Under My Enemy's Roof - Under Him

Energized, I jumped up from the chair and whipped off the towel. Going to my desk, the cool air kissing my bare skin, I put on my playlist of choral pieces and selected my clothes. It didn’t really matter what I chose, not least because I couldn’t go out but also because I’d decided to try and avoid Augustus. He was, no doubt, wondering what the heck was going on but let him wonder. It was a small price to pay.

Some would likely say that it wasn’t good to blame the son for the sins of the father, and we all had original sin. Except that would have required thinking clearly. Which I absolutely was not. The sweet sounds of thanks to the Lord were joined by the jangling of my cell. Pausing the playlist, I picked up the phone, still swaying gentle as I put it to my ear.

“Rachel? Have you picked up or is this your voicemail and you’re messing with me?”

“Hey, Jenna,” I sang, deliriously happy.

It was a bit strange I knew but the relief was irrepressible. I was already developing a plan that would keep me safely in my room as much as possible. Which seemed to be what the administrations, both campus and national, seemed to want anyway. I was always the type to follow the rules. Dad might not have been thrilled with the idea of me sharing an apartment with a boy.

I’d actually wondered how that had happened but desperate times and all that. It was likely they hadn’t even noticed. Dad likely would have come right back and whisked me away, particularly considering who the boy in question was but, in a funny way, it was more or less what he wanted. Me cloistered away in my room doing nothing but eating, sleeping and studying, with occasional bathing thrown in, when the coast was clear. I started making a mental inventory of all the foods I liked that didn’t need to be refrigerated and I could keep in my room.

“Yes, I’m here,” I said.

“Oh, good, I thought you might have been murdered or something.”

“Why would you think that?” I asked, the fear creeping back.

“I dunno, paranoid, I guess. I always think people are dead or going to leave me. Have some separation issues I guess.”

It took a moment, but I soon got used to Jenna and her oddities. In a way it was nice to have something to distract myself. I did my best to do a Jane Eyre and not judge or pity her. Just listen to her and her concerns and give her the best advice I could.

It was weird. She was at least two years older than me, and I was trying to advise her as I saw it. Despite the fact I hadn’t really lived yet.Chapter Eight - AugustusThe best laid plans soon turn to shit. That’s not quite how it goes but certainly seemed to be the trend in my case. Which was part of why I stopped making plans when I was still in elementary school.

There was really no point in it. Not least because it bought into the ideas of success and how it could be achieved. We hardly did anything the ‘expected’ way but still got stuff done. That’s why we still had so many enemies. As another old, rusty saw goes, if you’re making enemies, it means that you’re doing something right.

The whole encounter lasted less than a minute, but it stayed etched in my head. She looked so beautiful. Her healthy skin glistened as the sunlight from the curtainless window glowed in her bright red hair, making it look as though it were aflame, even while it was wet. I tried to imagine what she looked like under her towel.

It might seem sleazy, but it was how he tended to see things. Seeing sex as a good and wonderful thing. Essential for maintaining health and continuing the species, as well as one of the things that makes earthly existence going on with. A conviction only affirmed by how long and hard the religious bugaboos have tried to stifle it.

The human body was a thing of both function and beauty. Like a finely crafted earthenware bowl hand painted before it went into the kiln. I wanted Rachel so much I could taste it. Something I had never felt, which was how I knew it was real and not just some passing lust. It was up to her to decide if she was open to it or not. In the meantime, all I could do was wait.

There was a long pause after the door slam. The silence pregnant with potential. I half expected to see her running past the window making a break for it. It came as quite a relief when she didn’t. There was some thumping from her bedroom I didn’t like the sound of, but did my best to ignore it and focus on my book. It wasn't the first time I’d read it but was the first time I’d almost gotten all the way through. The critic was onto something when they said Mary MacLean had maybe twenty pages of good material. The critic actually said fifteen but I like to be a bit more charitable.