He's still here. Hours ago he was a terrifying nightmare in a mask, and now he's lying next to me, asleep, his golden wisps of hair and gentle expression marred with a fissure like that of a wounded angel. I had dozed off by his side, I'm not sure how long ago, but his arm finding a way around my torso woke me.
Once the initial grogginess wears off, I realize that the door to the cabin is unlocked. It can only be locked from the outside and he's still in here with me. This could be my chance, to slip out from under him. If he startles, I can tell him I was just going to the bathroom. If I could just free myself from his grip, I can quietly slip out the door and get a head start.
But something is holding me back. Well, many things.
What will I do when I get back? I'm not so sure I want to get rid of this baby anymore, but the idea of facing the world—facing Carter—with another man's child, no relationship could survive that.
Guilt. He's beside me, suddenly looking so vulnerable, and—I can't believe I am saying this—he finally trusted me. Let me see him. And I would be betraying him. If he caught me, which is likely, I would never get that chance with him again.
But I have no idea what life holds for me in here. Of course nothing is certain, but I can't just stay here in this shack forever. I have a brain. I matter. This can't be my life. Maybe last night changed things. If I can win this small battle, I can keep winning little ones until I can figure out what I want to do next.
I stare at the door, fully torn, paralyzed with fear and indecision. I should leave, but it's a fool's errand if I do. I wouldn't make it far, and if I did by some miracle, I'm not ready to face my old life. There will be a better time.
Just to test, however, I slowly slide from under his arm. He doesn't even flinch. When I creep towards the bathroom however, and the floor creaks, that's when he shoots up. I can barely make out his frantic silhouette as feels the bed for me.
“I'm here,” I whisper, softly putting my hand on his shoulder. “I have to use the restroom.”
He stills, but I can't see the details of his face. He finds his flashlight and scans it around the room.
“Are you leaving?” I ask. It was nice to have someone sleeping beside me.
He doesn't respond.
“You should stay. It's already very late.”
He flashes the light up and down at me, I shield my eyes, then he shoots it over at the mess on the floor. Now that the alcohol has dried, it stinks. I've gotten used to it, but apparently he hasn't.
“We can use the shop vac. You did bring it all the way out here.”
He doesn't say anything, but he hands me the flashlight, guiding my hand towards the mess. He pulls off the suction hose and switches it on. I shine the light on the mess at first, but playful instincts take over. He has to have a sense of humor somewhere in there. So I flash the light on his butt instead. Frustrated, he turns to scold me for my lack of focus to find me giggling. He looks down and sees where the light is aimed. He rolls his eyes, but I can tell he's not really angry, and points back to the mess.
“Okay,” I say.
Once he starts again, I move the light, at his heavy penis, flapping to and fro as he manipulates the vac.
He stops again, widening his eyes and thrusting his hands towards the mess.
“What? It's pretty!” I chuckle.
He just looks at me deadpan, like he can't believe my immaturity at this moment.
“Fiiiine,” I sigh. “Killjoy.”
I shine the light on the mess. He nods and mouths thank you before finishing up.
When he's done, he rounds up his stuff. In the midst of that, he hands me a bag of something. Jerky. I devour it while he finishes his work. I'm sure he's leaving, but I've already suggested he stay and I won't beg. He places all in his things in front of the door and takes the flashlight from me. He points the beam to the bed, to me, to the bed.
Get in.
I slide onto the bed.
He jerks the flashlight to the other side of the bed.
Move over.
I do.
He gets into bed. I pretend not to be shocked. He's just tired and doesn't want to hike back. I glance toward the door. His stuff is a blockade. He wasn't planning on leaving.
I lie down, and stare up at the dark skylight. This time, he drapes his arm around me. Not an accidental gesture during sleep, but a conscious choice. I could tell myself it's affection, but I know better. This time, if I move, he'll wake up instantly.
We've been in mom’s room for two days. She won't let me leave. Some weeks she's normal, then others, she gets a signal and we have to hide. Then she just sews and sews. I asked why once, and she said it's all she can do now, it makes her feel less scared. She says the sewing machine drowns things out.
When she's calm, she reads to me, makes me do math and history, just like school. I get to play outside in the forest for hours. But when she's like this, when the people are getting close, she just gives me books and makes me sit in the corner on the floor, so in case they can see through the fabric and paper, they still won't see me through the windows.
Dad used to come every weekend with Scoot. But they started arguing more and now he only comes once a month.
“Mom, I'm hungry.”