She screams at the top of her lungs. A horror movie type scream. I scale down that tree as fast as I can. I'm booking through their yard and into the woods before I even know what's happening next. I run through the untamed trees and fallen logs, the many nights my father forced this upon me, a lesson I never knew I needed. I get a satisfaction knowing this was never his intention. This is my rebellion.
I run and run until I am back on our property, but as I near the house, I remember my bike is right by the road. If the police come, it could be suspicious. I cut back and grab it, riding it all the way back to my house. I wait at the porch for a few seconds to calm my breathing. Mom can't know I was out. I slip through the front door, up the old stairs that anyone else would cause to creak, but not me, I've learned how to move in silence. I slip into my bed, and when I lie down, the jitters hit. I laugh to myself that I pulled it off. My heart still quivers at the thrill. At the image of that girl touching herself. I grab my dick to finish the job, still riding high off of the adventure.
Now that dad is gone, the night is mine.
This pregnancy hasn't been easy. My morning sickness has been violent and unrelenting. My breasts persistently throb and I am always exhausted. Ironically, Sam has been the one to take care of me, spending nights here and taking me to the pond whenever he can. Floating in that cool water seems to help me recover from the rough mornings. He doesn't blindfold me, and he gave me a pair of shoes so I can walk alongside him. Discreetly, I've paid attention to the path. He changes it around a little bit every time, sometimes walking us in circles, but every day I get a little better at figuring out how to get to the water.
Sometimes he leaves me for hours, but now he tells me via notes why: work. He's out there, in the world, working, probably interacting with people and they don't have the slightest idea of who he is.
But he has been ever the doting father and lover. Preparing my meals, spending evenings with me listening to records. He brings books which I read out loud to us and the baby. They say kids don't fix what's broken, but me carrying his child has triggered a seismic shift in the way things are here. Maybe conventional wisdom doesn't apply to unconventional arrangements.
Today is another morning, just like the others in the routine that started fourteen weeks ago.
Sam rises out of bed, his back facing me. I don't make a peep, but I watch him, and just past him, against the wall, the crib he presented me with the night before. It’s exquisite. I could tell he wanted to downplay his pride in making it, but he wasn’t very good at it.
Actually, it was kind of cute, the way he brought it in, matter-of-factly, looking down before casually passing me the note. It’s not finished yet. I’m going to paint it whatever color you want. Just let me know.
“Did you make this?” I asked.
He nodded.
“It’s incredible,” I muttered, as I ran my fingers along the freshly sanded, blonde wood.
He shrugged modestly.
“Actually, can we keep it like this? The room is so white, I like the wood against it.”
He gave me a half smile and nodded.
The sun beams in from the skylight on his naked taut frame. His skin, so smooth and tan from his days out in the sun, abruptly grows violent and marred on his left side. He is a puzzle made of pieces that don't fit. Handsome yet scarred. Intelligent yet animalistic. Full of stories, yet taciturn.
The breadcrumbs. He's been scarce with them since he gave me his name. Though a few days ago, while walking a new, longer path to the lake, we came upon old wooden structures. They were overgrown and neglected, but I could still make out their shapes. A wall, pillars, horizontal beams. If I wasn't mistaken, it looked like an obstacle course of sorts.
“What's all that?” I asked, pointing to the ruins.
He was quiet for a moment. I could see the internal debate about what he could share. Finally he stopped and pulled out a notepad.
It's a playground. Old one.
“A playground?” I asked skeptically. His answer felt like it was hiding something, but he didn't acknowledge my skepticism, so I added it to the list of crumbs. I also decided it was a better use of my efforts to stay concentrated on its relation to the lake in the event I found myself out here.
Sam turns sharply as if he knew all along I was watching.
He scribbles on his pad. Work today. Want to show you something first. Do you need to puke first?
I chuckle at his lack of tact. But no, this morning, I'm feeling surprisingly stable and curious.
I get up, rinse myself off, and put on one of my dresses.
“Ready!” I declare.
He lifts up a bandana, folded into a narrow strip, gesturing to his eyes. I'm going to blindfold you.
“Why?” I protest, my gut sinking for new reasons.
The look in his eyes tells me this is not up for discussion. He's been too good to me lately to suddenly want to hurt me. It must mean he's taking me somewhere new. So I throw my hands up in the air and relent. This could be another breadcrumb. A potentially huge one.