Page 56 of Taking The Virgin

Owen looks as if he only wants to escape from his parents and this house, but he’s been cornered.

He addresses them without any more niceties. “Liam called me today and told me the news. I thought it best to stop by so we can take care of this once and forall.”

No one says anything for a moment, and it’s all I can do not to show how stunned I am by everything that I’m seeing. These are the last people who should be Owen’s parents. It’s as if we’ve entered the wrong town and we’re standing in front of the wrong house.

After the awkward moment passes, his dad finally laughs, then falls into a fit of coughing. He waves his wife’s attentions away. “Don’t listen to anything your brother has to say, Owen. He and your other brothers already tried to lecture us, but we’refine.”

“That’s what Liam said you’d tellme.”

Owen stiffly looks around. His expression hints that he somehow feels contaminated.

But his parents don’t seem to notice that. They only look at me with brighteyes.

“And who’s this?” his momasks.

“Juliet Hope,” Owen says. “Juliet, meet my parents.”

“Oh, isn’t she just a doll!” Mrs. Gregory doesn’t seem to mind her soiled appearance—the blemished dress, the slightly off-putting smell I’m detecting. As she extends her hand to me, I notice there’s crusted dirt under her long, ragged nails, but I accept her greeting, then his dad’s.

Meanwhile, the house’s door has creaked all the way open, showing me what’s inside.

Ohgod.

The full odor hits me first—the stench of things that are old and dead. Then I see what looks like a garbage dump in the front room—piles of newspapers, magazines, mail, pillows, threadbare clothes, and even what looks to be beer cans. I think there’s furniture beneath it all, but I can only see hints of unclean upholstery and scarredwood.

Sorrow mixes with disgust, and I hope to heaven that they don’t see how horrified Iam.

Mrs. Gregory is beside herself. “Come in! Comein!”

Owen’s parents slowly return toward their door, and I catch Owen’s tortured gaze. I nearly sob with sympathy for him and these poor people.

Hoarders. And not just collectors.

The home isn’t just badly cluttered…

Dear god, their home is absolutely filled with junk and debris and even insects and vermin. It’s filthy and dangerous, and this is where Owen grewup.

This is why he has nightmares.

Suddenly, so much about his fanatical crusade against germs and his aversion to uncleanliness makes sense, even while there’s so much he still needs to explain tome.

As his parents go inside, he remains rooted to the faded porch planks. “I’m sure you won’t be surprised to know that I’m not coming in. I’m only here to save you from yourselves, to get you to finally see some common sense. As usual, if you’re not going to listen to me, I have no reason to be here, but I think, this time, you need to listen.”

“What’s important is that we get to know Juliet,” his mom says, looking surprised at Owen’s strictness. “She’s the first girl you’ve ever broughthome.”

My throat is burning so badly that I don’t know if I can hide my shock and sadness anymore. This is awful, so damned awful.

Just before I follow them, Owen wraps his fingers around myarm.

I notice he doesn’t grab my hand where his parents made contact withme.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says softly but firmly. “It’s unsanitary in there. Dangerous. I only brought you with me so you’d know whyI—”

His words grind into nothing. He’s too busy controlling the emerging panic in his gaze, and I see the little boy in him who grew up here. I see the young man who dedicated his life to helping patients who are neck-deep in the “harmful things” and germs that could debilitate any person. I see why he needs everything to be so clean and perfect, and why his obsession with order has created a stainless steel wall between himself and the world.

Most of all, I see why he wakes up some nights, pushing his hands away from him as if he’s covered in piles of rotting garbage, choking to death as his mouth fills with dirt. To think of an infant living in this, or a young child with stacks of clutter teetering over him, and dead animals rotting nearby as he slept…

“I’ll be back soon,” I say. “I only wantto—”

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