.”
He shocked her once again by leaning across the car and kissing her. Fast and hard. Then he was getting out of the vehicle and slamming the door. She scrambled to follow after him, but he was halfway to the entrance before she'd even gotten her feet on the ground.
“I'm counting on it, Emma!” he called back without looking, and then he disappeared through the doors.
WHEN EMMA FINALLY GOT inside, she was soaked all over again. Worse, when she finished shaking out her jacket, she realized everyone was gaping at her. She looked around for a minute, then realization sunk in. She was standing in the common area. Just the day before, she'd broken Marci's nose against a table in front of half the school and faculty, in that very same room.
Whoops.
“Oh my god, what are you doing here!?”
A squealing voice had Emma turning around, but before she could finish the rotation, Stacey was slamming into her. She squeezed her arm in a sort of sideways hug, then dragged her down a hallway towards the science wing.
“Where are we going?” Emma asked, glancing around.
“I thought you were suspended! I didn't want security to come and kick you out,” Stacey hissed. “What are you doing here? And am I going crazy, or did it look like you and Church were talking outside his car?”
Fuckity fuck fuck. Things were so much easier in Church's bed. Maybe, if she asked very politely, he would tie her to it and leave her there.
“Yes,” she said, then kept going before Stacey could squeal again. “He's helping me so I can stay in school.”
“Wow. That's so nice of him, I guess. He must really like his new step-sister,” Stacey laughed, and Emma grimaced. She didn't like that term, not at all.
“Stacey, we're adults who only met a couple weeks ago and whose parents got married right before that. We're not siblings, in any kind of fashion. Now I gotta go and see if I can even keep going to this school.”
Before the other girl could argue, Emma hurried off towards the hallway where the administration offices were located. Jerry had mentioned something about a meeting that morning – might as well get it over with. When she finally reached the dean's office, his door was shut and there were people inside, but his personal secretary assured Emma he was expecting her.
She sat nervously in a chair and tried not to think about anything. She didn't want to get kicked out of college – graduating had been something of a goal, and Emma did like to try to accomplish her goals. At the same time, though, things at school hadn't exactly been going well. She got okay grades, sure, but after Church had arrived on the scene, she hadn't really been able to pay attention. Was it worth going back? Couldn't she just sort of stay home and ... well ... wait for him?
That's ridiculous! You just met him, and you want to sit at home and pine away for him!?
Yes. Yes I do. Pine and breathe and live and die for him.
Whoa there, Dark Emma, let's just calm the fuck down, you barely even know him
Shut up, Logical Emma, all you do is ruin everything.
Now she was arguing with herself, awesome. The office door finally creaked open and there was the dean, saving her from another psychotic break. She jumped to her feet.
“Ms. Hartley,” he spoke in a gruff voice. “Come in.”
His office was already small and cramped, but seemed even more so with all the people in it. A security officer, a school counselor, Marci, Marci's mother and father, and Church. All of them turned to watch her as she entered the room. Church's eyes bored into her soul and once again, she rea
d his body language loud and clear.
“Don't fuck this up.”
She wouldn't. There was one chair left, some fold out from the cafeteria, and she sat in it, trying to look meek and mild.
HA HA HA! That's a good one.
“Ms. Hartley, we're here to discuss whether or not you have a future at this school. The incident between you and Ms. MacIntosh yesterday was disgraceful. It was also assault – you are very lucky she declined to press charges.”
Emma was surprised. She'd sort of been waiting for cops to show up at her house. Now she knew why they hadn't. She glanced at the other girl. Marci had a bandage strapped across her nose and two blacks eyes that did nothing to hide her glare.
Frankly, it's an improvement on her looks.
“I'm very grateful,” she amended the dean's statement. “I'm just ... I'm so sorry, Marci. I was sick, I wasn't in my right mind. I had no right to do what I did, and I've felt just terrible about it ever since.”
Terrible shame I didn't knock out a tooth while I was at it.
“Good,” Marci grumbled, giving an indignant sniff. “It was all very traumatic.”
“We've already agreed not to throw her in jail,” Mr. MacIntosh started barking. “But how can we be sure this hooligan won't attack our daughter again?”
“I won't, I promise,” Emma spoke quickly.
“Your word means nothing to me.”
“I promise.”
It was Church's voice ringing through the room, startling everyone. Everyone except, Emma noticed, little Miss Marci. No, Marci not only looked like she recognized it, she looked ... smug.
“And just exactly who are you?” Mr. MacIntosh glared at Church.
“I'm a teacher's assistant, I work in the classroom your daughter shares with Ms. Hartley. I am also Ms. Hartley's step-brother, we live in the same household. I will be keeping a strict eye on her.”
“I'm not sure that's good enough for me.”
“Daddy, we already discussed this. She doesn't scare me, I'm fine with her being here. But if you touch me again, I'll kick your ass, and then I'll sue you,” Marci threatened her.
Church. Page 10