His Forbidden Obsession

“I was fine,” she says tremulously. “I’m…happy with what I have.”

“Is that true?” I demand, scrutinizing her face. Why? Because I’m going to give her better? Fuck. How could I not want to try and make this girl’s life happy? None of my reminders about how women can wreck a man’s life are working with her so close, so touchable and sweet.

“Yes…” She wets her lips, making me crazed. “Yes, I’m content, Private Griffin. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“What if I want to be the one who worries about you?”

I rasp the words before I can stop myself, but as soon as they’ve been uttered to the universe, I know I’ll never want to take them back. I’ll worry about her until the end of time. It’s as simple as that.

Sister Mercy on the other hand, grows alarmed, her body wiggling free of my hold. She’s halfway across the room before I can react.

“Don’t say things like that,” she whispers, worrying the rosary around her waist. “I took vows. Important ones. I’m not going to just cast aside my promises to the Lord for some handsome soldier.”

It’s embarrassing how much I like her calling me handsome. “Take that habit off and let me see your hair again.”

“No.” Her hands fly to her head. “I should never have done that.”

“You melted like butter in my arms, Mercy.”

She gasps. “That’s Sister Mercy to you.”

My mouth twitches. “Are you the same girl who jumped into my arms a minute ago?”

Her nose turns pink. “I was being friendly. Aren’t we friends?”

“Friends don’t wrap their legs around each other.” I shrug. “At least I don’t think so. I don’t have many friends.”

“But you’re so nice,” she deadpans.

I laugh. A quick bite of sound. I’m so startled by the noise, I almost turn around to see if someone else made it.

“Why don’t you have friends, Private Griffin?” she asks quietly.

“Just Griffin, angel baby.” Before she can chastise me for the endearment, I hurry to answer her question. “My fellow soldiers let women lead them around on a leash, emptying their pockets and turning their lives inside out for sport. They know I think it’s pathetic that they’d give up so much ground to a fickle female. Sometimes when a man doesn’t want the truth, he avoids the one who’ll give it to him. So I don’t have a lot of friends.”

“Because you’ll tell them the truth.”

“That’s right.”

“That you think they’re pathetic for loving women.”

I grunt. It sounds pretty terrible when she says it out loud.

Mercy is frowning and I have a feeling I won’t like what she’s going to say next. “Why would I want you to be the one who worries about me, then? Won’t you treat me like I’m fickle?” Her voice softens. “Won’t you avoid loving me too much because you’ll think yourself pathetic if you do?”

My stomach lands in a heap on the ground. “No. God no.”

“I’m not sure I believe you,” she whispers sadly, before brightening like the sun beaming out from behind a cloud. “Anyway, I’m late for morning prayers. Would you kindly escort me to the chapel?”

I can only nod like a simpleton as she dons her cloak, pulling the hood low to hide her face. I’m deep in thought on the way down the stairs, replaying our conversation, while Mercy hums a hymn happily beside me, as if she hasn’t just dropped me into a pit of boiling despair. Is she right? Would my cynical nature prevent me from being good to her?

No. Nothing would.

How will I convince her of that? And when I do, it’ll only be half the battle, because she seems determined to obey her vows, even though I know she’s attracted to me. The connection between us is unmistakable. And not having her trust my intentions is murder. She might as well cut me clean through with an axe.

I hustle her through the main floor of the convent and leave her at the door to the chapel where she skips in to join the other nuns, waving back at me cheerfully.

“Bye, Private Griffin.”

“Bye, Sister Mercy. I’ll be back to escort you to your room in an hour,” I call, my voice unrecognizable under the layer of affection. Jesus, I barely stop myself from jogging after her to say goodbye again. For what reason? One goodbye is perfectly good enough.

As I turn to leave, I notice Mother Superior watching me with a hawk eye, but I nod and continue on my way. Minutes later I’m back in Sister Mercy’s room, lamenting the fact that her possessions haven’t been unloaded from the bus yet. I’d do anything to see the things she holds important.

I begin work on the shoddy, drafty window, intending to seal it up tight so she’ll be warm at night…but while walking past her bed, I’m distracted by the unmade sheets. Sheets that touched her while she slept. And hold her scent.