Norah
In the hazy space between sleep and waking, I almost forget where I am. I forget that my dad is dead because of me, and that I’m technically sleeping in a stranger’s bed. But as my eyes adjust to the light, the memories come flooding back, and I can’t stem the tears that follow.
How did this mess become my life? Why did I let an utterly despicable asshole like Brody take control of my mind and body? My parents never beat me, though they weren’t always around. My mom’s a pretty scattered person, and my dad was constantly working.
Materially speaking, I had everything a girl could ever want. But knowing my parents love me isn’t the same thing as feeling their love. Brody saw what I was missing and worked hard to fill in the cracks. He weaseled his way into my mind and heart, until I was convinced that he was the only one I needed. And the only escape I got from Brody’s control were the weeks I spent here at the cabin with my family.
I aim my sobs into the pillow as the memories come rushing back: playing cards on the porch with my parents, helping my mom hang the laundry, all the afternoons I spent hunting and fishing with my dad. Maybe if those moments hadn’t been segregated to only a few weeks every summer, I wouldn’t have fallen prey to Brody’s manipulation. I wouldn’t have let him mold me into the kind of person who lies and steals and cheats to get what they want.
Because that’s who I really am underneath. I put on a good-girl act for my parents, but inside, my blood is poison, killing everything I touch. What happened to my dad was my fault. I can lie to my mom, to the police, to the whole damn world, but there’s no lying to myself.
Thankfully, lying to Silas came easily enough. Brody always said the best lie is one that includes a version of the truth. When Silas threatened to kick me
out, I knew I had to tell him something. Not the whole truth, but just enough for him to understand why I couldn’t go home.
My stomach twists and gurgles. At first, I think it’s my guilt eating away at me, until I remember I never actually bothered to eat dinner. I dry my eyes, and drag myself out of bed, listening for signs that Silas is up and walking around. Hearing nothing, I tiptoe to the kitchen for a towel and then scurry back to the bathroom to shower. I put on a fresh pair of panties and a black tank, plus my shorts from yesterday.
I’m about to leave the bedroom when I remember my dead smartphone. After rummaging through my backpack for the power cord, I plug my phone in to charge, but don’t bother powering it on. I don't need to deal with the barrage of threatening texts that are undoubtedly waiting for me.
In the kitchen, I make toast with peanut butter as quietly as I can, knowing Silas is still asleep in the loft. As I’m putting away the bread, I hear him yawn, and decide to leave everything out in case he wants breakfast. I also put the kettle on. My mom’s a big tea drinker, so there’s always plenty of tea bags in the cupboard. Instant coffee, too. My grandma on my dad’s side used to say there wasn’t anything two people couldn’t come to terms with over a cuppa.
I pray she’s right, as I pretend not to watch the hottest man I’ve ever seen making his way down the stairs.
“Morning,” he says. I do a double take before I realize why the jeans and T-shirt he’s wearing look familiar. He’s wearing my dad’s clothes. “Hope you don’t mind, I raided the drawers. I didn’t exactly pack for this trip.”
“It’s fine.” I swallow the lump of sadness and try to smile. “I put on water for tea or coffee, and there’s bread for toast.”
He nods. I let him find the instant coffee on his own so I can check him out without being noticed. The jeans he’s wearing are about an inch and a half too short for him, and the Guns N’ Roses T-shirt hugs his body like spandex. I knew he was a big guy, but now that he’s testing the seams of my dad’s old clothes, I have a clearer idea of just how jacked he is. I wonder what he does for a living, if he works out a lot or if he gets his muscles from breaking up boulders with his bare hands.
Just thinking about his hands sends warm chills down my spine. Last night, he’d stood close enough to me that I could smell him—a heady mix of sweat and something undeniably masculine. I should have felt terrified with my back against the wall and a strange man towering over me. Yet somehow, I knew Silas wasn’t a threat. When he touched my face, I flushed from head to toe, and wished with all my heart that he hadn’t rejected my offer to blow him—not because I wanted his money, but because I wanted him.
And even though he’d told me no with his words, I had a sneaking suspicion that his body still wanted me. That’s why I didn’t bother to put shorts on before opening my door. I wanted to gauge his reaction to seeing me in my underwear.
“Cream?” His question yanks me out of my memory. I tear my gaze from his backside.
“There’s dehydrated milk in the pantry, but that’s it.”
He fixes two black instant coffees, sets one in front of me, then pops two pieces of bread into the toaster. I munch my own breakfast at the table as he makes his, spreading jam onto one slice of toast, and peanut butter on the other. He settles into the seat across from me, then takes a large bite of his PB&J, devouring nearly a quarter of the sandwich in one go.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. “So, how old are you, really?”
“Eighteen.” I sip my coffee, a little bitter but not too bad. “How old are you?”
“I was born the same year as your dad,” he says.
I do the math. “So, thirty-eight?”
“Thirty-seven. My birthday’s in November”
“I was close,” I say. “Still, that’s not too old.”
“Not too old for what?”
I quirk my lips into a flirty smile. Silas shakes his head.
“I meant what I said last night, sweetheart. I’m not gonna throw you out, so you don’t have to flirt with me like your life depends on it. This place is more yours than it is mine, and I plan to give it back to you. I just need a few days to figure things out.”
“What things?” It occurs to me that Silas might be running from something, too.