Arranged Marriage

Chapter 29

Patrick's soft snoring filled my ears as I slowly fell out of the Land of Dreams. His rich smell filled my lungs making me cling to the body around me, my hands clawing at his chest. I rubbed my head against his smooth chest, feeling secure and safe wrapped in his arms.

Patrick sighed, his eyes slowly waking to the world around him. They flicked around the room before they landed on mine that continued to stare at him. A smile appeared on his face as he looked over me, seeing something that he liked.

"Morning," he croaked, still half asleep.

"Morning," I groaned, snuggling up to him.

He chuckled at me, clearly seeing what I was trying to do. Before I realized, he had flipped us so that I was safely pinned beneath him. I yelped from shock before I fell into giggles as he kissed me in a sweet and affectionate way that only he seemed to pull off.

"Mmm," I moaned, once we broke, "I'm getting very use to waking up with you next to me."

He chuckled, knocking my nose, "Me too."

I giggled, before Patrick took my lips again.

I wanted nothing more than to be caught up in the moment but something was stopping me. Something was always stopping me.

Patrick pulled back, frowning, "What's wrong."

"Nothing," I lied, biting my lip.

Patrick scoffed, shaking his head, "You are a horrible liar. What's going through your mind?"

"It's nothing," I tried to convince him, hoping he would just drop it.

Patrick's eyes narrowed at me, trying to will it out of me. Of course, it worked.

"Just, oh my God, I'm just going to say it. How, many, girls have you...slept with?"

Patrick's mouth dropped, his eyes turning cold. And just like that, our moment had ended. He sat up, refusing to look at me. Turning around, he swung his legs off the side of the bed.

"I don't know," he muttered under his breath, picking up his briefs from the floor and pulling them on.

"Too many to count?" I asked, covering myself with the sheets.

He shook his head, "Too many to remember."

My heart cracked. My mouth dropped.

I knew that I had made this pain that was burning in the pit of my stomach. It wasn't the fact that he had slept with a lot of women. It was that he cared that little about them that he couldn't even spare the time to remember. And I knew that I was different, clearly. But that didn't make our sex life any different. He had already told me that we couldn't have love. But I at least thought we had some sort of connection in the sheets.

"Um, h-how is that –?"

"Eliza, women were thrown at me since I turned fifteen," he explained, trying to make reason of his confession.

"Were they...were they prostitutes?" I asked, not knowing why that seemed important.

"Some of them...most of them," he whispered, "a few girls in college, some in high school. A lot of drunk – oh God, what difference does it make?"

None, really. Though I was torn between feeling my heartbreak for him and a sudden need to take a test. I knew it was horrible, but I couldn't help but think that way. I was heartbroken for all the wrong reasons. I wanted to be angry at him for treating women like vessels. But I couldn't help but feel sad for him, that he had to fill some void inside of him for screwing these women.