The Saint's Lips

Chapter Twelve

By Thursday night, I'm locked in my own room and sat at my wide mahogany desk, working on my half of the written prospect for the History project. I hope Harry gets his half done by this weekend so we can at least start glueing it all together on to a board.

As the monotonous clicking of my keyboard resonates through the empty room, I allow my mind to drift a little as I do my work. Soon I can barely concentrate, and I end up sitting back in my fluffed out white ikea chair. It's one of those chique looking chairs that's more for show rather than comfort, but I use it at my desk anyway since it proves to be more comfortable than any other chair I sit in.

My walls are painted a pale blue, and they are decorated with various amounts of artwork that my parents had picked out for me as a child. It gives the room an air of maturity, as if a teenager isn't living here. I don't mind, it's always been this way, and at least I can keep it clean. I glance behind me to see the queen sized bed that has a raised platform to it, and I can't help the memories that surface.

"Are you sure?" I ask Brandon, a tall fair haired boy from Georgraphy class. My boyfriend.

"Yeah it'll be fine. I heard some girls say it doesn't even hurt."

He reaches into the back pocket of his jeans and pulls out the condom. His body presses against my own chest, and I attempt to manoeuver away from him, just so that he can't feel the intense beating of my heart. It's all I seem to be able to hear, the loud thumping and repetitive beating, flowing blood throughout my body, ringing in my eardrums. I'm really about to do this, but I want to. I should want to, right? I'm already sixteen, and Brandon and I have been dating for at least five months now. He says most guys would have left me by now for not giving in to all of his sexual desires, so he must really love me.

"You sure your parents are away until tomorrow?" He asks, searching my eyes for a response. I nod and answer dismissively.

"Yeah they're at some conference, they go every year. They'll be back by tomorrow afternoon."

He sighs and then readjusts himself, removing his jeans as he does. My bed creaks under the added weight of another body, and I move to the side giving Brandon more space to undress. When he's in nothing but his boxers, the condom placed safely on the nightstand beside us, he motions towards me.

"It's okay, you can take off your shirt." He says and plants a messy, vigorous kiss on my lips. The desperatation in his kiss leads me to the false belief that he's yearning for me, and for my love, not sex.

I follow his aggressive command and remove my shirt, then my shorts along with it, so that we're both lying next to each other in nothing but our underwear. When Brandon goes to unclasp my bra, his fingers stumble along the clasp and I help him as he undoes it. Slowly he removes the bra and stares at my chest greedily. We've seen each other like this before, although admittedly, not often.

"Okay, you ready?" He asks, and I nod sheepishly. I'm not sure if I'm ready, but by the time Brandon rips open the package to the condom and shifts under the covers to put it on, I feel like it's already too late. A lot of sixteen-year-olds have lost their virginity already, and even more regret it. Not that I think I'll regret it, Brandon must love me, he's told me he does. This is just an act of love, and I know I must be ready for it.

Regardless my heart continues to pound wildly out of my chest as Brandon manoeuvers himself back on top of me.

The memory that I've for so many years pretended was just an accident haunts my mind as I stare at the empty bed. After that night, Brandon seemed to gain some sort of unprecedented confidence. I caught him and this girl necking one day after school, and I broke it off right away. It was painful to have to be the one to end it, especially since Brandon kept telling me it was all my fault. He'd text me and say that he was willing to come back to me, that he wouldn't cheat again. I kept having to decline every offer, and he blamed me for being the one to ruin the relationship. Although it didn't last much longer than those five months, it's still engrained into my memory like a haunting virus.

That was junior year, right after Halloween. The entire experience caused me to lose much of my faith in the good nature of boys, and I even had spats with Liam, Niall and Louis because of it. They would make some comment about a girl, how she looked maybe, and I'd go off on them. I assumed all guys were jerks at that point. Liam helped me through it the most though, promising that not everyone was like Brandon.

Luckily, Brandon's family moved away after the Christmas holidays in junior year. I haven't seen him since, nor have I received a text from him. I like to think that he moved halfway across the globe, and that way he can terrorize some other girl's virginity. Although, I would never want that. Not for anyone.

The sudden flashback my mind takes is shaken when I stear my thought process away from the memory of Brandon, and the loss of my virginity.

"Ava." A faint and distant voice calls me from the confines of my thoughts. It's so slight, so quiet, that I think I must have imagined it.

"Ava." The same hoarse voice calls to me, and I open the crack in my door. It seems to be coming from the hallway maybe?

"Avaa." The desperation is clear and I realize with the terrifying skip of my heart that it's my father.

"Dad!" I say and rush around the squared corridors, looking over the main foyer, as I run towards my father's room. It's dark, and all I can see is the beeping of monitors and flashing of lights.

I turn on the lamp that takes me a moment to find in the pitch blackness of the room, and as soon as the pathway to my father's bedside is illuminated, I rush to him. He stirrs, as if still sleeping. The pale wrinkles dot at the creases in his skin, and he looks much older than he should. He's only a young fifty, halfway through his life as far as I'm concerned. The disease struck him down, forcing against time's will and causing his body to age faster than it should. Time really can be a bitch.

"Daddy." I hadn't realized the tears that had already begun to fall on to my cheeks as I clasp desperately at his fragile fingers. This time, they move. Slowly, steadily, they lace with my own, and I allow the tears to flow freely now.

"Daddy, I miss you." I tell him, sobbing into the covers at his side.

"I love you." I hear the hoarse whispering of my father's voice.

"I love you too, Dad. I've always loved you, I'll always be here for you. Don't worry, I'm here." I tell him and repeat the words again like a mantra to him until his grip loosens on my fingers. The continual beeping of the monitors is the only thing that tells me he's still alive, and his heart still beats.

"I love you." I repeat to him again, kissing him softly on the forehead. I stay on my knees, leaning against his bedside, my hands still above his frail ones.

I don't know how long I stay there crying. This is the only moment when I am unaware of the amount of time that passes, and I stay in the limbo state of unknowing, until the tears cease to fall from my eyes.