Perceval: A Fictional Narrative

Words: 1655
Pages: 7

While Joan adjusted her clothes, Mary went to speak with Perceval.
“Young man,” she said, “would you step outside with me for a moment so we can talk?”
Perceval jumped up. “Is Joan all right?”
“She’s fine.”
Mary opened the door and stepped outside, and Perceval followed her. Meanwhile, Joan listened in from inside of the cottage. She peered around the privacy screen and could see Mary and Perceval’s shadows just outside the window.
“Well?” asked Mary, rising to her full height in front of Perceval, which was close to an arm’s length shorter than he. “What seems to have gotten into you? Are you hurt? Sick?”
“My mind is hurt and sick,” said Perceval. “I cannot stop thinking about that man touching my wife and how I didn’t protect her. I can’t
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“Here you are comforting me when I should be the one caring for you.” He peered down at his full plate. “Pawl can’t fix what’s wrong with me. I’ve failed you and I can’t forgive myself.”
Joan set down her utensils. “Perceval, if you hadn't been there, I would have been thrice raped and certainly killed. There's nothing to forgive; it was simply a terrible chance event.”
Perceval wanted to argue, to convince her it had been all his fault, but he didn’t want to cause Joan any more distress. Instead, he sat in silence.
Joan stood up, crossed to the opposite side of the table, and wrapped her arms around Perceval.
“Forget this silly meal,” she said. “Take me to bed.”
Shocked, Perceval asked, “You want me to take you to bed?”
“Yes. Your touch always helps me feel better.”
This might pose a problem. For the first time since Perceval laid eyes on Joan earlier that year, he experienced no desire. But if she wanted this, he’d try.
They abandoned supper and stood at the bedside. Joan peeled off her clothing slowly, revealing her creamy-white skin bit by bit. Normally, Perceval would have been all over her, but instead, he pictured Gurid’s mouth on her breasts and did his best not to gag at the