Page 75 of Take Me to Church
WAKING UP IN Christian’s bed should be strange. Technically, I've woken up with him a few mornings in a row now, but this is the first time it's in his bed. In his room. It’s different, but not weird. It feels oddly normal. Comfortable.
Mostly.
Unfortunately, even though I generally wake up grumpy and groggy, I can’t make myself sleep in. So, even though it’s barely past six, I'm wide awake and in desperate need of a trip to the bathroom.
I wiggle my way free of the heavy arm draped at my waist, and I’m a little surprised when Christian barely stirs. He's probably exhausted. Technically, I am too. But twenty years of getting up at dawn has basically programmed me to wake up without an alarm, so I slide out of bed and make my way to the large bathroom I think is now also mine.
I've been in it before, but this time it seems different. Probably because I'm looking at it as more than just a place I’m visiting. Now it’s a place I’ll be for a while.
Maybe forever.
The possibility isn't as offensive as I always felt like it should be. When I moved to Memphis, I believed I should start an entirely different life. One completely free of any of the old limitations put on me by cowardly men. But that's not what happened.
Creating a new life also meant creating a new me, and that’s where I stumbled. I ended up spending a year feeling guilty and ashamed, thinking I was failing to move forward. Believing I was still caught in my past. But now I'm not so sure that was really it.
Maybe I genuinely want many of the things I felt like I should be rebuking. Maybe I don't want to date around. Maybe I don’t want to spend nights at the club and mornings nursing a hangover. Maybe I’m more like the woman I was taught to be than I initially wanted to admit.
Maybe I really do want to get married and be a mom and cook dinner and do the laundry—I just don't want it forced down my throat. I want to do it because that's what I choose. Because it's what I want.
And I want to do it with a man who sees me as an equal instead of another possession. A man like Christian.
I do my business, brushing my teeth and fluffing my hair, smiling a little at the hickey hidden just below the neckline of Christian’s company T-shirt I wore as a nightgown.
Last night was—not what I believed sex could ever be. It was hot. It was exciting. It was intense.
It was also fun. Liberating in a way I never imagined sex could be. The experience was amazing.
And enlightening.
It's added yet another piece to the puzzle I've been trying to put together for the past year, filling in enough of the spaces I'm finally starting to feel like I can see who I really am and what I really want. The life I want to live.
And I definitely want Christian to be a part of it.
I open the bathroom door, peeking out, hoping he's awake. I pout a little when I see he's still completely sacked out, face slack with sleep.
I guess if this is my home now, I can go downstairs and make some coffee. Have some breakfast. Get comfortable in a house that already feels safe and warm and inviting.
Tiptoeing across the thick carpet, I quietly open the door and creep out into the hallway. Once downstairs, my bare feet move silently over the hardwood of the main floor as I pad into the kitchen. I brew myself up a cup of coffee, following the directions Christian gave Myra yesterday, then dig through the refrigerator, figuring out what I want to eat. It's a pretty simple process considering everyone left the remnants of yesterday's impromptu breakfast party. I zero in on Jill's egg bake and Carly's French toast casserole—which her husband apparently made—and scoop some of each onto a plate, setting it in the microwave to cook.
Grabbing the plate right before the timer beeps, I sit down on a stool at the island and dig in, scrolling through my phone. I smile when I notice I have quite a few new friend requests from the same women responsible for my morning meal. I accept all of them and spend a little time being nosy, poking through photos of Christian’s brothers and their families.
With breakfast devoured and the dishes loaded into the dishwasher, I'm just wiping down the counter when Piper comes in. I glance at the clock on the microwave, a little shocked. "What are you doing awake?"
She shuffles to the stool I just vacated, sliding into the seat before catching her face in her hands. The motion squishes her cheeks, pursing out her lips and distorting her words. "I can't sleep." She sighs. "I think Stella's going to fire me."
"Did she say that?" I'm a little concerned myself, not because I believe our boss genuinely wants to fire Piper, but because she might not have much of a choice. Technically the guy Piper stunned didn't put his hands on anyone, so she's caught in a gray area. Lots of things could go either way, including her lack of an arrest record and her long-term career prospects.
"No, but she seemed pretty upset." Piper snags my coffee cup and peeks inside, frowning when she finds it empty. "I don't know what I'll do if she fires me. Bartending is all I've ever done. Plus, how do I explain that my last job canned me because I tased a customer in the crotch?"
"Hopefully the fact that they didn't officially charge you with anything will be helpful." I snag a new coffee cup and load it onto the machine, dropping in a pod before setting it to brew. "Maybe this will all blow over and everything will go back to normal."
Almost everything. I don't want to kick Piper while she's down, so I decide not to mention Christian wants me to move in with him.
Actually, it wasn’t so much a request as it was him more or less saying Iwillbe living with him. And I don't particularly want to disagree with his demand. It’s one of many things I’m finally willing to admit I actually enjoy.
I like how decisive he is. I like that he knows what he wants and isn't afraid to voice it. It's making me feel a little more confident about admitting my own desires. My own wants.
While also finally admitting to the things I don’t.
