Page 20 of Redemption

I sit up in the bed gasping to get air into my aching lungs. My heart pumps furiously, and my whole body is drenched in sweat. I’ve not had that dream for years. I thought I’d suppressed it to the point where I’d never have to remember it again. The night my father tried to teach me women were not worthy of my respect. It’s why I’ve worshipped them with my body ever since, hoping I’ll find some redemption for what I did. That was also the night I joined the Cavalieri Della Morte. I walked out of that building and straight to my uncle. I made my first kill a few weeks later, and it soothed some of the ache from what I’d done. What is happening with Megan is bringing too many bad memories to the surface. And then there’s her eyes…the blue in them.

Sliding from my bed, I pull on track pants and head to the lounge. I need a drink to wash away the memories if I’m to have any hope of sleeping again. I pad down the hallway in darkness and notice a light on in the lounge. I have no weapons with me, so I grab a vase from a table close by. Moving silently around the corner, I find Megan curled up on one of the large leather chairs with a book in her hand. She startles and looks up at me holding the vase above my head, ready to smash it down on any intruder.

“What the fuck?” I exclaim, lowering the vase. She scrambles to get off the chair, and I swallow down my temper at finding her out here when all I wanted was a bottle of whiskey.

“I-I’m s-sorry,” she stutters, but I notice she doesn’t fall to the floor. “I couldn’t sleep. I had a bad dream. I came out here to read, so I didn’t disturb you with the light.” She holds a book up to me, ‘Pride and Prejudice’ by Jane Austen. Where the fuck did she get that from? It’s not my sort of reading material.

“It’s ok. You just startled me. I wasn’t expecting anyone to be in here.” I place the vase down on a table and going to my drink’s cupboard, I pull out a bottle of whiskey and two glasses and pour a finger full for her and a lot more for me. I offer the glass to her, and she tentatively reaches out to take it.

“Want to talk about your dream?” I ask, sitting down on the sofa. I take a large mouthful of the amber nectar and allow it to burn the bad memories away.

“Just the usual.” Megan takes a sip and coughs a little at the shock of the heat of it.

“When was the last time you had a drink?” I question.

“The night I was taken. I was in a club with my friend.”

“This is proper Welsh whiskey. None of that southern stuff for me.”

“Are you Welsh?” Megan takes another mouthful, and this time she lets out a soft murmur of approval.

“My ancestry is Welsh on my father’s side. Hence the name Gawain. I’ve been over there a few times. I can’t afford to go too often, because I end up eating too many Welsh cakes and have to spend months in the gym afterward working them off.”

She laughs at me.

“I’ve never had one.”

“I’ll have to take you there, one day.”

We both fall silent.

“What’s with the book?” I tilt my head toward it.

“It was the one thing that gave me comfort. I used to imagine my handsome hero rescuing me and treating me like a lady.” She looks down at the pages. “I guess part of it came true. I’m rescued,” she says, closing the book and placing it on the table in front of her.

“Did you get up for a reason?” she asks. I notice the change of subject and don’t push her any further on the book. It’s obviously a link to her past she’s not willing to let go of, just yet.

So instead, I reply, “It seems it’s a night for bad dreams.”

“You want to talk about it?”

I take another large mouthful of the whiskey. It’s already soothed the most tangled of my nerves.

“My family life growing up wasn’t exactly the best. My father was an evil man. I didn’t agree with his views on a lot of things, including hitting me when I did something wrong. He wouldn’t have been a hero in a Jane Austen novel. His views on women weren’t exactly the same as Mr. Darcy’s.”

“I don’t know—Darcy’s views were archaic in many ways.” Megan says and shifts so she’s facing me better. I get up from my seat and reaching for a blanket, I place it over her and then pour myself another glass of whiskey.

“I guess. Mr. Darcy had morals, though. He respected women and their decisions. Ok, like most men of his time, he expected them to act a certain way and probably to keep a house to a high standard, but he would never use them just for his own pleasure. That was my father’s opinion, and the one he taught me on my sixteenth birthday.” I look down into the whiskey, its colorful liquid patterns drawing me back into my darkest thoughts, and I continue speaking, “I lost my virginity in a way I’ll always regret until the day I die. But I’ll never see a woman and her pussy as being there just for my pleasure, which is the message my father hoped to instill in me.”

When I look up from my drink, I can see tears have pooled in Megan’s eyes.

“Oh god, I’m sorry. Not a subject we should be discussing.”

“No, it’s ok. You regret the way you lost your virginity, and I’m the same. It’s odd how it sounds so familiar. M as he took me, said the same sort of thing. My body, and my pussy were for his pleasure until the day I die.”

I place my glass down and push up off the sofa. My need to protect Megan overwhelming the commonsense telling me to return to bed alone.

“It seems we both have regrets that plague us at night.” I reach out a hand to her. “How about we keep each other company in the hopes we can get some sleep?”

Megan takes my hand.

“I’d like that.”

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