I chuckle half-heartedly at his response, but he's not laughing.
I scan the open area as my heart rate slows back to normal. I feel so free right now, standing at the shoreline as the wind catches the skirt of my dress.
“We're out in the open. Do other people come here?”
He uses his fingers to make a large circle, then points to himself.
“This is all yours?” I ask.
He nods.
“Wow.”
He shrugs, unimpressed by his station. But it stokes my curiosity. This young man with scars along his face and body, who likes the Bee Gees, who owns a huge property, who invades homes and does horrible things to his victims—it doesn't add up. And yet, I can't ask, at least not yet. I'd rather let him drop these little breadcrumbs for now.
I look back at the water and suck in the fresh air, closing my eyes, so I can relish the sun on my skin.
He picks up a stone and skips it on the water, the sound of it breaking me out of my meditation. He looks so…human.
He catches me watching him. I look away, as if there's anything to hide from him. He waves his hand in the air to regain my attention.
“Hmmm?” I ask.
He points to me and the water.
“You want me to go in?” I chuckle.
He shrugs. If you want.
I want to. So badly. To submerge my body in the brisk water. For my throbbing breasts to feel weightless.
“Are you going in?” I ask.
He shakes his head.
“Well, I don't want to go in alone!” I protest.
He waves me off. Go. Go. Go.
I bite my lips together skeptically. “Ah, what the hell. It's so hot out here.”
I walk towards the water, but when the hem of my dress gets wet, I stop.
“I don't want to wet the dress,” I lament.
He gives me a smart ass look and makes a sweeping motion upwards at his own torso. Well, then take it off!
It's different out here. Under the sun, in the full light of day. That's all psychology though. He's seen parts of me I didn't even know existed. Bits of me tucked into boxes inside of boxes stacked in shelves buried deep inside of my soul. My bare skin is just another shroud. So, I take a calming breath and pull it off. I tread into the cool water, up to my hips, meekly cupping my breasts. I take one more look back at him, my teeth chattering, hoping I can get a smile out of him. I must endear him to me. The more moments I create between us, the less he can see me as his prisoner.
But he's not smiling. No, he's watching me, adjusting the waist of his jeans. He's already thinking of the things he'll do to me. His sexual appetite is insatiable, aggressive, ever present.
I dive the rest of the way in, deciding to swim underneath for as long as I can. In those moments, submerged in the lake, moments that seem to slow in the resistance of these dark waters, I am free. So I stay under as long as I can, conserving my breath through each stroke. When I surface, I gasp as the water cascades down from my hair over my face. I'm farther into the lake than I thought I'd be. I look over at him, picking up another stone, and over to the opposite side of the lake. I could make it over there. I'd have to climb some rocks, but I would have a massive head start.
I dip under again, swimming further away. Testing my limits, and his. I emerge again at the point where I can no longer hold my breath. This time he's waving me in, now the small shape of a man in jeans and a t-shirt. I look towards the other end. Maybe four or five more strong swims and I could get to the other side.
“Come on!” I shout playfully, covering in my tracks in case I don't make it across.
I dip under again and swim hard, harder than I ever did during my trips to Tahoe, where I learned to swim as a child. Where I almost lost the necklace. A necklace he still has. A reminder that no matter how many dresses, or records, or trips to the lake, I'm still his captive. So I kick harder, stroke harder.