Corruption by dampersandspoons

Chapter 23: Spare the Rod, Spoil the Child

A few weeks had passed since the incident at the coffee shop and William had successfully avoided Miranda and her sad, guilty eyes. Fuck her, he thought bitterly. Who the hell did she think she was, anyway, passing judgment on him when she didn’t even know the story? And maybe he wouldn’t have been so angry if it hadn’t been weeks since he’d heard anything from Buffy. She hadn’t responded to his first letter, or his second, or even his third, and it was starting to worry him.

He’d picked up the phone several times with the intent to call her, only to hang up in an angry fit when he realized how irrational he was being. Calling her would be the stupidest thing he could do. What would even be the point of being away from her if he was going to fuck it all up with a phone call and ruin everything? He missed her terribly and needed some sort of affirmation that she still felt the same way, some sort of sign that she still cared while he was feeling lonely and sorry for himself, cooped up in some remodeled temple in Marrakech, nursing his wounds with far too much liquor for his own good and passing out wherever he fell in a drunken stupor. Perhaps the melodramatic attitude he’d taken to deal with his issues wasn’t the best idea, but he couldn’t find reason to care.

And so, that’s exactly why he was sitting in the hookah room with Vijay, scratching the overgrown stubble on his chin and watching intently as the Indian rolled the fattest joint he’d ever seen, not that he’d seen many, but he was sure that Cheech and Chong would have been impressed. Part of him was nervous about it, ridiculing himself that he should know better, he was over thirty and smoking hash was just pathetic at his age but at the same time, he was feeling pretty pathetic, so fuck it all, William was going to get high with his Dad’s best friend and that’s all there was to it.

“Inhale and hold it,” Vijay said as he handed him the joint after he’d taken the first drag.

William pinched one end of it and stared at it for a while as if it were going to reveal some hidden secret. When of course that never happened, he rolled his eyes and took a drag, coughing as the sticky smoke clouded his lungs. He pounded on his chest with his fist and Vijay laughed heartily, taking the joint from him before he dropped it.

“It’s good, yes? Makes the hair on your chest.”

“That’s awful,” he said with a scowl. “Hurry up and hand it back.”

Vijay smiled as he inhaled and handed it back to William, taking a moment to adjust the fuzzy yellow headband that he wore and leaned back on the satin pillows. “This is the part when you quit being the tight ass hole.”

“Fuck you, Vijay.” William laughed, coughing suddenly from his hit. “I’m not a tight ass. That’s Dad.”

“Your father is an ass hole, but he is not tight.” Vijay actually looked embarrassed at his faux pas and quickly corrected himself. “Not in the britches like you, my friend.”

“You know, always wondered about you two,” he joked, realizing at that moment that he could no longer feel his face. “Am I supposed to feel like I’m covered in fur?”

“Only when you are big pussy like you, William. I could do your taxes on this stuff.”

“No way.”

“Oh, yes,” Vijay said seriously. “I do this every day so I am not insane. It is the only way I can deal with Kamat and her all the time criticizing my every movements. You know the angry ones are the best in bed.”

“No way,” he said with a large grin. “It’s the quiet ones that really do it nasty.”

“And you would know? You have sex with one woman and you are expert?”

“Not an expert, just have a feeling no one could do it better.” Well, fuck, the hash wasn’t helping. He was about to start reminiscing and that was a very bad idea. He would not reminisce. He wouldn’t. He would not. “You know, she has this adorable little thing she does with her mouth when she’s about to come. Drives me insane. And fuck, she has the sweetest smile.”

Vijay was silent for a moment. Then he sighed. “Do I need to go and buy you the tampons for your gaping vagina, William?”

“Shut up,” he laughed, “can’t help it. I miss her. Got no one to talk to about it unless I want to be called a pussy or a vagina or a vast number of clever names for the female genitalia, thanks to you.”

“What about Miranda? She seems like the kind of girl who likes to talk.”

“Yeah, she should keep her sodding mouth shut,” he said spitefully.

“She is not so bad, you know? You need friends, William.”

“Friend, being the appropriate word. She’s like a…like a…” His face scrunched in frustration as he struggled for the right words. Hash really put a damper on his thinking skills. “Like one of those, you know…” His hands were moving about wildly, trying to gesture what he meant.

“Tiny box?”

“No, not a bloody box, you git. A, um…sod it, I can’t think of the word. But it’s one of those things that crawls inside your head and then fucks it all up. That’s her.”

“A woman?”

They both burst into giggles, leaning into one another and cracked up even more when Miranda walked in, cocking an eyebrow at their antics. William pointed at her and laughed. “You’re a woman!”

“How exciting it must have been for you to finally figure that out,” she said slowly, trying to decipher what was going on, taking the remnants of the joint that Vijay offered and sat down across from them.

“William says you are fucking with his head. Ow!” He winced when William elbowed him in the side.

“Oh, really?” She smiled and took a hit from the joint, narrowing her eyes at William. “And just how did I do that?” She knew he’d been avoiding her, however, considering the fact he’d finally succumbed to Vijay’s peer pressure, she found the confidence to press him for information.

“Oh, come on,” William groaned. “You with your…twenty questions and cursing and bad coffee. And then!” He stood up suddenly, feeling a need to start pacing the room which was quite difficult barefooted among the pillow-covered floors. It didn’t quite have the same intimidating affect on her that it did his students when he paced the classrooms. “Then, you lied to me!”

“I did not!” She looked offended, folding her arms across her chest.

“Yes, you did! What was that boo-hoo sob story about your grandparents?”

“I didn’t lie about that,” she said through gritted teeth. “And you should stop right there.” Miranda was not too keen on the idea of being picked apart and analyzed in front of Vijay, or in general for that matter. She was starting to hate her curiosity.

“Why, afraid I might figure something out? Afraid I might judge you? Afraid I might make you feel like a piece of shit for something you did in your past without knowing the story?” He bent forward, right in her face, finding way too much delight in the trembling of her chin. So he backed up a bit, keeping his knowing eyes locked with hers. “Because I’ll tell you something, Miranda. You don’t get to pick and prod a bloke’s brain and get pissed when you find something you don’t like. You don’t get to do that and think I’m too stupid to figure you out. You’re not that complicated, quit trying to be”

He stormed out of the room, pissed that she’d killed his buzz and now he was pissed off because she’d made him pissed off. So he sauntered back into the room and said, “And for your information, Miranda, yes, she was a student. Yes, she was a teenager. But she was of age, I didn’t force her, we fell in love and she’s the best thing that ever happened to me. So bite your fucking tongue the next time you’re feeling squeamish about my past.” Satisfied that he’d said his piece, he nodded curtly and walked to his room, slamming the door behind him.

“This is good hash,” Vijay said as if the loud scene had never taken place and crossed his ankles. After all, he’d dealt with much worse arguments at home. Had the scars to prove it. Blessed Brahman, he missed Kamat. “I will put some in shampoo bottles and take home with us. The dogs never sniff it in shampoo.”

Miranda sighed and stood up, knowing she had to go and talk to him even though she was trembling with emotion. No one had ever yelled at her like that before, made her feel hot and angry, and at the same time, she knew he had to get it out of his system. He’d been avoiding her for so long that it was only a matter of time before he blew up at her. At least the worst was over, or so she hoped as she knocked on William’s door. He flung it open, glaring at her.

“What?” he shouted.

“I’m sorry, ok? I’m sorry. I’m a horrible person. A, uh…a big fat bitch with evil intentions and all I want to do is corrupt and maim the weak because I’m so evil. And I kick puppies.”

He shook his head and grinned a bit at her attempt to joke, but held on to his anger. “And you’re nosy.”

“Very nosy.” She nodded, clasping her hands behind her back.

“And you have horrible taste in coffee.” He started to deflate, having said everything on his mind earlier and really, he was tired of carrying it around when he should be relaxing. Something he was trying to do with Vijay moments before until she’d unknowingly ruined it simply by entering the room.

“No, that’s you,” she said with a slight smile.

“I’m sorry I yelled.” He leaned against the doorframe, not wanting to invite her in but feeling guilty for blowing up at her. “Well, not entirely sorry. You deserved it. But maybe I shouldn’t have been such a wanker about it.”

“I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions. I’m sorry.”

They stood in an awkward silence for a moment and William chewed on his lip, waiting for something to say. “Right. So, don’t do that again.”

“Ok.” She smiled then, pleased that he seemed to forgive her, but she didn’t want to end it this way. “Do you think we can talk? You know, get to know those stories we keep hiding?”

“Sure,” he sighed and stepped aside so she could enter. He walked over to the tiny bureau on the far wall and pulled out a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. He gestured to the floor where he’d set up some pillows and she sat down, taking a shot glass from him. “But first, I get drunk.”

“Good plan.” She smiled, downing the shot he’d poured for her. The only way she could think to get in his good graces and possibly become friends with him was to ask him about the one thing that had gotten him so angry in the first place. The fact that he’d fallen in love with his student didn’t sit too well with her, for reasons she wasn’t too sure she’d tell him about that evening, but she supposed it was time to get over her crush and take what she could get. Which didn’t involve being naked and witnessing how he moved beneath the sheets, like she’d been fantasizing about for weeks now. As mad as he might have made her, he was too damn hot to ignore and she was no saint. Hell, she was sure even a saint would blush if William walked by. “So…tell me about her.”

“Her name is Buffy,” he said with a wistful sigh and swallowed his shot, already pouring another. “And I’m in love with her.”

 

---

 

Buffy was going to hell, she was sure of it. She’d fucked her English teacher and her priest, various times in various, delicious ways. Fell in love with him and he’d eventually left the Church for her. And now, she’d puked all over another priest.

All over.

Head to toe.

It was sort of a blessing in disguise, though, because whatever he was about to say or do to her was instantly forgotten in the wake of his disgust from being covered in stomach lining. It was enough to buy her time, and time was all she had right then. And so she mumbled an apology and ran to her room. She wished she could call William, hear his voice, hear him tell her that he’d come save her, that he loved her, that he’d never leave her side. Her fear only intensified in the passing week because Father Caleb hadn’t said a word.

Was he waiting? Trying to freak her out? She didn’t know, but she was petrified. Sister Margaret was acting strangely, too. She’d run into her in the hallway one day and asked her if she mailed the package. She’d muttered something Buffy couldn’t understand and then made some excuse that she was late getting somewhere. She didn’t like it: something was definitely going on, but she didn’t know what to do about it. She only had theories, tiny speculations that gave her the heebies thinking about them, so she decidedly pushed them out of her mind until there was real reason to worry.

When William’s second letter came, she knew he hadn’t received her package. He’d written her a five-page letter, going on and on about how much he missed her, what a bitch Miranda was – and really, she was quite thankful for that bit of info – how he thought about her every day, wished he were there with her. While his letter did ease her spirits, at the same time, she felt helpless. If Father Caleb had intercepted her package, who’s to say he wouldn’t continue to? And would that make William think she didn’t care for him if he never received response? How long would he hold out without knowing anything?

But then a third letter arrived, affirming her fears that he wasn’t receiving any of her letters. He seemed angry with her, and possibly drunk due to the illegibility of his handwriting in certain parts, and she was terrified that he might not write again. And she really needed the comfort of his words, especially now. Because Father Caleb had finally called her to his office, which was where she currently sat, waiting for him to arrive.

She stared at the desk, remembering all the things she and William did on it, hoping it would soothe her nerves but it only made it worse. And then he was there, walking to his desk and sitting down on the edge across from her and smiling.

“Miss Summers, so glad you could make it.” He gently set his bible down on the desk and laced his fingers together between his legs. “I wanted to speak with you about something very important.”

“Ok,” she nodded, unable to look him in the eye. “Did I do something wrong?”

He smiled at her. “Would it do any good if I told you, Miss Summers? I’ve been a priest for a long time. Try to do the Lord’s work, spread the gospel, hope His holy words sink into the minds of the youth, but what good is it? Just scrambles around in there, jumbles up like puzzle pieces, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“You ain’t never gonna feel the light of God, Miss Summers,” he said with a tone that had turned gravely serious. His eyes hardened in anger and he leaned forward a bit, paralyzing her with his gaze. “I can tell you the story of Mary Magdalene, about the whores of Babylon and it won’t do a damn bit of good. You got so much filth in your mind there ain’t no room for the truth, is there? You know what you are? Dirty.”

“Father Caleb,” she said with a shaking voice, “I’m not—”

“I know all about you,” he said quietly. “You and that priest. Blasphemy! Sexual intercourse, right here. Right where I sit.” He put up a hand to silence her when she tried to interject. “Ain’t no use in denying it. Got all the proof I need right here.” He opened a wooden box on his desk and lifted out a pair of Buffy’s panties with a pencil, as if the mere thought of touching them disgusted him. It was the pair she’d put in the package Sister Margaret was supposed to mail for her. “You see? Dirty.” He flung them at her and she flinched, her chin quivering as she tried to gain control of her emotions. “How does it make you feel, knowing that you forced a man of the cloth into that slithering cavern of sin? Do you have any remorse?” He was shouting at her, standing over her while she shrank in her seat.

She started panting, just wanting him to do whatever it was he was going to do so she could get out of there. She knew at this point that no matter what she said in her defense that it didn’t matter. He’d already assumed the worst. So she kept her mouth shut.

“God hates whores, Miss Summers. Hates ‘em. In fact, there are scriptures upon scriptures stating how He deals with them. Fire. Slaughter. Torture. Just to name a few,” he said with a wink. “Oh, don’t worry your pretty little head about that,” he said when she started to tremble. “I ain’t one for soiling my hands with Satan’s bitches. Unlike William, I won’t be tempted. You have nothing I wish to explore. It ain’t righteous.”

She started to get angry, her hands clenching the arms of her chair. “So what exactly is the point of this?”

He almost laughed at her anger, amused that she was so defiant. “Hallelujah! She’s got spunk!” He clapped his hands in mirth and sat back down on his desk. “It’s too bad you’re a woman. The Lord does love a passionate heart, when it’s directed towards the truth, that is. But insubordination in a woman,” he shook his head in disappointment, “makes me feel like holding the rod and teaching a valuable lesson.”

“Is that a metaphor for your dick?” She didn’t even care any more. Who the fuck did he think he was?

His lips tightened and he grew angry. “The temptress has a forked tongue. Serpent! Harlot! You’ve got the devil in you! Praise be to God should he strike you down and make this place Holy! Stand up!” he commanded, shouting at her. When she continued to sit, he said it again. “Stand up, Miss Summers!”

She jumped from her chair in fear from his tone and yelped when he grabbed her arm.

“Bend over, Miss Summers, and put your hands flat on the desk.”

No. Not that. Not those words. “Fuck you!” Her shouting was cut off abruptly when the palm of his hand struck her across the cheek.

“Don’t you dare use that language in His house! Don’t you dare!” Tears welled up in her eyes and he drew closer. “Aww, look at this. Things don’t go your way and here come the waterworks. Ain’t that just like a woman? You want forgiveness?”

“Not from you,” she said evenly, trying to wrench her arm free from his grip and failing.

“God has abandoned you. He took one look at your soiled, tainted soul and said to Hell with it! To Hell! Every last one of you turning away from His holy word and look what happens! Look what you did to that man! You think that was his fault? Prancin’ around in your whore suit, tempting him, taunting him, using Satan’s words to break him down, make him turn his back on God. That was all you, Miss Summers. And God wants you to pay for your sins! So when I tell you to bend over my desk and take the rod, you bend over!”

She looked him in the eyes, her face a mask of absolute rage. “Let. Go. Of me.”

“Well, then. We’ll just do this standing up.” He roughly walked her over to the wall and picked up a yardstick, pressing her front against the wall. “Can’t beat a woman with anything larger than your thumb. Might be a centimeter bigger, but I think God will forgive me for the slight size difference on account of me having such slender fingers. Idle hands,” he said, chuckling. And then he struck her hard on the ass with the yardstick, but Buffy didn’t make a sound.

She’d braced herself for it, bit her lip and would not yield to him. He could beat her to death and she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of so much as a whimper. Suddenly, he’d released her from his grip and stepped away.

“Something just occurred to me. You probably enjoy the punishment, don’t you? I bet you flog yourself at night, just to feel. Bet you wanted that priest to beat you.”

“Shut up! You don’t know what you’re talking about!”

“Maybe there’s hope for you yet! Praise be to God! She seeks the pain because her soul’s too tainted to get on her knees and ask for forgiveness! Well, Miss Summers, I might have to try another tactic.” He walked over to his desk and sat down, opening a drawer to his left and pulled out a large brown folder.

She was trembling in anger, yet thankful that he’d only struck her once. But her nerves were on edge again, wondering what he was doing. He’d pulled out a pen and started writing, whistling Rock of Ages to himself as he did so. “What are you doing?”

“Ah, ah,” he said, lifting a pointer finger. “Don’t interrupt. These forms have so many blanks to fill out I’m afraid if you start distracting me I’ll have to start all over.” He smiled at her and winked, as if they had some sort of comfortable rapport with one another. Then he pressed a button on his phone and said, “Will someone send in Sister Margaret? It’s urgent.” Still smiling, he leaned back in his chair and said, “Have a seat, Miss Summers. This might take a while.”

 

---

 

“Wow, so you left the church so you could be with her?” Miranda said drunkenly, having consumed half a bottle of whiskey with William while listening to the entire story of him and Buffy from beginning to end.

“Wouldn’t you? I mean, if you loved someone that much…” He paused to fight off the belch crawling up his throat and then he exhaled. “I’d do anything for her.”

“Wow.”

“You said that already,” he said with a smile and poured two more shots.

“Well, it’s pretty fascinating. You know, it says a lot about you, actually.”

“How so?”

“Well, I mean…you were a priest for ten years. Right out of high school, you started planning out your future with it. So in a way, you were stuck emotionally at that age.”

“I don’t know about that,” he said, partially offended but wanting her to continue.

“Well, I just mean that it makes sense. Your whole life revolved around the church and teaching those kids, so it just goes to show that you were sort of in a purgatory. An, uh…emotional purgatory.”

“I wasn’t just around teenagers. The sisters were there, too.”

“Right, because nuns are super hip to the outside world.” She chuckled. “You were stuck, is all I’m saying. Unable to grow really, as most men do at that age. It’s an important transitional period to experience and you jumped right over it.”

“So, let me get this straight,” he said, sitting up, “you think that because I didn’t experience life outside of the church, that I was stuck as a twenty-one-year-old?”

“Even younger, since you know, you were a virgin and all of that. And, you started studying the scriptures hard-core way before you even stated your vows. It was your life. I’m not saying it’s a bad thing, I’m just saying that your relationship with Buffy makes sense.”

“And it wouldn’t make sense if I hadn’t been a priest?”

Miranda took a deep breath. He was getting defensive again and they’d been doing so well up to that point. “I’m not judging you, William. I swear to God. I’m just trying to have a conversation, you know? She was legal, and hot, which…thank you for saying that over and over, so really, there’s not much of an issue, there.”

“She’s a lot older than her age in some ways,” he said thoughtfully, his anger diminishing as he became comfortable talking openly with her. “She and I…we’ve both had fucked up childhoods. Hers, worse than mine. Even though she’d been with a few guys before me, I think in a way, I was her first, too. We both experienced things for the first time together.”

“What do you mean you had a fucked up childhood? Rupert is awesome.”

William snorted and downed his whiskey. “Yeah, real awesome. That’s another conversation for another time. But Buffy…” He sighed, wishing she were right next to him. “She’s had it really rough. The fact that I had to leave her kills me.”

“She’s a big girl, I’m sure she can handle it.”

“Everyone has left her, Miranda. Everyone. And now you can add me to the list, even though I had to do it in order to be with her. I just worry. She hasn’t responded to my letters and…I’m just afraid of losing her when everything I’ve done was just to keep her with me. Like it doesn’t even matter that I gave up my life for her, you know?”

“If she loves you, and I don’t know how she couldn’t, but if she does, it’ll work out in the end.”

“I hope so,” he said sadly, holding the whiskey in his lap as he debated pouring another shot and finally decided to drink straight from the bottle. “Thanks for…” He twirled the bottle in the air between them.

“No problem.” She smiled warmly at him. “Feel better?”

“Little bit. It is nice just to talk about it.”

“Any time.” She stood up and walked to the door, groaning when her head started to spin. “There is no way I’m ever winning in a drinking contest with you,” she said with a chuckle.

“Probably not.” He grinned.

“Do me a favor?” she asked cautiously as she stood in the doorway. He lifted his head to her and she sighed. “Can you just try to enjoy your vacation? I know you miss her but you look like a lumberjack and you smell.”

“Hey!” he shouted playfully. “I’m wallowing in self pity over here! The look comes with it.”

“Well, it’s really gross and you’re starting to stink up the place. No offense,” she said smiling brightly.

“None taken.” He collapsed on his back and decided to add, “Bitch.”

Miranda giggled as she walked out the door and William smiled to himself, feeling a bit better that he could confide in someone and that she didn’t seem disgusted. In fact, she was actually pretty insightful and he felt bad that he hadn’t given her the chance before. At least he knew there was someone to talk to when shit got bad, and shit had been really, really bad lately.

Though he feared it wouldn’t be replied to, William started to write a fourth letter to Buffy. If she didn’t reply to this one, well, he didn’t know what he’d do if she didn’t reply. But Marrakech better have one hell of a supply of liquor at the ready if that were the case.

Submit a Review!

Name:

Email (req. but not shown):

Comments: