Chapter Text
I was tired and fell asleep beneath an oak tree
I bet my mother's proud of me from each scar
Upon my knuckle and each graze upon my knee
Jordy ran fast, faster, faster, his head down and his legs churning, but he could never beat Tris. Tris was his height, his weight, and just a bit slimmer in the shoulders than him, but he could run like the devil was after him.
Over the finish line they’d set, Jordy placed his hands on his legs and panted. “Best two outta three, mate?”
“Eejit, never.” Tris flopped down on the damp moss of the hillside, panting. He ran fast, aye, but never more than a few paces before he collapsed. Jordy could always beat him when it came to stamina. “I won once. Inna give ye a chance tae beat me.”
Jordy scoffed. “‘Cause I’d win.”
“Mebby. Mebby no’.” Tris would not be budged. Jordy knew that, so he collapsed next to him.
“Well, never ye mind.” Jordy shifted his shoulders to avoid a jagged rock betwixt them. “I’ll show ye next time, Tris. I will.”
“Sure an’ ye will.” He grinned at the sky, heaved out a deep sigh. “Ye could never stick tae anythin’, Jordy.”
Nah, he couldn’t, but that didn’t mean Tris could get away with that comment. He rolled over and pummelled him good.
I get lonely and make mistakes from time to time
She was sweet and kind and lovely, and she reminded him of home. He’d promised his father and Dr. McCale to never touch a woman, but she tempting, and she promised it wouldn’t matter.
It wasn’t much to worry about. As long as no one found out, it didn’t matter.
Afterwards, straightening his clothing and brushing hay off his clothes, he regretted it. He understand why he wasn’t supposed to. He understood that he should have waited until he was older, smarter, wiser …
Until he loved her, maybe. Until he didn’t have to just awkwardly apologize, assure her he would do what he could to take care of her—
She laughed. That was something silly to say, and he felt ashamed. He shouldn’t have touched her because he clearly didn’t know the rules of the game yet.
His father had been right. Dr. McCale had never been right. And he promised himself to never, ever touch a girl again. Not unless he had the right to, not even if she gave explicit permission and encouragement.
Never, ever …
I remember less and less and mostly things that I regret
In my phone are several texts, from girls I've never met
Then there was college.
It became easy then. He would never hurt a woman, ever, but if she were willing, and he was quite sure she was just looking for fun, and he used his new medical knowledge to keep them both safe, well …
She’d never been with a Scotsman, she said. She liked his accent. She could teach him things, things that would make him better.
The promises made to his father and Dr. McCale, of a God who loved him became a distant dream. He didn’t want that—he was just having a little fun.
And he didn’t always take the women he spent time with to bed. He wasn’t the type of man who seduced or forced; he sometimes just spent time with ladies because he liked to, and he certainly didn’t expect favors.
Just he didn’t turn them down when they were offered.
He was a good man. He respected women, a thousand times more than his classmates, and he took care of them. He lived a clean life, he arrived at every class on time and ready to learn, and he studied hard—his fun was well-balanced with his work.
So why did he feel so empty?
And in the pocket of my jeans are only coins and broken dreams
My heart is breaking at the seams and I'm coming apart now
He lay on his back in his dorm room. He’d promised a girl he barely knew to meet her at a public dance. He didn’t want to go.
He always wanted to go. What was wrong with him? He wanted to have fun. To dance and drink and enjoy life so that he could have a reason for the work he must do in between just enjoyments.
Yet tonight, he lay there and heard the church bells ringing down the street, and tears started. He never cried.
He dashed them away and made his hands into fists and told himself to calm down. But he couldn’t, and he forgot all about the dance and got out of bed and dug through his things.
He found it tucked under one of his first year medicine books. A worn Bible, his father’s childish handwriting under the cover. He traced his fingers over the faded pen marks and flipped forward.
At some point that night, Jordy started crying again, but this time he let himself.
And say you're with me, tomorrow's a brand new day
He came home to McCale House on break that year. He didn’t have enough time to rush home, though he would at Christmas—it’d been almost a year since he’d been home.
“I need tae talk tae ye, in private, when we can,” he said. His voice was soft, and he knew he sounded like a whupped pup, but he couldn’t help it. That’s how he felt. Like there was no tomorrow, nothing but the guilt he felt. For he had strayed far from the teachings of his boyhood, and there was no going back.
What was gone was gone. There were things he couldn’t forget, couldn’t unlearn. There were firsts he couldn’t have back—a lot of firsts.
“A’right.” Dr. McCale looked at him oddly and went back about his day, forcing Jordy to wait in abject grief.
That evening, Jordy went to his office. The words poured out, explaining what he’d done and how many times, how he’d failed as a man, as a Christian.
Dr. McCale listened and nodded and made the occasional comment or asked a clarifying question. There was no judgment on his face.
“Jordy?”
“Wha’?”
“Are ye really sorry for all ye’ve done?”
“Aye.” He’d never been so sorry!
“Are ye ready tae turn th’ page? Start a new chapter where that isna a part o’ yer life?”
He took a deep breath. “Aye. But it’ll always be a part o’ me, ken, an’—”
“Never mind tha’. Ye make decisions for th’ future, no’ th’ past, son.”
“I ken tha’, but—”
“But nothin’. It’s nothin’ tae worry about. Let’s see about findin’ ways tae move on an’ become a better Jordy McAllen, aye?”
“Aye.”