He quickly climbs off me, tosses the Sharpie, and I lie there, too stunned to move for a moment.
I don’t have to look in the mirror to know what he wrote.
He leaves the room, his footfalls heavy on the stairs to the attic, and when I hear his door slam shut, I finally sit up.
Tears hang in my eyes, but I’m not crying anymore.
I stare off, angry and feeling dirty all of a sudden.
But after a moment, the shame turns to more rage, and I almost smile.
He’s pissed.
I’m almost amused.
He’s had at least three women in his room since I’ve been here, not counting Cici in the barn that day. But I’m the slut who gets spat on. Would I have still been one if I’d let him and Noah share me that night last week?
His fucking spit weighs in my hair, and it’s all I feel. The anger building in my lungs with every breath is almost enough to drown out the ache.
Ours, Jake had said. All ours.
But in the quiet of my room, the dull thrum of Kaleb’s music vibrating overhead, I shake my head.
“Yours,” I murmur. “Not his.”
“No laptops at the table,” Jake says at breakfast.
He picks up my computer, and I grab my notebook and pencil off it just in time so it won’t tumble to the floor. “This assignment is due.” I argue. “I’ve been trying to send it for an hour now, but the Internet keeps going out.”
“They’ll understand.” He closes the top and sets it on the counter. “Try again later.”
I frown, but I toss my notebook and pen on the counter with the computer, giving in. I was on a roll. I’ve never had trouble being motivated for homework until now. You wouldn’t think a remote little place tucked away in secluded little Chapel Peak, Colorado, would provide so many distractions, but I constantly want to be doing a million other things.
Petting the animals.
Making treats for the animals.
Playing with the animals.
I glance at Jake as he doles out oatmeal into my bowl. Tucked away somewhere quiet with one animal in particular.
He must sense me watching, because he shoots his eyes over, meeting mine as he pours heaping scoops into the boys’ bowls. I spot the slight curl of a smile, because he knows exactly what I’m thinking, but he quickly hides it again as he drops the ladle back into the pot.
I tuck my grin between my teeth, picking up my spoon.
Both boys walk in, Noah shivering as he slips off his coat and sits down at the table, while Kaleb heads to the sink, washing his hands. I look out the window.
There’s no glow of the sun that’s usually hitting the deck by now, and I can’t smell the barn on their clothes—the hay and the animals—that’s usually so pungent. It’s too cold.
“How many inches are we expecting tonight?” I ask, knowing without looking at the weather that it’s going to snow.
Noah lets out a chuckle as if I just told a joke, and Jake stops dead, cocking his head, and throwing him a look.
And then it occurs to me. Inches. I roll my eyes and sprinkle some brown sugar on my oatmeal. Idiot.
He looks at his father, holding up his hands in defense. “I would’ve made that joke no matter what.”
Kaleb pulls out the chair across from me and starts to eat, and I watch him for a moment, almost hoping he meets my eyes. My forehead still stings from all the scrubbing it took to get that Sharpie off.