December 2008 - Northern Ireland
Dessie sat in his car, parked down the road from a pub. His eyes glued on the front door, his fingers curled so hard around the steering wheel his knuckles were white.
"Would ya relax?" Rory busied himself eating a bag of Tayto crisps. "Datin' a bird like her, you knew exactly what you were gettin' into."
Beyond annoyed with his intelligence officer, Dessie reached over and snatched the bag from Rory's hand. He rolled down the window, throwing it out onto the dark, damp street.
"Ya know, you're a real dick sometimes."
"Yeah? Well, you need to keep your fuckin' bake shut."
Rory caught the anguish twisting Dessie's features. It had been so long since any of them saw Dessie show a shred of emotion, they almost forgot he had any. The last time Rory remembered him being this upset over a woman had been right after he was served divorce papers in prison.
He softened his tone. "I wouldn't sweat it, man. The blokes we spoke with seemed dodgy so I doubt the intelligence is even right. He may not even be in there with her."
"We fuckin' saw him walk right into the goddamn pub two bloody hours ago!" Dessie roared. He raked his fingers through his hair, trying to calm down. "I can't fuckin' take this; I should go in there-"
"Don't you fuckin' move. Ya want her to come out on her own. If she's not out in another hour, then I'll go in and scope the crowd."
Dessie wanted to scream and rip the steering wheel off the dashboard. He hated this feeling. It felt like his insides were being poked with a hot iron and the weight on his chest made it difficult to breathe. He already blew through his pack of Camels so he nervously bit his nails.
The images flashing through his brain about what was going on inside were probably much worse than reality. Knowing that still did very little to settle his nerves.
And Rory's snide comment about his relationship with her rubbed Dessie the wrong way, making him even more irritated if that was possible.
"What the hell did ya mean when ya said I knew exactly what I was gettin' into datin' a broad like her?"
Rory stammered, "I - nothin' bad. It's just, she's one of us, ya know?"
"I don't know so please explain."
"Shite like this is gonna happen." He stopped talking as they both saw the pub's front door swing open. "I think that's her."
Dessie thought he was going to be sick as he watched the couple stumble out of the pub. Her arms wrapped around the neck of another man, as his hands wandered from her hips to her breasts.
"That's definitely them." Rory tossed Dessie a balaclava.
Once it was on, he started his car and tapped the brakes twice before crossing the road and parking in front of the pub. Dessie was the first one out, ripping the man off Catherine. Before the stranger had a chance to figure out what was going on, Dessie had him in a sleeper hold.
As he was going limp from a lack of oxygen to the brain, Catherine hopped into the backseat of the Jetta. A white van pulled up and three more men in balaclavas got out. They blindfolded the Real army man then tossed his body into the back of the van.
The entire abduction went down in less than two minutes. Once Dessie and Rory were back in the car, they drove in the opposite direction of the van, looking to make it out of Derry without drawing any attention.
Rory looked into the backseat and saw Catherine peeling off the short platinum blonde wig she wore. "Leave it on. You look cracker as a blonde."
She appreciated his attempt to lighten the mood, but she felt so disgusted she only concentrated on not crying.
When he didn't so much as hear a sarcastic snicker from Catherine, Dessie peeked into the rearview mirror. She looked so doeful and it broke his heart.
Hours later, they arrived at the farm in Forkhill. Dessie pulled up to the house as the van went straight for the barn. Before he could turn off the car, Catherine jumped out and headed inside. On her way, Dessie noticed she chucked the wig into the fire pit.
"You head to the barn and get the bloke set up. I'm gonna check on her then I'll be over."
Rory did exactly as he was told.
Climbing out of the car, it felt good for Dessie to finally stretch his cramped muscles. He stuffed the keys into his pocket then walked up the porch to the front door. Inside, he found Catherine standing in the living room, removing her gaudy earrings.
Unzipping and shrugging off his jacket, Dessie tossed it on the sofa with hers. He came up behind her then turned her around, curling his arms around her shoulders. The moment her face buried into his chest, Catherine began to weep delicate, gentle tears.
Dessie fought tooth and nail to keep Catherine from being the one to lure their target out of the pub. It was a mixture of him not wanting his girlfriend to flaunt herself to another man, and thinking it wasn't fair she'd been chosen in the first place.
His men came up with a brilliant idea he hated to admit worked. Even if it was emotionally taxing on both, all any of the other guys cared about was that the operation was a success.
But Dessie couldn't care less if it had been a success or not. Catherine was in his arms crying her eyes out over the utter degradation of using her sexuality to help the cause. Her well-being - emotionally, mentally, physically - was all he cared about foremost. He promised he'd protect her from the world and tonight was a failure in Dessie's eyes.
She hadn't objected when asked to do it, though she didn't have much of a choice. After all, Jimmy had been the one who volunteered her service. This was his sick way of torturing the couple after only two months of dating.
"Please don't make me do that again," she squeaked.
His heart dropped into his stomach. Cupping her cheeks into his thick hands, Dessie lifted her head off his chest. Her cheeks were red and blotchy with streaks of black running down them.
"I promise you'll never have to do that or anythin' else ya don't wanna. You gonna be okay?"
She nodded and sniffled, wiping the mascara tears off with the sleeve of her dress. "Aye. I just wanna take a shower."
Pressing a soft kiss on her forehead, he then patted her ass and nudged her in the direction of the stairs. As she walked, he marveled at how the blue material of her dress hugged every beautiful tight curve of her body. Sometimes it was still hard for him to believe she was finally his.
Halfway up the stairs, Catherine leaned over the railing. "Ya comin' or not, Dennehy?"
He didn't need to be told twice.
Taking the steps two at a time, he couldn't get her to the bedroom fast enough.
Dessie stood behind her and carefully unzipped her dress, revealing the soft unblemished skin of her back. He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder as he pushed the cheap garment completely off. When it pooled around her feet, Catherine stepped out and kicked it aside.
Placing his hands on her stomach, he left a trail of kisses from her shoulder to her earlobe. Curling an arm around Dessie's neck, Catherine twirled her fingers on the ends of his hair.
He was constantly on her mind. The need and desire she had for Dessie, was like a nagging ache. In the daytime and wakeful hours of the night when she was in Belfast and he in Crossmaglen, she craved him. Once they were finally together, she wanted to consume every inch of him - mind, body, and soul. She wanted to show in every sense she was his.
Taking his hands off her belly, Dessie unclasped her bra. After letting it fall to the ground, he cupped her heavy breasts, gently pinching her round, soft pink nipples. He slid one hand up her flushed chest and neck, slipping his middle and ring fingers into her mouth.
His cock grew harder than it ever has at the feeling of Catherine swirling her tongue and sucking. Dessie sighed in her ear, loving her small whimper as he pinched her nipple again.
Slipping his fingers in and out of her mouth, he purred, "You've no idea how much I've missed havin' you wrapped around me. Have you missed me fillin' that sweet little cunt with my fat cock?"
She only nodded, unable to talk with his fingers in her mouth. He took them out and kissed her neck. "Tell me how much you've missed my cock, baby."
Catherine quickly learned Dessie had every right to be conceited over his cock. Eight months ago, she realized his nickname, Heavy D, wasn't a jab at the fact he gained two stone over the last couple of years.
"All I've thought about this week is you stretchin' me wide and makin' me scream so loud I've no voice by the end."
Dessie inched the fingers which were slick with Catherine's saliva under her thong. He circled her clit, and she slumped against him with a beautiful cry of pleasure.
"Do you ever touch yourself when you think of me stretchin' you?"
She didn't hesitate to answer, "Aye. Every time."
In swift motions, Dessie ripped his hand out of her thong and smacked her ass so hard she yelped in pain. He wrapped her hair in his fist, yanking.
"Irish Catholic girls know better than to touch themselves. And here I thought ya were better than that, Catherine Mary."
She broke out her St. Dominic's uniform once, and he hasn't been able to let it go since. But the way he spoke to her made her quiver with excitement. She loved the way he pushed her beyond what she was used to.
"I'm sorry, Dessie, I really am. I promise I won't do it again."
The way she made her voice clear and sweet made him clamp his teeth down on his lower lip.
He pushed her down. "Then get on your knees and show me how sorry you really are."
Catherine dropped and instantly went for his belt. In record time she had it undone, shoving down his jeans and boxers.
Wrapping a hand around his shaft, Catherine smeared the beads of precum along the head with her thumb. Dessie grunted, petting her hair. Reaching around and resting a hand on his ass, she wrapped her lips around him. When her tongue glided up and pressed into the hole at the tip of his cock, Dessie curled his fingers into her hair.
She blew him nice and slow, every so often a choking sound coming from her as she took as much of him as she could. Dessie hissed when she reached up and softly squeezed his balls.
"Oh fuck, baby... just like that," he pants, as Catherine found the perfect rhythm of sucking and hand swiveling.
Dessie closed his eyes, thrusting his hips forward in a pleading way to get Catherine to relent on her deliberately slow pace. She swallowed him whole again without warning. The fullness of him making her gag in the best possible way.
When he opened his eyes, he saw a mixture of fluids glistening in the soft light as it dribbled down her chin. Big watery doe eyes looked up at him.
"You're so fuckin' beautiful on your knees for me. So fuckin' messy, too. Look at ya, spit and lipstick all over your face."
When Dessie realized how close he was, he stopped her, much to Catherine's dismay.
"Am I not makin' ya feel good?" she asked, sitting back on her ankles.
"You've no bloody idea how fuckin' amazin' ya make me feel."
"Then why did you stop me?"
"Because," he said, first pulling up his pants then helping Catherine to her feet. He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I don't wanna blow my load in your mouth. I wanna see my cum spillin' from your fanny."
Dessie grabbed the back of her neck and crashed his lips down on hers. He kissed her just long enough to leave her wanting more once he pulled away.
He playfully spanked her. "Now, go get the shower runnin', I'll be there in a minute."
There was no missing the excitement that lit up Catherine's face. She kissed him once more, then bounced into the en suite bathroom.
When Dessie heard the shower turn on, he kicked off his boots then stripped from his clothes. Tossing his duffle bag onto the bed, he rustled around until he found the bottle of silicone-based lube.
Armed with lubricant, Dessie strolled into the steam-filled bathroom. He opened the foggy glass door and stepped in, setting the bottle up on the ledge. Catherine wasted no time with her wandering hands. He loved the way her touch felt as her fingers danced along his skin.
She kissed the tattoo on his chest that sprawled from collarbone to collarbone.
"Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I fear no evil," it reads.
On his ribcage is another saying, "For those I love, I will sacrifice."
His arms and torso are covered in sentimental designs, but there's one in particular she's always been drawn to.
"This one's my favorite," she croaks, tracing the horseshoe on the side of his neck.
As badly as Dessie wants to take his time and make sweet heavenly love to Catherine, he knows he's running out of time. Sooner or later one of the guys will come barging in to drag him out to the barn.
"Turn around," Dessie ordered. "Hands on the wall and spread 'em."
He could feel an ache in his chest as her face dropped. She'd been expecting to worship and be worshiped in return. Not a quicky. He'd make it up to her; it was only Friday night.
When Catherine spun around and placed her hands on the white tiled wall, Dessie grabbed the bottle of lube. He spread a glob along his shaft, then reached down and smeared the leftovers along her slit.
Running his hands down her curves, his fingers bit into her wide hips as he slowly eased inside of her. Catherine hissed at the delicious sting of Dessie stretching her flesh.
"Fuck...you feel good, baby."
Catherine moaned a response, pushing her ass against him as a hint to pick up the pace. He moved his hips at a lazy speed, knowing full well that if he didn't she'd end up sore and uncomfortable. Gritting his teeth, he took a moment to enjoy the hot water beating down his back, as well as the warmth of her wrapped around him.
There was only one other woman he's ever fucked raw. Dessie had forgotten the closeness that came along without having a thin latex-barrier and he had no intention of pulling out at the end either. It wasn't that he was purposefully trying to knock her up; he was more so throwing caution to the wind.
Only when he felt her relax did Dessie bottom out in her, quickening the pace at which he drove his thrusts. The vulgar sound of wet skin slapping filled the small space of the shower, so did her strident whines.
"Look at you, takin' my cock like a good girl," he snarled. "Always so eager to have me balls deep in ya."
He had to restrain himself from calling her a bitch or a whore, having found out the hard way she didn't respond well to degradation.
"I can't help bein' eager for ya, Dessie. Your cock is the best I've had."
"Don't fuckin' lie. I don't need my ego stroked." He let go of her hip and pulled her wet hair, roughly pounding into her.
Catherine wasn't lying. Who would've thought the best sex of her life would be with a man she hadn't been instantly attracted to?
When Dessie wanted to be raunchy, the man got dirty. When he wanted to tone it down, she never realized such intimacy was possible between two people.
"But I'm not lyin'." She shrieked when he hit her cervix, but the pain quickly dissipated into something more pleasurable. "You've done things to my body no one ever has."
Hearing that was almost like a challenge to Dessie. He slipped his index finger into his mouth, making sure it was good and slippery before spreading her cheeks. Catherine was so focused on what he was doing with his cock, she didn't realize what he was up to until she felt his wet finger press against her.
She froze, and Dessie could tell her Catholic shame was kicking in.
"What are ya doin' back there, Dess?"
"Shhh," he cooed. "Relax for me."
Catherine opened her mouth to object, but all that managed to come out were jumbled words and unexpected moans. There was a little bit of pressure, but nothing she couldn't handle, as he teased making small circles.
"Did he ever touch ya like this?" His voice was rough, his words strangled with envy.
It wasn't difficult for her to understand it was Jimmy who Dessie referred to.
All she could manage was a shake of her head. Her eyes squeezed shut as he pressed harder on her puckered hole, gliding the tip of his finger inside. He slowed the rhythm of his hips. Catherine swallowed her groans, revelling this newfound delight as he carefully worked her open.
One of these days, he'll claim the virgin territory for himself.
"You don't have to be quiet here; be as loud as ya want. Let me hear how much ya love it when I play with your ass."
A shaky, needy moan spilled from her mouth.
"How does that feel?"
Catherine struggled to find the right combination of words. "Idunno. Wee bit weird. Really fuckin' good."
He wasn't going for weird, but he'd take it as long as she thought it felt good. Dessie was about to add a second finger when a loud banging on the bathroom door interrupted them. The door was open, but thankfully, whoever it was had the common decency not to barge in.
Stopping mid-thrust, he kept his finger buried in her ass and prayed they couldn't be seen in the mirror from the doorway.
"Dessie!" She recognized the voice of Connor Broderick. He sounded rushed and out of breath. "Real sorry to be cuttin' in on your ride, man, but we got him talkin'."
Dropping his forehead onto Catherine's shoulder, Dessie muttered words in Irish she didn't understand.
"I'll be out in a wee second."
When Dessie removed his digit, she hadn't expected to feel so...empty without it. Catherine tried to wriggle free from his hold.
"Where do ya think you're goin?" His hands gripped her hips again.
"They need ya-"
"They can wait. I haven't finished."
She braced herself against the wall and twisted her neck to throw him a flirtatious smile. "Do your worst, Heavy D."
His jaunty laughter filled the shower when he heard her call him the nickname the lads bestowed on him.
When they finally managed to pull themselves out of the shower, Dessie walked into the bedroom to find Catherine dressing. She was rolling on a pair of thick wool socks over her black leggings before putting on her boots.
He dressed in silence, not wanting to seem like an asshole by telling her she wasn't coming with him. It didn't matter to Dessie that she too was an active member of the army, most likely seeing her fair share of bloodshed over the years. He worried about her bearing witness to the kind of gratuitous violence his crew - and especially he - was capable of.
Sitting at the foot of the bed, Dessie unlaced the boots he shucked earlier. Catherine had gotten up to put on one of his hooded sweatshirts.
"I want ya to stay here," he ordered, not even looking up at her.
Catherine pulled her damp hair out of the sweatshirt's collar. "What? Why?"
One of his worst fears was that they'd fight over the cause. He hoped she'd understand that just because they were dating, he wasn't going to let her get involved with his business in south Armagh. Things ran a lot differently in Bandit Country than they did up north in Belfast. Before she took a break from her duties, Dessie always thought it was a major mistake on Jimmy's part to include her in a lot of the things he did.
Dessie didn't owe her an explanation. After her demotion, he out-ranked her; no longer was it the other way around. However, ruling with an iron fist was more Jimmy's style, not his.
"Ya don't need to see that shite."
She snorted and placed her hands on her hips. When Dessie looked up, he couldn't believe she was pouting like a fucking child. It was obvious she wasn't used to hearing 'no' in Belfast.
That would explain a lot.
"Jimmy lets me watch the Casey brothers all the time. I highly doubt your crew can do anythin' worse than what those psychopaths are capable of."
When he finished lacing his boots, he stood and picked up the flannel shirt she laid out for him on the bed. "Well unlucky for you, sweetheart, I ain't Jimmy O. And before ya go off puttin' the Casey brothers on a goddamn pedestal, need I remind ya which brigade had the most successful campaign durin' the Troubles?"
The daggered tone told Catherine she unintentionally hit a nerve. She didn't mean to diminish what Dessie and his crew managed to accomplish and still does.
Dropping her hands from her hips, Catherine scuffled over to him. On her tip-toes, she wrapped her arms around his neck.
"I'm sorry," she said, kissing him. "I didn't mean any disrespect. What youse do down here is invaluable to us up north." She kissed him again, this time with a little tongue. "Please let me come with ya. If I'm gonna join youse here I wanna see how things are done."
The sweet innocence of her voice made it difficult for him to believe such a girl could be wrapped up in the same world he was. It wasn't her thought out argument that made him change his mind, though. It was the kisses and crotch grab that did him in.
This was the only time he'd allow the minx to manipulate him. At least that's what he told himself.
"Fine. You've a balaclava?" She told him she didn't and he dug through his bag, tossing her one. "You're to be seen, not heard, yeah? It'll be a bloody mess, literally, so try to stay out of the way."
She promised she wouldn't make a peep.
From the car, Dessie grabbed his balaclava and pistol from the glove compartment. He tucked the weapon into the waistband of his jeans then put on the face mask. Catherine followed his lead. Grabbing her hand, they walked the several hundred yards to the barn.
The entire time, Catherine's heart raced. There was no way to prepare for what she was about to waltz into. No matter how many times she watched Sean and Michael Casey inflict the worst forms of torture onto another human being, it never got any easier to see.
Following Dessie inside the barn, the putrid stench of burnt flesh and singed hair mixed with a metallic twinge hit Catherine like a ton of bricks. A chill ran down her spine when terrified screams of a grown man rang loud in her ears. There was so much going on, she was having a hard time taking it all in.
When they walked further inside, Dessie dropped her hand and without a word pointed to a spot out of the way for her to stand. In the shadows, Catherine tried to comprehend the scene in front of her. Her stomach churned. It was worse than anything she's ever seen before. This wasn't Jimmy's watered-down version of an interrogation, this was IRA hell.
A large plastic tarp covered the floor and it was lined with several buckets of water. A crowbar, wooden baseball bat, screwdrivers, pliers, and teeth were scattered about. The Real army man they'd abducted was stripped completely naked with the exception of a blindfold. His wrists were cuffed and chained above his head, leaving him to dangle. Catherine followed the thick chain up to a support beam running across the ceiling where it was anchored.
She swallowed hard when she observed his bloody mutilated body. Burn marks and cuts so deep she could see muscle. White, round stickers were attached to his genitals and only then did Catherine connect the dots to the buckets of water and car battery. These guys were old school. Back in Belfast, they used a Taser if they wanted to give someone an electric shock.
While she felt sick to her stomach, Dessie walked right up to his crew like it was a normal Friday night.
"What's the craic, boys?" Dessie asked lighting a cigarette.
"Oh, you're gonna wanna hear this," Connor said.
Everyone wore balaclavas so it was difficult for Catherine to differentiate between them until they spoke.
Rory peeled off the blood-soaked latex gloves and tossed them on the ground. He kicked the Real army man's feet. "How did you hijack the shipment from Dublin?" When the bloke remained silent for several moments, Rory picked up the baseball bat, striking him hard across his gashed ribcage. "How?" he shouted.
As he wailed out in pain, he struggled to breathe. Not wanting it to happen again, he started talking. "We didn't get the shipment from Dublin! It came in through Kerry earlier that mornin'! Some old fella came to us and said we could have it so long we did 'im a favor."
Connor was right; Dessie really did want to hear this. After his crew had gotten that piece of information out of the Real army man, they stopped probing so Dessie could take over. "The old fella; he have a name?"
"Idunno," he cried, starting to squirm. "Didn't care to take names."
That didn't satisfy Dessie. He yelled, "What did he look like?"
"Don't remember! I've no idea who he was!"
He asked once more for a name or physical description. When Dessie got the same answers, he flicked his cigarette to the ground and took the pair of pliers that were handed to him. Two of the masked men lowered the guy to the floor.
Catherine placed a hand over her mouth as Dessie placed a foot on his chest, then grip his hair at the crown of his head. It was hard for her to watch the man she was slowly falling for being so deviant when he's always been the opposite around her.
She tried to look away when Dessie shoved the pliers into the man's mouth, latching on to one of his teeth. As he twisted and pulled, screams of agonizing pain tore her soul. When Dessie had the tooth out, and he handed it, along with the pliers, off to someone.
"What did he look like?" Rory didn't raise his voice, but his tone was menacing.
"Stop, please, stop," he begged, blood sputtering out of his mouth. "I don't remember! That's the truth!"
Catherine flinched and turned away when Dessie kicked him in the face.
Seeing him do this was too much for her to handle. Not only because of how horrific it was but every time he landed a punch or a kick she wondered when he'd turn on her as Jimmy had.
Dizziness set in as her mouth felt like it was stuffed with cotton. In the back of her throat, she could feel the burn of bile. Bood pounded loudly in her ears, it drowned out the noise around her. Her heart thundered so hard, it fluttered. Her vision became disoriented as if she were looking through a fish-eye lens.
Catherine had to get out of there; she couldn't be in that barn for a second longer. She couldn't be around him.
Numbness tingled her hands and her legs felt like jelly as she ran towards the door. Once outside, she ripped off the balaclava right before she fell to her hands and knees in the damp grass. Catherine tried to catch her breath, but the weight on her chest and the grip tightening her throat kept her from being able to. Her lungs burned the same way they had when Jimmy held her underwater in the bathtub all those years ago.
Fat, hot tears streamed down her cheeks as she asked herself over and over what the hell she was doing with Dessie. The images of him beating her bloody as Jimmy had made her cry and shake harder.
"Catherine!" She heard Dessie yell from behind her.
She tried to get up so she could run from him, but she lost her balance and went tumbling back to the ground.
Dessie took off his balaclava and dropped to his knees beside her, trying to pull her into him. It wasn't hard to recognize what was happening to her - he'd seen it many times before. The worst days of the conflict may have been over, but now they were forced to live with the trauma.
She smacked his hands away, screaming, "Don't ya fuckin' touch me!"
"What the hell happened in there?"
He never thought he'd see her lose her edge. He tried again to hold her; this time she pushed him so hard he fell backward.
"You're just like him!" she cried. "What you did in there…you'll do the same to me when I piss you off!"
Hearing her spew such an accusation crushed Dessie's soul. This was exactly why he wanted her to stay in the house. He wanted to be angry with her, but he wouldn't when he realized the damage from her relationship with Jimmy ran deep. Dessie wondered if she ever thought that way of Darragh, but then again she never saw how brutal Darragh was, too.
This was all on him. It was his fault for not standing his ground.
The only thing he could do was try to prove to her that despite what she saw, he didn't allow his doings in the IRA to cross over into his personal life. Lunging at her, Dessie wrapped his arms and legs around her, so this time she couldn't fight him off.
"Get off me!" Her screams echoed through the quiet countryside. She thrashed and struggled, but it did nothing to loosen his hold on her.
"Listen to me," he growled, tightening his hold. "It doesn't matter how much you piss me off, I would never even think of layin' a goddamn hand on ya, Catherine. I've never hit a lass and I never bloody will, that's God's honest truth."
"You say that now but you-"
"There is no but! It made me sick when Darragh told me of the things Jimmy's done to you. He ain't a man; he's a coward who abuses everyone who's weaker than him. When I was married, I was as much of an angry prick as he is, but I never once took it out on my girls. You gotta trust I'll never take it out on you or the boys, and I'll protect youse with my life."
Catherine stopped fighting him. Though she was still trembling and trying to catch her breath, Dessie could feel her start relaxing. He wished he could see her face, but her back was pressed against his front. Trusting she wouldn't lash out, he released a hand so he could wipe her tears away.
"Watchin' you be with Jimmy, then goin' a year without hearin' from ya only to find out you were knocked up and shackin' up with Darragh...it fuckin' hurt. For the last eleven years you're the only one I've genuinely wanted to be with, but if you're gonna hold Jimmy's sins above my head, this isn't gonna work."
She let Dessie's words sink in. He was right. It wasn't fair for her to allow her past with Jimmy to infect the wonderful relationship she had with him. This was her chance to start over and build a new life, and she wasn't going to let it go that easy.
"I trust ya, Dess."
"Do you really? Not just sayin' that so I'll let ya go?"
She shook her head. "I'm not just sayin' it. You've been nothin' but good to me since we met. This is the happiest I've been since…" she trailed off, clearing the lump in her throat. "Sometimes I like to think he's the one who pushed us together this past year. He was gettin' tired of watchin' us be miserable on our own. I miss him so much."
"I do, too, baby." Dessie held her a little tighter, wishing he didn't have to let her go. "I gotta head back. Give me a kiss and go inside; take a bath or somethin' and try to relax. Not sure how much longer we're gonna be so don't wait up."
Tilting her head back, Catherine pressed tender kisses to his lips. When she pulled away, he kissed her hand then got up to help her. He lit a cigarette and kept an eye on her, heading back to the barn only when he saw the light in their bedroom turn on.
Soaking in the rare moment alone, Catherine ditched her jacket and sweatshirt before sitting on the bed. She held her face in her hands, trying to make sense of what the hell happened.
In her heart, she knew Dessie was nothing like Jimmy. Her fear had gotten the best of her and the hate she felt for herself, not Jimmy, grew ten-fold. Catherine abhorred the fact she'd allowed him to break her down so badly, she didn't think she was capable of having a healthy relationship.
Deciding to take Dessie's advice, she wandered into the bathroom and turned on the faucet of the clawfoot tub. When it filled, she stripped, climbed in, and tried to soak her worries away. She washed with Dessie's bar of soap then got out when the water turned cold.
After taking out her contacts, scrubbing her face, brushing her teeth, Catherine dressed in fleece pajamas and crawled into bed with a book. Finally relaxed, she dozed off before reading a single paragraph.
It was after one in the morning when Dessie, Connor, Rory, and Jack made it back to the house. Kieran and Aidan were on their way to Derry to drop the lifeless body in Real army territory before dawn.
"Drink, Dess?" Connor asked woefully, grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the kitchen.
A night like this, normally he would drink himself into a drunken stooper, then fall asleep with little recollection. Tonight, he shook his head wanting nothing more than to curl up with the woman waiting for him upstairs.
In the bedroom, Dessie chuckled and smiled. Catherine was sound asleep with her glasses on, a book resting on her stomach. He softly closed the door behind him, strolling over to the bed. Taking off her glasses, he then gently tugged the copy of Catcher in the Rye from her hands and place it on the nightstand. Clicking off the bedside light, he kissed her forehead.
He took a shower, and as the burning water beat down his head, neck, and back, Dessie didn't dare close his eyes. The memory of what happened in the barn was still too fresh in his mind.
Getting out and drying off, he stepped into a fresh pair of boxers before climbing into bed beside Catherine. She stirred, turning over to wrap him in her arms before he had the chance to do it to her. She held him close and kissed his head; he could feel her warmth. Neither made an effort to take things further, content with the embrace.
In her arms, he felt safe. It was what Dessie needed.
"Try to get some sleep," she whispered. "I'll fight the nightmares if they come for you."
