Chapter Nine
Hannah
I bang on his door and swing my overnight bag onto my other shoulder, flipping my hair out of the way in the process. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself, because I’m still so damn angry at myself for agreeing to do this. He swings open the door. I swallow past the lump in my throat and force myself to hold eye contact. Don’t think about how sexy he looks. But it’s impossible. The black shirt he’s wearing is buttoned all the way to the top, the white block peeking out from the collar. His dark eyes study mine, then he steps aside, waving me in. I squeeze past him, ignoring how good he smells. My hands clench into fists beside me.
Stop it Hannah. Whatever you’re doing, just stop it.
“Where is Anna?” I ask cooly. He nods his head down the hallway.
“Asleep in the guest room.”
“How is she?” I ask. My voice softens. He shrugs. “About as well as you’d expect after what she’s been through. I can usually get a good conversation out of her, but she’s barely said a word to me. She’s a good kid, but she’s had a rough life, even without this.” He shakes his head. “I just don’t understand how someone can be capable …” His voice trails off.
“Of doing something so horrendous?” I finish for him, keeping my voice even. “I’ve often wondered the same thing.”
I walk past him, leaving my words hanging in the air. He’s embarrassed, and so he should be, because he knows better than anyone what people are capable of. I throw my bag on the floor next to the couch.
“Do you mind if I check on her?” I ask, turning to face him. Because I really shouldn’t be taking his word that she’s okay.
“By all means. I’d be disappointed in you if you didn’t. Coffee?” he asks, and I nod.
“Coffee would be great.” I leave him in the kitchen and wander down the hallway to the only closed door. I crack it open and peer inside. She’s fast asleep in the bed, her arms curled around a worn, old teddy bear. I listen to the sounds of her breathing for a few moments, and then pull the door closed. and walk back down to the living room.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
I nod. “I had to check that she was safe,” I mumble, feeling the need to explain myself. I feel a pang of guilt. Am I being too hard on him? He paid for what he did, and now he’s a man of God. “I’m sorry if I’m coming across as a bitch.”
“You don’t need to apologize. I get it. I’d be acting the same way if I were in your shoes.”
“I just …” I shake my head, and sit down, my hands clenched in my lap. “It was just such a shock seeing you, after all this time. It brought back a lot of memories I wasn’t ready to remember.
“None taken.
“Your family?” I guess. He nods. “I’m assuming they probably had bigger and better things in mind for you, but hey, it’s a step up from rapist, right?”
His eyes widen and I cringe. Shit, I can’t believe I just said that.
“I can see why you might think that, but my father is very anti-religion, so I’m not sure he would agree,” he smirks. “Are you done now?” He gives me a pointed look.
“I’m sorry that was way out of line. Sometimes I say things without thinking.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugs. “You get a free pass today to say whatever you like to me and then tomorrow you need to start giving me a chance. Is that fair?”
I’m not loving the part where I give him a chance, but I have so many questions burning inside of me that I’m dying to ask, so I sit forward, and place my hands under my thighs.
“Okay, I’ll play,” I say, staring at him. I question everything he says because it hurts too much to believe him. Why should he get to move on? “Why this?”
“Because it was the only way I could see getting my life back on track. I was at the point where I had nothing to live for, and God changed that for me. He gave me hope. I had something that was mine. I was making a difference.”
“How long have you been a priest?” I say the word like it’s dirty but only because he’s made it that way. It’s like he’s taken one of the purest professions in the world and tainted it.
“Five years. After I got out of prison, I was in a bad place. Everything that happened with Cecily really messed me up and then hearing that she … His voice trails off like he can’t complete his train of thought, so I make him, because he doesn’t get to do this. He doesn’t get to make this about him.
“You mean how she killed herself?” I ask. I stare at him, my anger fuelling the strength I’m somehow finding within myself to confront him. This is what I’ve wanted for so long, to be able to face him and show him how much he hurt me. “How she ended her life after what you did to her and the way your family dragged her through the mud. Is that what you mean? You can’t even say it. Imagine how hard it was for me to live it.”
“I never wanted that. All I wanted to do was plead guilty and move on—”
“I’m sorry about your father,” he says softly.
“You’re sorry?” I laugh. I throw my hands up in the air. “Well, so long as you’re sorry.”
“You have every right to be angry at me, Hannah, but I’m just trying to explain it from my point of view. You asked me why I became a priest. This is why. Everything that happened is why.”
“But you don’t get to explain,” I whisper. “Because it’s not fair. All you get to do is sit there and take whatever I decide I need to say to you in order for me to get through this. That’s the only thing you need to do here. You don’t get to justify what you did or tell me how much you’ve changed, because I don’t care. All I care about is being able to be in the same room as you without feeling like I’m going to be sick. Is that too much to ask?”
“No. No, it’s not,” he mumbles. I laugh as his eyes cast downwards. He can’t even look at me.
Silence fills the room as neither of us knows what to say. It’s going to be a long night if I have to spend it here with him. I think about taking Anna back to my place, and if she wasn’t asleep, I’d probably do it. No, I wouldn’t. Taking her from him would break her, and that’s the only thing that’s keeping me here right now.
I reach forward and pick up my coffee gulping it down. I’m going to need all the caffeine tonight. He leans over and grabs the remote and flicks on the TV as if he can’t stand the silence between us either. Part of me wants him to suffer, but I’m grateful to have something else to focus on other than him. I pretend I’m watching whatever crap he’s put on, but in reality, I’m just sneaking glances at him, taking him in.
I just don’t get it. How can anything about this man excite me? What went wrong in my life for me to have become this person? When did my life drift so far off track that my life has become this?
“You can have my room if you want to sleep.”
“Thanks, but I can just crash on the couch.” I can’t see myself being able to get to sleep anyway, and the thought of lying in his bed, surrounded by his smell ... I shudder. At least out here I can watch TV and pretend this isn’t happening.
He nods. “Okay, I guess I’ll leave you to get some rest. If you need anything, I’m down at the end.”
“Thanks,” I say, forcing a tight smile. The only thing I’ll need is to be left alone by you. I watch as he gets up and walks across the room to the kitchen. He pours himself a glass of water and offers me a small smile. “Help yourself to anything you like. Coffee is in the pot, There is some food in the fridge if you get hungry,” he adds, before retreating to his room.
I sigh once he’s gone, finally able to relax. Although I’m not completely comfortable with the situation, at least with him not in the room I can breathe without feeling like he’s suffocating me. I stand up and wander around his living room, trying to learn as much as I can about him. I pick up a few old records that sit on the bottom shelf, under the coffee table and study them. They’re bands I haven’t heard of. I put them back. I pick up a book and study the cover. A crime novel. I turn it over and scan the blurb, then place it back down on the table.
I walk over to the shelf above the fireplace and study the few pictures that are scattered along it. Nearly all are of his sister and nephew. They’re smiling, a happiness in their eyes that you just can’t fake. I study her for a moment, vaguely recognising her from school. She looks nice enough, but I know looks can be deceiving. I move down the line and study the last photo. It’s a family shot, taken about a decade ago. My heart races as I pick up the photo. That’s the Declan I remember. Those eyes. That smirk. I remember sitting in that courtroom staring at him, wishing he was dead, instead of my sister.
I slam the photo back down on the shelf, face down so I don’t have to look at it. Pain surges through me. I don’t care if he’s changed because it doesn’t change what happened—or the outcome.
It’s four in the morning, and I’m still awake. I haven’t slept at all. Though I’m tired, I can’t stop thinking about everything, especially Cecily. Seeing Declan has brought back so many memories, good and bad, of my sister. Even though fourteen years has passed, I still miss her like crazy. I wonder what she’d be like if she was still here?
Cecily was everything to me. In my eyes, she was perfect. There was nothing about her that I didn’t love. I wanted to be just like her when I grew up. She was beautiful, smart, funny, and, most of the time, a wonderful sister. I used to sit by my bedroom window and watch her sneak off to be with her friends. When Declan came into the picture, I had another reason to be jealous of her. I’d watch him sneak into her bedroom and wish it was my window he was sneaking in to. Mum and Dad would’ve freaked out if they knew how often he was in our house, in her room.
There was a time I remember covering for her when she was supposed to be in bed asleep. She’d snuck out to a party, and Mum and Dad decided to come up to say goodnight to us. Just as they were about to walk into her room, I pretended to be in the middle of a nightmare. I distracted them for half an hour—long enough for Cecily to sneak back into her room. She never thanked me for that; but now, I’m not even sure that she knew.
There were so many times where I saved her from being grounded—or worse by covering for her. I thought I was helping, but maybe that was the wrong thing to do. Maybe things would’ve been different had she been caught sneaking out. Maybe she never would have gone to that party with Declan.
But I don’t believe that. She would have found a way, like she always did. Nothing could’ve pried her away from him. The thing I struggled with the most was that, even at the tender age of nine, I knew what they had was special. I knew he loved her. I could see by the way he looked at her that she meant everything to him. Why would he have to take what she would’ve given him willingly?
As I lay on the couch, staring at the ceiling, I hear a creak in the hallway. I crane my neck to see if it’s him or Anna. The footsteps that sound against the bare tiles are too heavy to be Anna’s, and then Declan appears. My throat tightens as I take in his dark sweatpants and bare, tanned chest. I don’t want to look but I can’t help myself. I ignore the shiver racing down my spine and tell myself I’m just cold. He rubs his eyes, a sheepish look on his face.
“Sorry, I thought you’d be asleep,” he mumbles. He walks into the kitchen, squinting as the light hits his eyes. “I just needed a drink.”
“Nope. I haven’t slept,” I admit. I force a smile, not letting him see how much he’s getting to me.
He pours himself a glass of water, then wanders over to where I’m lying on the couch. He sits down opposite me. I tense, wishing he would just go back to bed. I can’t think when he’s this close, looking like … that. Or maybe the problem is I’m thinking things I don’t want to be thinking about.
“Is everything okay?” he asks, his brow creasing. I shrug, because I can’t talk to him about what’s really going on. I find my voice and reply.
“It’s fine. Just a lot going on, I guess. I can’t switch my mind off. I still feel guilty about Amanda.”
“Me too,” he says. He looks troubled, and for a second I think he’s going to say something else, but then he stops himself, and stares down at his glass. “I’ve been up most of the night too, with Anna. She couldn’t sleep either, because of the nightmares.”
“But she’s asleep now?” I ask. He nods. “Then you should go and get some sleep while you can.”
“Actually, I’m pretty awake now. I rarely sleep more than an hour or two a night anyway. Since prison, my sleeping pattern is all over the place,” he says. His comment raises more questions, so I bite the bullet and decide to ask.
“What was it like?” I ask. I’ve been in plenty of prisons, but I know the experience as a visitor and an inmate is completely different.
“Being inside? It was hard. I kept telling myself that I was different from everyone else in there, but, the reality is, I wasn’t anything special. I was just as much a fuck-up as the next person. Once I got my head around that, I guess things improved. I kept to myself, stayed out of trouble, and people mostly avoided me.”
“Mostly?”
“Well, there was always that one person who wanted to make an example of me. Especially when they found out who my father was.”
“Example, how?” He glances at me. I feel like I’m treading a thin line, but I can’t stop myself from asking. “What did they do?”
“Nothing less than what I deserved,” he murmurs, a look of pain in his eyes.
I wonder what he means by that.
I snuggle against the couch which is surprisingly comfortable and rest my head back down on the pillow. I’m so tired. I stifle a yawn and wish I could fall asleep. I glance his way again, so many questions still swirling inside me. As much as I want him to go and leave me alone, I want him to sit here and talk to me. I need to know what happened. Why he did what he did and what he went through in prison. Will learning that he suffered make this easier for me? Maybe. It’s like all the anger, frustration and pain I felt ten years ago has come skyrocketing back, tenfold. Seeing him sitting here, before me, just reinforces the fact that he got to move on and she didn’t.
“You look deep in thought,” he comments.
“Just thinking about the past,” I say, my voice blunt. He at least has the decency to look embarrassed. “I still have so many questions,” I blurt out.
He nods and sits forward, his expression serious. “Will it make you feel better to ask me what you want to ask?”
“Probably not,” I mutter. “But it doesn’t change the fact that they’re there, swirling around in my head, driving me crazy every time I look at you.”
“Then do it,” he encourages me. “Ask me whatever you need to. If it helps you at all, then do it. Whatever you ask, I will do my best to answer.”
But what if I don’t want to know the answers? I push the thought aside, and look him square in the eye. My mouth is dry, and the words struggle to come out, but I force them.
“Why?” It’s the only thing I’ve ever truly wanted to know. “You had her. She loved you so much. She would’ve done anything for you. So why did you do it?”
“I don’t know.”
I laugh. “So much for answering whatever I ask,” I mutter.
“I’m not dodging the question, Hannah,” he says softly. “If I could answer it, I would, but I honestly don’t know. I don’t remember much of that night. I wish I did, because I ask myself the same damn question over and over again. I don’t know what happened. I don’t know why I did what I did. All I know is I can’t take it back. As much as I want to, I can’t change what happened that night.” I shake my head, willing myself not to cry. I wipe away the few tears that disobey me, angry at myself for showing emotion.
“None of that makes a difference. It doesn’t change what happened, does it?” I ask. “And then to top it all off you dragged her through a trial—”
“Which I never wanted to do,” he growls. He sits forward. “None of that was my doing. All I wanted was to let her move on and be able to heal. I wanted to plead guilty, but my parents wouldn’t let me. My father wouldn’t let—”
“So you make him,” I cry. I stop and lower my voice not wanting to disturb Anna. “You make him listen, Declan. You destroyed her by raping her, and then you destroyed her again. You sat by and let that happen, and now you want me to help you?” I shake my head. “I don’t want to help you, Declan. I want you to suffer like I suffered. Give me one good reason why I should do this. One little reason. That’s all I ask. Give me something to cling to. Something to remember when all I can think about is how much you ruined my life.”
“She’s my daughter,” he says quietly.
“What?” Surely I didn’t hear that right.
I run my hand through my hair and glare at him, waiting for a sign that he’s joking. Because that’s what this has to be: a joke. A fucking terrible, in poor taste, joke. But as I look at him, I know he’s serious. Holy shit, Anna is his daughter. This has just gone from bad to worse.
“You’re fucking kidding me,” I growl. I laugh and stand up. His eyes cast downward and I quickly sit back down remembering I’m only in my T-shirt and panties. I throw the blanket back over me and glare at him again, my heart racing.
“You’re sitting here, telling me how much you’ve changed, begging me to believe you, when, in reality, you fathered some drug addict’s kid?” I laugh bitterly. “As soon as Anna wakes up, we’re leaving. I can’t do this, Declan. You disgust me.”
“It wasn’t like that,” he says quietly. “And I didn’t tell you because of this. I knew how you would react.”
“How did you expect me to react?” I laugh. “I mean really, how am I supposed to take this? Wonderful. You’re her father. Fantastic, go off and play happy families together under the watchful eye of God.”
“Hannah.” His eyes darken. “I know you’re angry, but please have some respect.”
“Respect?” I shake my head, livid. “All I seem to do is get angrier with you every time you open your mouth,” I mutter. My hands shake with anger as I struggle to compose myself. “Why am I even here?”
“Because you care about Anna as much as I do.”
“How many other kids have the fathered?” I laugh bitterly. “Hey, you’re really living up to the term Father, aren’t you?”
“Hannah, that’s enough,” he orders, raising his voice. “I’m not going to sit here and let you berate me.”
“You’re going to sit there and listen to me say whatever the fuck I want to say because I have you by the balls,” I retort, narrowing my eyes. His gaze drops, because he knows I’m right. I glower at him, loving the feel of power that’s racing through me. For once I feel in control instead of being controlled. It’s an addictive feeling.
“Fine,” he says simply. “I met Amanda—”
“You know what, Declan? I don’t even want to hear it. Just go back to bed and leave me alone, okay?”
He stares at me for a moment, and then he nods stiffly. He stands up. “I’ll see you in the morning.” he says, before disappearing back into the bedroom.
Sighing, I lean back against the pillows and close my eyes.
I lied. I want to know everything; I just didn’t trust him to be telling me the truth. How can I believe anything he says to me? It’s one lie after another. This is all too much. Just when I was starting to feel the tiniest glimmer of guilt about my behaviour toward him, this happens. I shake my head, still in shock. I can’t believe it. All the negativity I felt toward him now feels vindicated.
I don’t have to hate him for what he did to my sister. I can hate him because he hasn’t fucking changed.