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Sansa squeaked as Mr. Clegane thrust into her. She was bent backward over his kitchen table in his tin can trailer that had been manufactured before he was born. Her cross necklace bounced against her throat with every thrust. It was the pretty one Grandpa Hoster gave her on her twelfth birthday with a firm warning to not be a whore like her auntie Lysa.
And she wasn’t!
Her only boyfriend had been Mr. Clegane, and he Loved her—with a big ‘L.’ So that made everything okay with God; Pastor Baelish had said so. Yeah, he was older, and he wasn’t pretty like the boys in school, but he was better. He listened to her, and he thought her problems were important. They had real, adult conversations that none of the high school boys could ever dream about. He wasn’t the pretty choice, her mom would say, but he was the smart choice.
Her head was pillowed on Mr. Clegane’s King’s Landing High School Staff sweater. It smelled like week-old stale musk and the cologne she bought him for Christmas. She was so happy he actually wore it and didn’t put it on the shelf, never touching it again, like her dad did.
He was already sweating, dripping salty stink down onto her nice blouse. She hated it when he got her all messy, but he was in the middle of working out when she barged into his trailer. He’d been so happy when she told him, even though she was crying big fat tears that he always complained about, so she just sort of let him do whatever.
She thought he would be mad. She’d agonized about it the whole night.
Robb had been mad when Jeyne told him the same thing.
Instead, Mr. Clegane got that look in his eye like he did every time she went to his office next to the gymnasium at school. And just like at school, he bent her over the closest surface and fucked her raw. Because he Loved her.
He leaned over her for a kiss with tongue, even though she told him she threw up on the walk over, sick to death with worry and a woman’s due. But he growled at her and squeezed her cheeks until she opened her mouth anyway. It was the sloppy dog kisses where he licked her tears away, bit her chin, and sucked on her lips. Messy.
His whole hand held her thigh, bruising-tight, keeping her legs spread open wide so he could see everything if he wanted, as he slammed in again and again. Her flower ached with every push of his big member all the way up inside. She could see him moving in there, like an alien. Scary. But she was used to it.
He put his hand over her belly so she didn’t have to see, hiding his rod and the other thing he put inside her. The baby. She wasn’t sure how much she wanted to think about that yet.
Mr. Clegane touched her pearl, his big thumb swiping over it back and forth. She liked that part best. When he made her all tingly, and her hips would buck up into his hand. He liked that, too. He grinned at her, his lips pulling on the nasty scars on the side of his face.
They were burns, he had told her. He’d told only her—because she was special.
The itch went brrr in her blood, and she had to close her eyes and hold her breath, or she’d explode. That’s what happened to people who saw God. It’s how she knew what they had was pure and holy. Only holy things would feel so good and perfect.
Sansa squealed as she peaked, squeezing her knees against Mr. Clegane until he cursed, too, saying some very unholy things. But that was alright; she’d pray for him later.
He grunted and spilled inside her like he was supposed to, and not on the ground like he used to. She had to remind him that wasting his seed like that was a sin. Really, he needed to go to church more, but he said that Sansa would tell him what he needed to know, so she did.
Mr. Clegane pulled out, his rod dripping with ick. It shouldn’t have fit inside her; it was so big. If she didn’t love him so much, she wouldn’t have let it anywhere near her at all, ever.
He kept her skirt flipped up, staring at her abused flower. There was going to be bruises. If she let him keep going, there was going to be bruises on the baby, too. He stuck his fingers in, making an ugly squishing sound as he pushed his seed back in.
“Don’t have to worry so much about where it goes anymore, huh?” he asked.
Sansa didn’t answer because sometimes he asked the dumbest things, probably because he was old. Ignoring him was easier than starting an argument because he thought he was right.
He moved his fingers around like she usually liked, but she was too sensitive and everything kind of hurt, so she whimpered unhappily until he stopped, pulling his fingers out. She wasn’t in the mood now that it was over, but she wasn’t allowed to tell him no, either. It was in the Bible. She was supposed to obey.
He flipped her skirt back over her knees and backed away, leaning against the kitchen counter. “I thought you’d be happier. All you talk about is babies.”
Sansa sat up, pulling her underwear back into place and putting her feet on top of a chair. It wasn’t very proper, but Mr. Clegane didn’t keep a proper house, so it was fine. “I thought it would be later when we’re married, and we can be together in front of everyone.”
Mr. Clegane glared at her, then looked away and shrugged. “Well, fat chance of that happening anytime soon. Just get rid of it. We’ll do it again later.”
She groaned. She knew he would be mad and want to fight about it, but now she was too tired to really fight, and she forgot all her arguments, and she just wanted to cry. “No! It’s a sin! God will be mad, and Mom will be mad, and… Dad…”
Mr. Clegane lit up a cigarette like he always did when he was stressed, like after a football game or after he had the tenth-grade history students. She hated how he smelled when he smoked, but he’d said he’d only stop if she put her mouth on his penis instead, but that was like a huge sin. It was sodomy. It was, like, the worst one ever, so he kept smoking instead.
“Fuck’s sake, little bird,” he grumbled. “What do you want?”
“I don’t know! I want us to be happy.” She started leaking tears again because that was all she could do. There was no fixing it now. God gave them a baby, and now they had to make do.
He leaned down and gave her a sloppy, smokey kiss. “Not happening, little bird. Your daddy would gut me out and string me up.”
Sansa nodded and sniffled. It was true. Daddy hated Mr. Clegane after benching Jon and throwing Robb off the football team for the p.r.a.n.k. But she wasn’t allowed to talk about that.
“You going to tell your folks?”
She shook her head. “Not yet. I need to have a plan. They were mad when Jeyne got pregnant, but it wasn’t too bad. They made Robb ask her to marry him.”
Mr. Clegane blew out a stream of smoke from his nose that made him look like a bull and never failed to make her giggle. “I’d marry you in a second, little bird, but I can’t be this babe’s daddy.”
She pulled her knees up to her nose, feeling his spunk squish in her underwear. “I know. I’m not stupid!”
He gave her a look, and she closed her eyes. He always got annoyed when she was being ‘dramatic.’ She didn’t think she was being dramatic then. Her friends were going to freak out. Freshmen weren’t supposed to date. She was going to get kicked out of the after-school church club. Her parents were going to be so disappointed.
Sansa screwed up her face, snarling her nose to keep the tears down. It didn’t work. “They’re going to kick me out of church.”
Mr. Clegane laughed. “They’re not going to kick you out of church.”
“Yes, they are! They’ll make me sit with all the dirty girls that date lots of boys and get pregnant in high school. Oh God, I’m pregnant in high school! I saw a movie like this! She had a baby in a Wal-Mart!”
“You’re not going to have a baby in a fucking Wal-Mart,” Mr. Clegane said.
Sansa sobbed. “What if we run away?”
He gave her that look again, and she wanted to punch right him in the face. “I know Cat is up her own ass with PTA and Million Moms or whatever, but she’d notice you were gone, and the burnt fuckup is the first person they’re going to look for.”
“Mr. Clegane—”
He flinched. He hated it when she called him that, but that was his name in her head. Accidentally calling him Sandor in school would be the worst. “I said no. I don’t need kidnapping on top of it all.”
Sansa wiped her eyes. It was true. Her mom would have a fit if she disappeared. “Tell me what to do, please.”
He stamped out his cigarette in the ashtray. It was the one she had made in church camp when she was nine, but her dad had never wanted it. Mr. Clegane had loved it at first sight. There was a heart painted on the bottom with little rainbows and clouds on the sides.
“Give me a few days,” he said. “I think I can find a fall guy. Someone your daddy won’t want you shacking up with. I’ll pay him off, and he’ll be an annoying little shit. Your folks won’t want you marrying him.”
“I’m supposed to lie? God damns all liars.” Mr. Clegane had agreed. Lying was dishonest and a sin. She’d go to hell. It was better just to say nothing at all.
He grunted. “You have to this time. Unless you want me to send you letters from under the jail because that’s where they’ll put me.”
“Okay.” She slumped unhappily. She’d have to pray for some major forgiveness.
“Once your folks toss him, I’ll offer to marry you. They’ll be happy to have a man with a good job take their little disgraced girl off their hands.”
Sansa frowned. “Do you really think I’m disgraced?”
He snorted and leaned over her; his eyes were dark and hooded. “Of course not. You’re going to be my little wife. You’re the most perfect thing in the world.”
Sansa grinned and pecked his nose. His good cheek blushed bright crimson. “I love you,” she said.
“I love you too, little bird.” He grabbed at her hips again.
***
Sansa skipped home through the path in the woods. Mr. Clegane had a plan. He was going to fix it. It would all be perfect. She was going to be a wife and a mom, and she was going to have a husband. She’d get to make little lunch boxes for her husband. It would be perfect.
She hopped through the front door and stopped in the living room. Her parents, both of them, were sitting on the couch and staring at her. Her mom held a little plastic rectangle in her hand. It was smooth and round and—a pregnancy test. Her pregnancy test. Sansa had thrown it away. She buried it in her trashcan wrapped in tissue.
“Do you want to explain this?” her mother asked.
Her whole world came crashing down so hard Sansa thought she died. She couldn’t hear anything. She couldn’t see anything. Her mother was yelling, and her dad was barking back. It was all just noise, a buzz that kept getting louder.
Sansa screeched. “You were in my room! It was private!”
“Don’t you take that tone with me, little girl,” her mother snapped.
Her dad’s voice cut through the middle of it. “Who’s the father?”
Her mind was blank. Dead dumb. Mr. Clegane was supposed to fix this. He was supposed to know what to do, but he wasn’t there.
“Answer him!” her mother yelled.
God would be so mad, but she had to lie. “Um, Joffrey?”