Page 56 of Bartholomew
“I feel like I have a million questions wanting to come out, and yet unable to voice any of them all,” I huffed out.
“I truly do want to hear them all, Delilah, and I want to answer every one of them to the best of my ability. But maybe we take a momentary pause and eat some lunch? Brunch? Dinner? What the fuck time is it, anyway?” he asked, glancing around for a clock he knew well was not in here.
“That’s not a bad idea. Do leftovers sound good, or shall I cook us up something?” I agreed with a sigh.
“Leftovers are perfect.” His smile soothed me. So, we did just that. We took a long break, dishing out plates of leftovers from the fridge, both of us staying relatively silent, giving us the time and space we both needed to process the morning’s events.
“Is it strange to say that I feel more level-headed now that I’ve eaten?” I asked, inwardly chastising myself for making such a bold statement about food, no less.
“It makes perfect sense,” Ollie stated, leaning back in his chair, and putting a hand on his stomach. “I call that being hangry. Anger derived from hunger. Plus, food is just powerful.”
“You don’t have to tell me that,” I interjected, rolling my eyes. He shot me a look that read: cut it out. I had the decency to look admonished. I wasn’t used to someone curtailing my negative self-talk. Quite the opposite.
This man, Bartholomew Temple, was a conundrum if ever there had been one.
“Should we head back to the study, or where would you like to relax while we talk some more?” That was a good question. On the one hand, the more somber atmosphere of the study seemed to match the seriousness of the conversation. On the other hand, I wasn’t sure I wanted the formality.
“Can we just sit on the couch in the living room? Like we did during twenty questions?” I asked, gathering our dishes from the table. I walked them to the sink and left them there. Never before would I have thought to just leave the dishes unattended, but much had changed in my short time here. Today, there were more important things than dishes.
“That sounds perfect.”
We both sat on the couch. Ollie handed me a fuzzy blanket to wrap up in, which I appreciated. The weather was getting colder by the day, and the softness provided me some measure of comfort for what was sure to be an awkward and possibly uncomfortable conversation.
“So, where should we start?” I asked, not wanting to prolong the pause any longer than we already had.
“Let’s just restart twenty questions. Just this time it will be the kink edition,” he chuckled. It was nice to at least try to go into the conversation with some small amount of humor.
“Sounds good to me. Twenty Questions: Kinky Plus edition?” I countered, and he nodded, gesturing with his hand for me to continue. “So, I suppose my first question is, why now? I get that you all want to live a life free of the church’s judgment, but why now? You said Levi had discovered this place, and discovered kink, seven years ago.”
“Good starting question. Great, even. Basically, we didn’t all just jump into the dungeon scene at Abditory — the name of the dungeon — when Levi discovered it. Levi went several times, learned a ton, and over the course of about two years, we had all joined. It took time. And, for me at least, it took time to figure out who I was and what I wanted. When kink entered our world, and honestly, when the real world came into focus for each of us, it took time for us to really wrap our heads around it. Based on conversations we’ve all had with many people outside of Zion, it’s called deconstructing.” I let his words sink in, expecting him to ask the next question. When it didn’t come, I continued my questioning.
“So, you went into it and learned about kink and then decided this place wasn’t for you?”
“Sort of. It was more that I learned about myself. I learned what it was to be free of the judgment. To be accepted for who I was underneath it all. All of us, my brothers and I, had these personalities that Zion always seemed to want to stomp down into the ground. It’s like they wanted to take a chisel to the person I was and make me fit into the mold they deemed worthy of the Lord,” he scoffed. I couldn’t blame him. I felt those words down to my very bones.
“That makes sense to me, honestly,” I admitted. “I can’t tell you how hard it is to be in Zion, to walk among these people who are supposed to love the Lord, and have them speak the way they speak about me. I’ve read the bible. Front to back, multiple times. And there are things that are confusing.”
I felt wrong admitting such a personal thing, but we had both agreed to be honest and open. So, he would get my full honesty. I prayed it would not come back to haunt me.
“You know, that’s the reason I agreed to marry you,” he acknowledged.
“I’m not sure how to take that,” I muttered.
“Hearing how people talked about you disgusted me. Women are incredible goddesses who deserve to be treated that way. It sickened me. So, when Malachi spurned my parents’ proposal for you to marry him, I stepped up,” he continued.
“So, you took pity on me?” I questioned, raising an eyebrow in marginal contempt. I did not want to be pitied.
“No, not pity, per se. I just felt that you deserved better. That you deserved someone who would see you for who you are and not just your shortcomings, like everyone else seemed to do,” he tried again. Tried and failed.
“Wow, my shortcomings?” I snarked, rolling my eyes.
“No, not shortcomings. Christ, I’m really putting my foot in my mouth on this one, aren’t I?” he scoffed at himself. “Delilah, there is no real nice way to talk about this situation. We were both put into an arranged marriage. I didn’t know you from any other woman in Zion. I didn’t even know what you looked like. I’ll be honest, I barely pay attention to anyone there, if I can help it. But I know that I’m a good person who can treat a woman with respect and kindness. And no matter who you were in Zion, I knew that you deserved that much, at the very least.”
“It’s not that simple, Ollie,” I sighed with exasperation. “I can’t just let this go like nothing happened.”
“I know that. I’m not trying to ask that. I just–”
“Then what are you asking?” He ran his hands through his hair. I could feel his own frustration rising to meet my own. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to goad and escalate each other until we ended up in a screaming match. But my feelings were as valid as his explanations were.
