Cries of Penance: 5 (Chronicles of Surrender)

by Harte, Roxy

  I nod, relieved and realize I’m exhausted. It seems as though I’ve been awake days instead of hours. “Can we take a nap?”

  He waggles his eyebrows. “I might let you sleep.”

  “In the depths of winter I finally learned there was in me an invincible summer.”

  Albert Camus, Return to Tipasa

  Chapter Fourteen

  Kitten

  I am shaken awake by Master. I blink blearily. “What time is it?”

  “Ten.”

  Ten? In the morning? I sit up, rubbing my eyes. “My alarm didn’t go off. They expected me at the office an hour ago.”

  “I turned off your alarm so you could sleep well for once, and I left a message at your office that you wouldn’t be in today.”

  I distinctly remember it being close to five when Master gave me permission to fall asleep. I blink at him and scratch my head. Not understanding, I lie back down, mumbling, “I don’t think you should have called my office.”

  I’m too tired to argue. All I want to do is to go back to sleep.

  Master sits down on the mattress beside me and rubs my back. “Kitten, sweetheart. I need you to wake up and get dressed.”

  By his tone I feel like something is wrong, and a rush of adrenaline makes me immediately alert. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  “Thomas is home.”

  My heart leaps into my throat. Happiness races through me. Throwing off the covers, I hurry out of bed and would rush from the room if Master didn’t grab my elbow to hold me back, but he does. “Get dressed first. His children are with him.”

  “God. His kids?” Kiddie Kibble. Diapers. Formula. Bottles. Juice. It all makes sense now. My heart sinks, remembering the news footage of their mother being kidnapped. “My God, those poor kids.”

  Master leaves me alone in the bedroom and I dress as quickly as I can, black yoga pants and a lime-green tank top that molds around my stomach. It’s what I had laid out to wear to my Primal Birth class…when? Last night? Did Master call Jackie? God, I hope he called Jackie so she wasn’t worried. “Shit.”

  I hurry out, slowing when I hear giggles coming from the kitchen. Giggles? Catching sight of Master pouring milk into a bowl set in front of a beautiful little girl with waist-length curls and huge brown eyes, I stop stock-still. “Uncle Gar? How do you always know our favorites? Strawberry-banana, yum-yum.”

  “Chocolate chip!” shouts a small boy seated at her right.

  Master ruffles his hair. “When did you grow so big, Nikkos?”

  The boy smiles at him and I clutch my chest. His hair is shoulder-length and very curly. He has the same wide eyes as Olympia. Their mother’s eyes, but the boy’s smile is pure Lord Fyre. “God.”

  The sons in my belly choose to start a kicking match. I push against a spot that is growing increasingly sore. Darker hands slide around me from behind, rubbing over the wiggling mound that is our babies. I close my eyes and lean my head back against his chest. “Thomas.”

  Leaning around me, he kisses me and I kiss him back, but then I remember his children and I pull away, explaining, “They might see.”

  “My wife’s people are Muslim, my children’s uncles have many wives. They will think nothing of my marriage to you. They will honor you as their other mother.”

  My marriage to you. My heart skips a beat and I am left speechless and blinking like an owl. I don’t know what to think or say.

  “I just feel wrong. God, Thomas, is there any news of Latisha?”

  His eyes narrow slightly before he looks away from me.

  “Thomas?”

  He crosses the room to look through the wide windows at the skyline.

  I follow him, not wanting him to think that I don’t want him. Never that. I want him desperately. “I’ve missed you. I’m so glad you’re home.”

  He meets my gaze and opens his arms to me. I hug him tightly, not ever wanting to let go. Now is not the time to argue or to even consider the questions swirling through my mind. Soon enough there will be time to worry about how Latisha and the children fit into our lives.

  I hear Garrett’s voice and a response of giggles coming from the kitchen as Thomas leads me out of the living room and back to the bedroom. I’m not prepared for this, not at all. My heart races, and I don’t know how to tell Thomas that I just can’t do this. Not here. Not now.

  When he closes the door between us and them I feel no better about the situation.

  He hugs my face in his palms and looks at me. I have never been looked at so closely, and his scrutiny makes me blush.

  “You are so beautiful. I just want to make sure the image I held in my mind these last months has been truth.”

  I smile, but the tightness in my shoulders doesn’t lessen.

  “Have I lost you completely then?”

  I jerk. “What? No!”

  “Good. I was worried.” He kisses my eyelids, the tip of my nose, my lips. Against my mouth he whispers, “I have missed you.”

  He slides his hands down my throat, tightening around my neck gently. I hold his gaze, I don’t flinch or move. I trust him, breathing in, out, waiting for him to cut off my air completely—because he can, because I’d let him—only he doesn’t. He slides his hands over my shoulders, down my arms. Bending, he kisses my belly, dropping to his knees. Cupping my buttocks, he pulls me into him. He presses his face into me, holding me tight. I realize after only a moment that he is crying. I don’t move. I just breathe, in, out, while he sobs into me, my stomach, our babies, muffling any sound. I imagine him screaming, even though I can’t hear it. I’ve been here—this broken. God, oh God, comfort him.

  I don’t cry. I don’t let myself. I wait for him to stand. I wait for him to hold me again. I wait for him to allow me to comfort him, and then decide to just comfort him. I run my hands through his hair, pulling him closer, hugging his face into my stomach tighter.

  I kiss the top of his head, molding around him, falling to the ground with him. He rolls with me, dragging me on top of him. As I straddle him, my heart breaks for him as I kiss away his tears. I kiss his mouth. I kiss my way down his t-shirt-covered chest.

  Holding his gaze, I kiss his belt buckle before I unlatch it. I pull loose his belt, unbutton and unzip his jeans. I keep looking into his eyes as his erection springs free and fills my mouth. Sliding my mouth up and down his length, I don’t think about anything but his pleasure. I know exactly what he likes, how much pressure to apply with my lips and teeth. I know when to lick, when to bite, when to circle, when to plunge his length as deep as I can take it into my throat.

  He grabs my face and pulls me up until I am kissing his mouth. He holds my face while I shimmy my leggings down over my hips. As soon as I am bared enough I lower myself onto his hard shaft. I ride him, gritting my teeth because my clit is oversensitized from the earlier pumping. I close my eyes, embracing the pain, eating it up and, pushing down hard against Thomas, feeding it back to him.

  “Oh God,” I cry out as pleasure punches through my discomfort.

  Thomas brushes away tears that have fallen onto my cheeks. Tears that have nothing to do with my clit and everything to do with the pain I see etched on his face. I slow my pace, riding him gently.

  He says, “Talk to me.”

  “I love you.”

  “I love you. I need to know that I am coming home to you as your husband.”

  My heart skips another beat and then another before I press my lips to his, promising, “You are already my husband.” Quoting the Book of Mark, I whisper, “And they twain shall be one flesh. So they are no more twain, but one flesh.”

  A look of sadness crosses his face that I don’t understand, but then he says, “I have to leave for Sudan immediately,” and I understand completely.

  I gasp. “No! Please, no! Stay here. Let the Marines rescue your wife, or the senator’s people.”

  He holds my face. “You are my wife now. All that I own is yours.”

  I pant, verging on hysteria as
his meaning dawns clearer and clearer. He doesn’t know if he will be coming back alive. I try to pull away but he holds my hips tight, forcing me to keep riding him. I know my pleas are pointless. If it were he or Garrett I would go. I would do everything I could to rescue them. Latisha is his wife and the mother of four of his children. He loves her. He has to go. Collapsing over him, sobbing, I hold him as tight as I can for as long as I can. God! Oh God, bring him home safely.

  “I want you to raise my children. With love. With God. All of my children.”

  I sob harder against his chest, and he lets me cry until there are no more tears left. An hour passes, maybe two, I don’t know what Garrett did to entertain the children so long, but I appreciate the fact he did, allowing me this time with Thomas.

  We dress in silence. My heart is breaking, but there isn’t anything I can say or do to keep him from leaving us again. This is our relationship and as much as I hate the fact of it, I want him to return to us, even if it is just to tell us goodbye, again and again and again.

  * * * * *

  After dinner I know that Thomas will be leaving soon. If he looked at his watch once, he looked at it a dozen times. I think Garrett knows what is coming. He spent most of the day reinforcing the bond he once shared with the children. When Thomas takes his children back to the guest room we both tense, knowing the time is near. I’m worried about having the children left in our care and ask him, “Do the children know their grandfather is dead?”

  “No.”

  “Do you think they wonder why their mother didn’t come with them?”

  Reentering the room, Thomas answers, “Their mother is still in Sudan. That is the truth, and that is what they believe.”

  “They’re going to ask questions, Thomas.”

  “I know that.”

  “What are we supposed to tell them?”

  “Nothing.” He joins us, sitting on the edge of a sofa opposite us. “Until there is something to tell them, I don’t want them upset.”

  “Thomas. They are children not idiots. You need to tell them something before you go away.”

  “What would you have me say to them, Sophia? That their grandfather was shot between the eyes and half his skull blown off? That their mother was kidnapped and will likely be tortured and raped before she is killed?”

  “God. No!”

  Going to Thomas, Master presses his fingers to Thomas’ mouth. “Sh-sh-shh. We’ll take care of the children. Go find Lattie and come home to us safely.”

  I wrap myself in my arms, hugging myself, trying not to scream. I can’t believe any of this is happening. When is enough enough? You would think I’d be numb to it all by now, but I’m not…and I completely understand that he has to try to rescue his wife.

  No! I don’t.

  “Don’t go,” I beg again, arguing, “this is why we have a military, right? Send in the fucking Marines.”

  I race to him, throwing my arms around him, pleading, “Don’t go.”

  He kisses the top of my head. “I have to. She’s the mother of my children.”

  I want to remind him that this woman left him and took his children away from him. God! God damn! I know he has to save his fucking wife. I know. He wouldn’t be the man I love if he wasn’t that guy.

  Master stands and my heart catches, knowing it is time to say goodbye.

  “Papa?” We all look toward Hektor. He is pale and obviously shaken by what he has just heard. None of us realized he was sitting hidden behind the sofa until he stood.

  God, oh God. I believe the child heard every word and my heart breaks for him as tears well in his eyes but do not fall. He walks slowly to his father. Thomas hasn’t moved. It is like he is frozen in place until Hektor reaches him. Only then does he squat so that he is eye level with his son.

  Hektor puts his hands on his father’s shoulders. “You are strong, Papa.”

  “Like Superman,” Thomas assures him, the words catching in his throat, and it seems the assurance is one he has given the child many times before. Hektor smiles, but a tear slides down his cheek. Thomas catches the tear with his thumb.

  “Have the men who have my mother sent proof of life?”

  I gasp, wondering how a child so young can understand such things, but even as my brain questions it I realize he has had a life much different than the children I have ever known.

  “Not yet,” Thomas whispers.

  I turn into Master’s arms and he pulls me against him. Forcing myself not to lose it, I tremble against him and am barely comforted when he kisses me on top of my head. I can’t take my eyes off the boy. He looks crestfallen.

  “Find the men who did these things. Kill them, Papa.”

  Thomas presses his forehead to his son’s. “I will avenge your grandfather.”

  Hektor kisses him. “Thank you.”

  Thomas takes his hand and leads him back toward the bedroom. We can hear him speaking softly as they walk. “I need you to be strong for your brother and sisters. I need you to be a good boy for Uncle Gar and Aunt Celia while I’m away.”

  Aunt Celia. Oh fuck. I’ve never been an aunt. I’ve never taken care of children.

  Garrett joins me on the sofa and I reach for his hand. I realize only when he stretches his fingers that I am squeezing his hand so hard that I’m hurting both of us. “Sorry.”

  “Sh-h. Are you okay?”

  “I’m an aunt?”

  He chuckles and I wonder how he can laugh. “Consider the next few days practice for being a mommy.”

  I bend over my knees, suddenly lightheaded and nauseated. Oh God. “Can we do this?”

  He pulls me back to a sitting position and wraps his arm around me. “Relax. I’ve had the kids for a long weekend before. I have a little experience with my nephews and niece.”

  “Nieces,” I correct.

  “What?”

  “You have two nieces.”

  Beside me, he nods then kisses me. “You’re right.”

  Thomas reenters the room, clearing his throat to let us know he has. We both look toward him and he looks down, sheepishly. I’ve never seen Thomas look so vulnerable. “Both Olympia and Nikkos are awake as well. I believe a story from Uncle Gar will go a long way toward helping them sleep.”

  Master stands and crosses the room, saying, “I can do that,” but he stops in front of Thomas and pulls him into his arms. He says something to him, speaking so softly I can’t hear what he’s saying, but Thomas nods and then they embrace, kissing, a long kiss that has the feel of desperation, and I realize Master is saying goodbye.

  This is really happening.

  I grab my chest as pain shoots through my sternum.

  I’m going to have a heart attack and die.

  I watch Master leave the room, and it seems as though it is in slow motion. Thomas starts to walk toward me, but then everything speeds up and he is rushing toward me. I collapse against him.

  “Breathe, Sophia!”

  I try, I really do, but it hurts too much.

  “Don’t die, Ari! Please don’t die.”

  He pulls me into his arms and holds me tighter than he has ever held me. “I’m not going to die, Sophia. Have some faith in me.”

  “I do have faith in you.” I hold on to him for dear life. Please don’t go. Please don’t go! “I’ve missed you so much.”

  “I’ve missed you unbearably, my love.” He slides his hands around to cup my protruding stomach and his unborn sons kick against his palms. “I will come home to you. To them.”

  Neither of us mentions Lattie, that he will be returning with a wife, or how that will affect the ménage, and as he bends to kiss my baby belly I pray none of that will matter—and none of it will—as long as he comes home.

  After he leaves, I stand with my forehead pressed to the door, crying silently. I can’t risk having his children hear me, I don’t want to upset them and so I scream silently. I feel Garrett’s body heat without knowing he’d come back into the room. He molds behind me, sho
ulder to knee, wrapping his arms around me. He doesn’t speak. He just holds me.

  Later, in the bedroom, he finds documents left by Thomas lying on the nightstand. He doesn’t ask “What’s this?” because it is very clear just what it is, a Certificate of Marriage declaring Sophia Jane Marie Alexander and Demetres Aristotle Velouchiotis as wed. He used his real name? His birth name. It is dated for three days earlier and witnessed by Abigail Wainwright-Fuller. The official stamp declares it was filed as a part of public record yesterday.

  Our gazes clash over the paper. Garrett knows I attended no wedding; I certainly didn’t get formally married. I sigh heavily as he looks over the other documents, bank account information, stocks, bonds, deeds, a Last Will and Testament.

  I insist, “He’s coming back.”

  He nods. “I don’t doubt he’s coming back. Was this a power play to make certain that I know you are more his than mine?”

  “That’s absolutely ridiculous!”

  “Is it?”

  “He’s returning with Lattie,” I insist, gesturing helplessly with my hands. “This is some damn formality in case the worst happens, but the worst isn’t going to happen. They have a family together.”

  He lifts his eyebrow and I know what he’s thinking, exactly what he’s thinking. Thomas and I also have a family together. Will he try to fit two wives and six children in one home, allowing Garrett to visit as Uncle Gar? Will he set up two households, one for each wife? Will he, Lattie and their children live separate from Garrett, me and our children? I rub my forehead, realizing my head is pounding.

  Folding the papers, he lays everything back on the nightstand. “I’m going to sleep in the guest room with the children. I don’t want them to wake up alone and be frightened.”

  “Do you want me to come too?”

  I’m both disappointed and relieved when he shakes his head.

  “In victory one does not understand the horror of war. It is only in the cold chill of defeat that it is brought home to you.”

  Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, The Adventures of Gerard