Chapter 32, part 1: Yield

On a snowy night in December, I looked up from a short story written in German. I couldn’t remember anything from the last few pages. I sighed and rolled my head around to relax my shoulders. Stretching out on the bed, I let the book fall across my chest.

How long had I been rereading the same paragraph? Dr. Eberhardt had assigned the selection for German class as an example we could study before crafting our own compositions, the semester final project. From what I struggled through so far, the story seemed interesting, but I couldn’t get lost in it like tales in English.

It was after ten and my eyes were heavy, but my mind was too full for sleep. The infighting in CSF had only gotten worse, and attendance sharply declined. Would the group survive the internal controversy? Too, I wondered how could I repair things with Kirsten, who hadn’t spoken to me since my birthday. And most importantly, what was I going to do about Brad?

We’d come closer and closer to having sex, and I still didn’t know if I was ready. In the heat of the moment, I told myself that God didn’t care what we did. But if I really believed that, why did I always feel so guilty after we fooled around? Then again, if we’d done “everything but,” as Brad liked to put it, what difference would it make if we did this one more thing?

I set the book on the adjacent desk and scooted off the bed. I took out a notebook. Perhaps I could channel these swirling emotions into the cathartic release of writing. Once the words hit the page, I could walk over the fears and worries they represented like Alice in Wonderland did to the deck of cards. Maybe I could even use my German-English dictionary to turn it into raw material for my assignment.

A bleak wilderness covered with impenetrable shadows stretched before Mathilde. She picked her way through the thorny landscape, but no matter how carefully she moved she could not avoid the stinging pricks that wounded her heels and scratched her calves. Behind her was a frozen land, cold and deadened with snow and ice. Past the brambles were the shifting sands of an endless desert, a land different from the one she had left but no more alive.

I smiled grimly at the melodrama of those sentences. Even if I could begin to translate such drivel into German, I wouldn’t make Dr. Eberhardt read one thousand words of that. I crumpled the page and threw it away.

I dialed Brad’s number. “I’m so stressed I can’t think straight,” I said when he came on the line. “Do you mind if I walk over to your place and just hang out for a while? I could really use a shoulder massage and some mindless TV to help me unwind.”

Of course he didn’t mind. As I walked the streets of Elkridge, I sang my new favorite show tune from Jekyll & Hyde, giving a bravura performance to the trees. A nearby community theater had put on the show and Brad had surprised me with the soundtrack after taking me to see it the week before. “Bring on the Men” had caught my ear. Each note rang out in the clear wintry air. I relished the bawdy, naughty fun of the lyrics. Life was so much sweeter when I embraced my sensual nature.

It was suddenly all clear. My pleas for protection from temptation and redoubled efforts at purity never worked, not because I was a worthless, wretched sinner, but because God simply didn’t care whether or not I got hot and bothered. God created me with the ability to become aroused. It didn’t matter one whit to Him whether it was because of a dream I had, a story I read or the way Brad touched me. Maybe God even smiled at me delighting in His creation. The Bible’s warnings against fornication and lust must have been for another time and place, to protect a fragile and backward society.

The line of thought was growing more compelling, but I still felt misgivings about letting Brad have his way with me.

Brad met me at the foot of his street, handsomer than ever in his Elk River letterman’s jacket. We walked hand in hand the rest of the way toward his basement apartment, snow crunching underfoot. He took my coat, sweater and gloves and had me sit in front of him on the floor. He began to massage my shoulders.

“Holy stress ball, Batman, you really are tense. Why don’t you take off your shirt so I can really get into these muscles here? There now, just relax and let it out. What has you so worked up?” he asked.

I sighed. “It’s CSF. I hate to see what’s happened to it. Everyone’s taking sides with Becky or Ewan, and attendance is way down.”

“It kills me to see you like this, so down, so tense. Why don’t you just quit?”

“How can I quit? I made a commitment to them.”

“You’ve done more than enough for them, is what I say. It’s kind of overkill to have twelve Cowhands or whatever anyway. It’s no big deal if you lose one resume builder, right?”

“I guess,” I sighed.

“Here, why don’t you come and sit on my lap so I can reach these knots in your lower back better,” Brad murmured in my ear.

As soon as I landed in his lap the massage was forgotten. We slid into a series of passionate kisses that ended with him lowering me to the couch. The lyrics from the song I’d been singing echoed in my head. Why wait another minute?

“Brad.”

“Hmmm?” came his muffled reply as he started to nuzzle my neck.

“Let’s not stop this time.”

He pulled us into a sitting position and held me at arms length. He searched my face as he took my hands in his. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I said. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, babe.” He kissed me tenderly and led me to his bedroom.

Chapter 32, part 2: Rationalization

It was even more wonderful than I had imagined. I never knew I could feel so close to someone.

In the afterglow I wondered, why was something this amazing wrong? It didn’t make sense. Or maybe the Religion 101 professor had been right all along and the Bible was just a human myth, a book of propaganda designed to keep wealthy men in power and oppress everyone else. Was God even real?

But if God wasn’t real, how could I explain that experience in the woods with Ian? Peer pressure? Wishful thinking? No, deep down I knew. God existed as creator and ruler of the universe.

But if that was true, then what I had just done was wrong as wrong could be. It had its own special ugly name: fornication. Sin.

Brad rolled over and kissed me softly. “You were amazing. I love you so much.”

I started to cry.

Brad's brow furrowed.  “Did I hurt you? What’s wrong?”

“Did we make a mistake?”

“Mistake? No, no. Don’t talk like that.”  He brushed hair back from my forehead.

“But sex before marriage …”

“This is different. We’re going to get married. In fact, in God’s eyes we probably already are married. Think about it. In Bible times, they didn’t have marriage licenses. They probably didn’t even have big ceremonies. Just two people committing to each other. Who needs a piece of paper?”

“You’re probably right.”

“Of course I’m right. I understand though. A lifetime of programming is hard to undo. Just keep telling yourself the truth, and soon that kind of false guilt won’t bother you anymore.”

I accepted Brad’s reasoning as a salve for my burning conscience. He said we would get married and I believed him. I lay back in his arms, enjoying the closeness once again. We already were married in God’s eyes … but did that mean I’d miss out on the fun of getting engaged, planning a wedding, having a first dance at the reception?

“Brad?”

“Hmmm?” he said sleepily.

“I know that in a way we’re already married, but… that doesn’t mean you’re off the hook for a real wedding. I want to celebrate with our friends and family.”

“Don’t worry. When the time is right, we will.”

I smirked. “How about I give you a little incentive?”

“What do you have in mind?”

“We go back to ‘everything but’ until a ring is on my finger.”

“Why would you want to do that?” he said, running his hands up and down my body.

I couldn’t resist him then or any other time we were together over the next few weeks. Brad was right, the more times we did it, the less guilty I felt.

Still, I tried to hide our activities. Not so much from shame as from an instinct that my friends and the other CSF leaders wouldn’t understand. They were all still lost, stuck in the dark ages of Puritanical thinking.

Or was it me who was lost? CSF meetings had felt like a chore lately. I felt fake just being there, and wondered if everyone there were hiding their own secrets.  
***

The last day of finals before winter break arrived. My parents had invited Brad to come visit for a few days before Christmas.

“Nervous about meeting my parents?” I asked Brad when he pulled up to the curb in front of the German House.

“Naw, I’m more nervous about driving to the airport with your witchy sister.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say things like that. I bet you’d like each other if you’d just give her a chance.”

“Remember, she’s the one who judged me.”

“Can’t you forgive and forget?”

“Sure. As soon as she apologizes and admits that I’m perfect for you.”

I sighed deeply. This wasn’t going to be an easy trip. Kirsten and Brad would probably spend their time in the car and plane sniping at each other, and I’d be caught in the middle of it.

As it turned out, Kirsten gave us the silent treatment all the way home. Charlie came with Daddy to pick us up at the airport. Kirsten came alive at the sight of him, talking a mile a minute. I realized then just how much I missed my sister. Would we ever be friends again?

Brad and I didn’t spend much time at my parents’ house during the three days of his visit. First we went Christmas shopping. He bought me a pair of purple boots I’d been wanting. Then he had me drive him around so he could show me where he spent time with his cousins way back when. 

The first night I put him off when he tried to sneak into my room after everyone had gone to bed. Somehow being in my parents' house made it seem more wrong. The second night, he had me take him to one of the “makeout spots” in Citrus Valley. My parents’ car still felt just as wrong as the house, but I felt powerless to resist Brad’s advances. At least we were less likely to get caught.

Chapter 33, part 1: Family Holiday

When I got back from dropping Brad off at the airport Friday evening, I asked Mom what she thought of him.

“Hmmm… I’m not sure. I didn’t get to know him that well. What does Kirsten say?”

“She’s not around to ask, is she?” Kirsten had been spending every waking moment with Charlie, and was even spending the night at the Neals tonight. “C’mon, you must have formed some impression.”

“Well, first impressions can be misleading. Anyway, my opinion really doesn’t matter, does it? You’re an adult and I have to trust your judgment.”

“So you didn’t like him?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to. Why is everyone in this family so judgmental? Kirsten hates him because they fought the first time they met, and now you have a grudge against him too?” I stormed up the stairs to my room and wrote a long email to Brad. I missed him so much.

Saturday morning, I came downstairs to find Mom rearranging the furniture in the living room.

“Can you give me a hand, sweetie?” she asked, gesturing to the other end of the long sofa. “I can’t have the house looking like a disaster area for the party tonight.”

“Who’s all coming?” I asked as we set the sofa down in its new location.

“The Neals, a few young couples from our Bible study, Pastor Jim and his family. He’s really looking forward to catching up with you.”

Pastor Jim? He was the last person I wanted to talk to. It was hard enough faking the super-Christian act for my family. My old youth pastor would surely see through the charade.

“I didn’t really plan on sticking around. Alicia’s been wanting me to go down to Balboa to look at Christmas lights, and I told her maybe tonight would work.”

“Of course you can do what you want, but it would mean a lot to me if you’d join us. You’re growing up so fast, and I worry this is one of the last few times we’ll spend the holidays as a family.”

“I guess Alicia and I could reschedule,” I said. I just had to find a way to avoid talking with Pastor Jim at the party.

“Thanks, sweetie. About our talk yesterday—”

“Forget about it. I overreacted.”

“That time of the month?” she asked.

“Maybe,” I said. I didn’t really keep track of that stuff.

Mom spent the rest of the morning trying to get Ruth and I to help her and Daddy clean the house. I didn’t really mean to slack off, but every time I’d start a task, I ended up getting distracted by the piano or the itch to check the computer for messages from Brad. Every time Mom found me dawdling, she got more and more worked up. She was so crabby, I started to wonder if maybe it was her time of the month.

We were all upstairs working on various projects when the meltdown happened.

“Ruth Victoria Gottlieb!” we heard Mom scream at the door to Ruth’s room.

That tone in her voice made me cringe with vivid memories of getting in trouble as a child. So much for the new and improved Mom. Dad and I stopped what we were doing and edged toward Ruth’s room as the rant continued.

“What is wrong with you? I don’t know how many times I’ve already told you to get this room cleaned up,” Mom yelled. “And look, all you’ve done is make a bigger mess.” She gestured to the floor where Ruth had apparently decided to reorganize her entire collection of toys, dolls and accessories by dumping everything out in the middle of the floor. “You’re ten years old, I shouldn’t have to babysit your every move. I’m fed up! If this room isn’t sparkling clean in the next five minutes, you’re going to get it!” She raised her hand as if to demonstrate what she meant.

Tears and terror shone in Ruth’s eyes.

Daddy put a hand on Mom’s shoulder. “Millie, you need to take a break,” he said. “I’ll handle it from here.”

Mom stalked out and slammed the door to the master bedroom. I didn’t know whether to run or stay. What would Daddy do to Ruth?

“Ruth, come sit here by me on the bed,” Daddy said gently. “It looks like you really wanted your room to be clean. You wanted to reorganize all your toys, but you got overwhelmed, is that right?”

Had I heard him correctly? Where was the lecture, the threat of punishment?

Ruth nodded. “I was just trying to do my best like Mom always tells me. Why did she get so mad?” she asked.

“She’s anxious about the party tonight and feeling frustrated. She lost her temper and said things she didn’t mean. Now what are we going to do about this mess? Can you think of a solution?”

“We can shove it under the bed,” she suggested.

“We can just keep the room closed during the party,” I offered.

“But I wanted the kids to come play in here with me.” She sighed. “So ... this all has to be put away. Can you help?” she said.

“We’d be glad to help you,” Daddy said. “Let’s start by finding all the doll clothes.”

The three of us working together quickly got the room back in order.

Mom came back just as we finished. “Everyone, I need to apologize for getting out of control like that. Having a clean house is not more important than treating my family kindly. Can you all forgive me?”

“I forgive you, Mom,” Ruth said.

“Thanks, sweetie. Frank, you were amazing. I know you were so skeptical of changing our style at first and even after you saw how it worked, it was a struggle to break old habits. And look at you now, putting me to shame.”

“Don’t be so hard on yourself,” Daddy said as he embraced Mom. “Aren’t you always telling me grace is for parents too?”

“Gigi?” Mom asked. “You haven’t said anything. What are you thinking?”

My swirl of thoughts seemed better left unsaid. The scenes from my childhood evoked by Mom’s rage were still replaying in my mind. The pain of punishment had faded, but the anger at feeling misunderstood and helpless to defend myself sprung back to life. Why did Ruth get better parents than me? No wonder I had such a guilt complex.

“There’s still a lot of cleaning to do,” I said. “How about we get back to work?”

Chapter 33, part 2: Old Friends

The Neals were the first to arrive at the party that night, Kirsten in tow. She and Charlie disappeared up into her room, the door cracked just enough for propriety. I successfully avoided meaningful conversation with Pastor Jim by hanging out with Ruth and her friends, playing the part of cool big sister, or sitting on the patio listening to Mom and her friends chit chat.

My ears perked up when their conversation turned political.

“I can’t believe those Evangelical Lutherans are actually ordaining homosexuals,” Mom said. “It’s so sad to see them turn away from God’s word that way.”

“My brother is gay,” Mrs. Neal said. “I think it’s great that some Lutherans are willing to open their minds.”

“Well, whatever your beliefs, it’s just terrible to see so many congregations torn apart,” Pastor Jim’s wife said.

Apparently adults weren’t any better than college kids at hearing God’s will. They were all just making it up as they went along based on their own prejudices.

The next night Alicia picked me up. “Bet you’re so glad to get away from the snow,” she said as we wound our way down the hill to the freeway. “Or would you rather have a white Christmas?”

“I kind of get the best of both worlds. Since decorations seem to go up earlier and earlier every year, I got my fill of twinkling lights reflecting on the snow before the semester ended.”

“Sounds beautiful.”

“Yeah, it can be pretty the first day it falls, but after that it’s a headache. What I really miss is my boyfriend.”

“What? You didn’t tell me about any boyfriend. I want all the details.”

I filled her in on the whole on again off again on again saga with Brad.

“A former surfer huh? He sounds like a hunk. Quan’s not going to be happy to hear about this.”

“Quan? You still keep in touch with him?”

“Yeah, we kind of hung out by default the first few weeks of school freshman year and we’ve become good friends. Didn’t I tell you?”

“I guess you did mention it last year.”

“He asks about you all the time. I’m pretty sure he never got over you.”

“That’s so sweet.” And maybe a little sad. In the same amount of time I’d dated Brad, had feelings for Ian. I certainly hadn’t been pining for Quan.

“I always thought you guys were such a cute couple. Why did you break up anyway?”

“His parents made him.”

“Oh yeah, he’s told me they want him to marry an Asian girl.”

“Yeah, and well, I never told him this, but I figured we break up eventually because we were going to different schools in the fall.”

“It’s never too late to change your mind. I’d love it if you would transfer to UCLA!”

“What, and miss out on all that snow?”

Our laughter stilled as we crossed the scene of our accident at the intersection of PCH.

“I still flinch every time I drive through here,” Alicia said.

“That was a scary night.”

We drove in silence until we reached the ferry to Balboa.

Alicia turned to me as the ferry pulled away from shore. “I’ll never forget the way your mom handled everything that night,” she said. “It made me wonder for like the hundredth time what was different about your family and how I could get it.”

“I don’t think we’re all that different,” I said.

“You are though, you just can’t see it. It wasn’t until I started going with Quan to church this semester that I figured out what it was that made you different.”

Alicia going to church? I’d been her best friend all through high school and never even tried to talk to her about God, figuring she could care less. “So you’re Catholic now?”

“No. We go to a small student congregation on campus. Just a bunch of kids that are passionate about Jesus.”

In that moment, she reminded me of Ian or even Lacey, so serenely spiritual and secure in their salvation. Part of me was jealous that Alicia seemed to have found the secret that had been eluding me for so long.

But another part of me wanted to tell her to run far away before she got hit by the bait and switch of “churchianity,” as Brad called it. How long would it be before she found out the promise of grace at the front end was just a pleasant disguise for the guilt, hypocrisy and shame of never being good enough?  

Chapter 34, part 1: Winter Worries

“Giselle, I am so proud of you,” Mom said on December 23 as we wrapped presents together. “You are turning into such a godly young woman.”

“I wish you wouldn’t say that.”

I put my finger on the ribbon she had just wound around the last Christmas present in Santa’s workshop, our family name for the gift wrapping assembly line that we set up in my parents’ bedroom every year. Mom wouldn’t be proud much longer if she knew the dark thoughts I’d been having, or what Brad and I had been doing. Well, she wouldn’t find out unless … oh no, what if we had left evidence in the car?

Mom squeezed my shoulder. “That kind of humility is just one of the many fruits of the Spirit I’ve noticed developing in you.” She stood up from the edge of the bed. “There, that’s done. Let’s get these presents under the tree."

I hardly slept that night. It was Christmas, supposedly a time of joy. But all I felt was emptiness. Maybe it was because the whole Christmas story seemed like a ridiculous fairy tale this year. Or maybe it was just that time of the month like Mom had said the other day?

Wait, when was the last time I’d had my period? I never was very good at keeping track of those things, and I was irregular most of the time anyway. It always managed to sneak up on me.

But this month was different. I’d been sexually active. Could I be pregnant?

A welter of emotion overcame me. Fear of course, but also a surprising joy and affection for the potential life. What if I were really pregnant? Would Brad and I keep the baby? Could I stay in school? What would Mom and Daddy think? Fear began to rise in my heart again.

Stop it, you’re being silly, I told myself. Why was I laying awake fretting about this when I didn’t even know if I was really late?

Still, during the Christmas Eve service the next day, I felt a special kinship with Mary, the unwed mother.

In the week between Christmas and New Years, my stomach that had always bothered me intermittently got much worse. I fought nausea and diarrhea every day. That combined with exhaustion that didn’t seem to go away no matter how much I slept kept me wondering if I might be pregnant. I obsessively checked my panties, but they stayed terrifyingly white. Buying a home test or going to a clinic while I was at home on break felt too risky. What if someone saw me, or worse, if the test were negative but someone found it? I’d be humiliated for no reason.

As I obsessed and analyzed every detail of my body’s functioning for possible symptoms, I alternated between terror and excitement at the prospect that a new life might be growing inside me. I could hardly fathom that I could love someone so much.

Chapter 34, part 2: Repentance Impossible?

The Kirsten who flew back to Ohio with me the Wednesday after New Years might as well have been a different person from the one who had traveled with Brad and I three weeks before. She talked almost non-stop about her love for Charlie, her excitement at transferring to a different school in the fall, her hope that she’d get along better with the new roommate she’d be getting this semester.

It wasn’t until Brad picked us up from the airport that she fell silent. “See you at CSF on Tuesday I guess,” she said when we dropped her off.

I felt like a zombie the first few days back on campus. My digestive problems woke me up in the middle of the night, and worries about my potential pregnancy kept me from falling back asleep. Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to buy a test. Not yet.

I yawned my way through classes, and worked out calculations of how far along I might be instead of taking notes on the lectures. At meals, Brad steered us to empty tables instead of joining our friends. That was fine with me, I wasn’t in a mood to talk to anyone. I just let Brad do the talking while my worries swirled endlessly.

“Giselle? Giselle? I asked you a question.”

“Sorry, I spaced out there for a second.”

“A second? You’ve been a million miles away all week. What’s going on?”

Could I tell him? No, not yet. Not until I was sure. “My stomach’s been bothering me.”

“It’s stress, isn’t it? All that crap with CSF? I still think you should quit.”

“Maybe that’s part of it.”

“Not maybe, definitely. So Jay from my photography class wants us to go to Columbus with him and his girlfriend. I told him we’d meet up with him after dinner. Don’t take too long to pack. ”

“Sorry, I just don’t feel up to it. I think I’m just going to lay low this weekend.” Brad gave me a hard time, but I insisted he go without me. He finally agreed as long as I was staying in my room, “so he’d know where I was.”

I slept in late Saturday morning, and decided to spend the day unpacking and giving my room a long overdue cleaning. I turned on the radio and for some reason settled on the Christian music station. Brad always changed the channel when I tried to listen to that kind of music with him, and I enjoyed hearing some of my old favorites. A hymn hour came on, stirring memories of childhood Sundays.

The next morning after another night of little sleep, I decided I’d go to church since I was awake anyway. Not knowing where else to go, I walked down to Main Street Pentecostal.

Lacey looked surprised when I slipped into the pew next to her just as the sermon got started. Brother Thomas preached on Hebrews 6:4-6. He opened by reading the passage aloud:

“For it is impossible to bring back to repentance those who were once enlightened—those who have experienced the good things of heaven and shared in the Holy Spirit, who have tasted the goodness of the word of God and the power of the age to come—and who then turn away from God. It is impossible to bring such people back to repentance; by rejecting the Son of God, they themselves are nailing him to the cross once again and holding him up to public shame.”

Was I “such people”? Even though I’d never been sure I was the right kind of Christian, it seemed certain that I’d been once enlightened. Infant baptism, asking Jesus into my heart, responding to an altar call … at least one of those had to have counted. And now I was openly defying God. Wasn’t that the very essence of turning away from Him? Maybe that’s why I’d lost the old joy of Christmas. The phrase “it is impossible to bring back to repentance,” rang in my ears all day.

Chapter 35, part 1: True Colors

I didn’t even try to resist Brad’s advances when he came back to town that night. If it were too late for me to repent, might as well enjoy my sin as much as I could, right?

“I’ll be right back,” I told Brad afterward as I slid out from the sheets.

In the bathroom, I checked the tissue out of habit. Blood soaked the toilet paper.

My period? Relief and disappointment hit me all at once. I started to cry. Once I started I couldn’t stop. There wasn’t a baby, probably had never been one. This was crazy. I was only 19, supposedly a Christian, and definitely not married. I shouldn’t even be worrying if there might be a baby.

“Giselle? What’s going on in there? Are you all right?”

I was crying too hard to answer.

“You’re scaring me, babe.” He tried the handle, but I had locked it. “C’mon. Tell me what’s wrong. Or at least come out of there.”

Finally I didn’t have energy to cry anymore. I splashed water on my face and opened the door. I had one thought: I needed to get out of there.

“I have to go home.” I repeated the phrase twice more as I went to the living room and started pulling on my clothes. “Where are my glasses?”

“It’s past midnight, babe,” he said, handing them to me. “Why don’t you sit down. Just calm down. You’re not thinking straight.” He grabbed my arm and whirled me around to face him. “C’mon, stay? We could fall asleep in each other’s arms … In the morning, we could have a little bit of wake-up action, and I’ll drive you over to breakfast—”

I wrenched myself from his grasp and started fumbling with my shoes.

“You need to leave. I get it. Just tell me before you go. Why were you crying?”

How could I tell him? How could he ever understand the feelings brought up by the idea of a baby that never was?

"I was trying to find the right time to tell you. My period, I thought it might have been late.” My voice broke. “Now … I’m bleeding.”

“Oh, now I get it.” Disdain tinged his voice. “This flood of tears is just because you’re PMS-ing.”

“It’s not just that. You don’t understand. When I thought I might be — that there might be — a baby, it opened my eyes.”

“So what’s your big revelation, Giselle?” he sneered. “Wait, don’t tell me, another one of your guilt trips. You know how irrational you’re being, Giselle? You probably weren’t even late. You’re not the greatest at keeping track of stuff like that you know.”

“That’s not the point.” I covered my face with my hands and sank to the floor, fresh tears spilling from my eyes. My shoulders shook as I hugged knees to chest and buried my face in my arms. Sex was like a drug, an irresistible poisonous drug. More than a drug. It was sin. We’d been sinning. We needed to stop, but how?

Who was I kidding? I had no self-control left. It was probably too late anyway. The verses from Hebrews said it was impossible for me to come to repentance.

No. I love you. It’s not too late to come back.

Before I could register that still small voice, Brad knelt beside me and brushed hair back from my forehead. “Babe, I get it. You were scared about there maybe being a baby. We’re not ready for that, I agree. We’ll just be more careful from now on.”

“You don’t get it at all. It’s not just fear or a guilt trip. It’s conviction of sin.”

“You didn’t seem to think it was sin earlier tonight. C’mon, how many times are we going to go back over this.” Contempt dripped from his voice.

Suddenly I saw him in a new light, cold and calculating. “You seduced me.”

“Seduced you? If I remember correctly, you begged me for it.” He smirked. “I always knew you’d be a tiger in the sack—“

I glared at him. “That’s right. You always did know didn’t you? You whittled at my boundaries from day one.”

He jumped to his feet and swore. “Listen to yourself. Just listen to how ridiculous you sound. I’ve never met anyone as paranoid and neurotic as you.”

I stood too. "Stop talking to me like that.”

“I won’t. You opened this can of worms, so you’re going to hear every last word I have to say. You’re lucky that I didn’t dump your butt as soon as I got you in the sack and you freaked out. Do you think other guys would have been so patient? For some reason I was deluded enough to think that I could rescue you, that if I could just help you get over your massive guilt complex, maybe we could be happy. But I see now that you’re totally beyond help.”

He stood fuming for a moment, then hit the wall above my head with his fist. I cowered away, then sank to the floor again.

“What really gets me riled is that you’re acting like I tricked you into this. We both know that I didn’t force you to do anything. This was your decision Giselle, plain and simple. Don’t pin responsibility of this on me. You weren’t so pure and innocent as you wanted everyone to believe.”

I looked up. “Maybe not. You’re right. You didn’t trick me into this. I don’t know where that came from. It was a willful act, a conscious decision.”

“Okay, that’s more like it. If you’re going to be calm like that, maybe we can talk this through like reasonable people.” He helped me to my feet and led me to the sofa.

“Ian talks about the conviction of the Holy Spirit – maybe this is it. It’s not too late, don’t you see? We can admit to God we made a mistake. We can start fresh, get back on course and wait until marriage as if this never happened.” I reached toward him.

He shrunk from my touch. “Where is this coming from? I thought you agreed with me that God could care less about sex. Why are you going back on your guilt trip?”

“Brad, don’t you see? These feelings, this guilt, it means something. God’s trying to call us back.”

“Yeah right. You know what I think? I think you just enjoy punishing yourself. You want to be miserable. All this self-flagellation gives you some kind of perverse pleasure. But don’t think you can drag me down with you. No freakin’ way.” He slammed his fist against the wall again. “Why did I waste so much time on you? You’re so screwed up Giselle, do you know that? At first your neuroses were kind of cute, but I’m sick and tired of this. Frankly, I don’t see why I should have to put up with you another second.”

“Don’t say that,” I said, trying in vain pull his hand so he would sit down again with me.

“I’m saying it. I said it.” He shook off my hands. “I’m through with you and your insufferable neediness. I give and give and give, and all you do is waffle and whine and make me out to be the bad guy. No wonder that high school guy made up some lame story about his parents to get away from you. You make it impossible for anyone to love you.”

“Brad, just listen—”

“No you listen.” He let out a string of profanity. “Get my point? I want you out of here. Go home and cry to your mommy or your little do-gooder friends about what a big bad man I am if you want. Just don’t bother waiting for me in the dining hall or after class. I can’t believe you turned out to be just another psycho after all. I’m so done with you.”