by Drew Jordan
“What’s wrong?” I asked, voice hoarse. I sat up, sheet falling away to reveal my bare breasts. The cabin was cold. So cold I saw my breath. Shivering I reached out and touched his beard, rubbing my nails through it, like you would with a cat. I liked to imagine I could make him purr. “Are you okay?”
He shrugged, like he wasn’t sure. “It snowed last night.”
I had been with him while he completed his fall chores, chopping wood and hauling fish, cutting down trees, and greasing his traps. He had shown me a few things around the cabin, how to use the mysterious pump and how the stove worked. But mostly, I sat and watched. While he worked and watched me. We metaphorically circled each other all day, every day, then at night the gloves came off and we fought in bed, hard one on one contact, where he emerged victorious, breathless and covered in sweat. Me, skin red and covered in welts, body aching and sore, but satisfied in the deepest, darkest way. There was no fear, really, but a constant wariness that ironically only went away when I lost myself in submitting to him sexually. I didn’t want to during the day. But at night, it was never in question. I would do anything he asked. Anything.
But he never did anything that I didn’t like, and when the sun was out and we were walking, covered in clothes, doing day-to-day routine things, that unnerved me. Then night fell and I didn’t care again. This morning as I raised my hand to his cheek I saw the raw flesh on my wrist, burned by the ropes he had tied me in the night before. I wanted to study the visual proof carefully. Revel in it. He must have seen it too, because he turned my hand and kissed the marks softly, all the way around, before kissing the palm of my hand.
“I should go to town,” he said. “If not today, then tomorrow.”
Without thought, I stiffened. I wasn’t ready for him to leave. I had no plan. “Can I go with you?” I asked, before I could consider whether or not that was a smart move.
“Why?” he asked, as he idly teased my nipple before pulling the blanket back up. “You’re going to freeze to death.”
“Now? Or on the trip to town? I managed before and I didn’t even have the right clothes on.”
“I meant now.” His gaze shifted from my chest to my eyes. “Why do you want to go with me?”
“Because I don’t like being alone.” Truth. It was easy to be convincing when I spoke the truth. But I also wanted to go with him, not because I thought I could escape him there, but because I wanted to both be seen by the people of the community, and to see how arduous the trek was. Surely someone would pause to wonder why the woodsman had a woman with him. Surely someone would say his name out loud. Maybe someone would even recognize me from the plane crash story that must have been on the local news. And I could see if the walk was impossible for me by myself, with no sense of the terrain or direction.
Of course, he knew all of that too. Which was why he said, “I’m sorry, Laney. You can’t. You know that.”
“I can stay in the sled. Under blankets. No one has to see me.” My voice had risen, grown whiny. The bedding slipped again and I was shivering.
He grew stern, yanking the comforter back up and saying, “Get dressed. I’m not discussing this with you any further. You’re staying here.”
There was no brooking an argument with that tone. I knew him well enough now to know that. He wasn’t a man who could be coaxed or wheedled. He despised whining. So I stood up and got dressed, walking gingerly across the floor both because it was ice cold and because my backside was still sore from a second round of punishment the night before after I had asked for it, quite literally. I enjoyed the way it shut my mind down completely and took me to a totally different sphere. There was comfort in the pain, in the tight focus. No whirling thoughts. Just a numb aftershock.
At the dresser I took out socks and put those on first, then some sweatpants. I was getting used to never wearing panties, but it only added to the effect of constantly keeping me aware of sex. As I started to pull a sweatshirt on he came up behind me and wrapped his arms around me.
“Don’t be angry,” he said.
He sounded melancholy, like it mattered to him, my happiness. Was he an Aaron? That seemed like the name of a man who would care.
“I’m not angry,” I said. Again, I spoke the truth. My anger seemed to have leaked out gradually over the days, like helium from a balloon, until now, I was merely empty, slack. My emotions were numb, dulled, and I kept reaching backwards for the indignation I’d felt when I had first realized he wouldn’t let me leave, but somehow it had been massaged into a more calm acceptance. I would leave. I was still planning to leave. But I could float through each day, the gentle bounce of the mostly deflated balloon.
I leaned back against his chest, because he was strong, and could hold me up. I closed my eyes and imagined that we were in Seattle, in a cute little apartment that I had decorated with flea market finds. It was Saturday morning and he was shirtless and barefoot and I was making coffee for us to share. In Seattle, he would just be considered a lumbersexual, a rough woodsy guy by choice, a design style. Our nighttime play would be a choice as well, a way we felt more alive in our love for each other. But during the day, we would simply be a couple, and he would cherish me, want no one but me, and he would miss me when I went to work. He’d bring home wine and send me cute texts and we’d ride our bikes along the trail in my neighborhood.
His fingers wrapped around a strand of my hair and he tugged my head back, so I was forced to look up and back at him. “Can I trust you here alone?” he asked.
So we weren’t that couple in Seattle.
And I was numb but not stupid. “Of course you can. Why wouldn’t you be able to?”
“Because sometimes in your eyes I can see that you want to leave.” He pulled ever so slightly harder, his voice a low rumble. “And I don’t like that.”
You can’t always get what you want. I could hear my mother, mocking me with that phrase. Rubbing it in. Enjoying my tears, because she was a mega bitch. Just a nasty, horrible, selfish sociopath who had no business having a child. As the phrase danced through my head, my breathing grew shallow. I had forgiven her. But that didn’t mean she didn’t influence my thoughts, and the words almost came out of my mouth, but I stopped them. I wasn’t her. I wasn’t someone who used words to hurt, and while maybe I didn’t know what I was, I knew what I wasn’t.
I wasn’t her.
The way to get out of this cabin, get home, was not to default to her slash and burn behavior.
Turning in his arms, I kissed him. “I’m just not used to being isolated. I’m starting to feel like the woods are closing in on me. I need something to do. Put me to work.”
“Your job is to do what I say.”
A shiver drew goose bumps to the surface of my skin. “Okay,” I said easily, marveling at my acting skills. Maybe when I got out, I’d start auditioning for roles. I could win a fucking Oscar.
Or maybe it wasn’t so much acting skill as it was the blanket of numbness resting heavily on me. It was self-preservation and it served me well, but it was also why I had wanted him to spank me the night before, so I could feel. Pain was better than feeling nothing.
“What should I do today?” I asked him.
“Lay in bed and finger yourself. I want to think about that while I’m hauling supplies.”
That was supposed to fill my entire day? I felt the panic starting to creep over me, that itchy irritating feeling of a mosquito that lands and flies, lands and flies, while you grow tense and wave your hand frantically, wanting it gone. I couldn’t be alone all day, doing nothing. Just staring at the walls, cataloging his cabin for the third time, down to every last fork and ball of twine. I had never missed the mindless time suck of the internet more. That would have distracted me, made the day pass.
“How long will you be gone?”
“I’ll be back tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” I squeezed his arms, unable to hide the hysteria I was feeling. “But what am I supposed to do? What if something happen
s? Do I have to feed the dogs? What if a bear comes back?”
“Shh.” He pushed my hair off my face. “It’s okay. Just go outside to use the outhouse, but otherwise stay in with the door locked. The dogs are fine. If you’re bored, do some baking or cleaning.”
Because yay, that sounded like a blast. Not. “What do you do for fun?” I asked him, suddenly serious. I had asked him once before and I’d never gotten a true answer. Living with him haven’t given me one either. He didn’t seem to need or crave entertainment.
“I do you. That’s my fun.”
What did I expect, that he was going to suddenly open up? Tell me who he was? Share how he had a stuffed dog at the age of five or had his first kiss at laser tag? He had no history. He had no hobbies. He was simply him. This man, right here, right now. My stranger. It made my skin crawl at the same time I wanted to bind him to me, the way he bound me. Hold him in the cabin all day so that I wouldn’t be alone. It seemed sometimes like he wasn’t real, like I had conjured a savior out of the wilderness. Yet then again, he was more real than me. He was flesh and blood and strong, rough hands that shot and cut and tied.
“Be careful.” What else was there for me to say? He was going to leave whether I liked it or not. The only thing I could hope for was that he would buy something in town that raised a red flag for someone in the store. The panties, maybe, and definitely the tampons.
“Stay inside,” he repeated.
“I will. Can I go to the outhouse now?”
His eyes narrowed. “Are you being a smartass?”
“No.” I kept my voice even, expression blank. “I just have to pee.”
“Okay. I’m going to pack a bag for myself while you do that.”
I nodded and went to pull on the boots that had become mine. “How do you know how to get to town?” I asked.
“There is something of a trail for the first few miles. But then it’s just follow the river. Not hard.”
Not hard. That was good to hear. I could follow the river.
I opened the door and a piercing wind slapped me in the face. I shivered. I had gotten used to not pulling on a coat for the quick visits to the outhouse but it was much colder today. Too cold to even walk ten feet. I yanked the door back shut and went for a coat on the hooks hanging by the door. He looked amused as he padded around the cabin, barefoot, in nothing but boxer briefs. The cold never seemed to bother him. I didn’t think I could ever get used to it.
“It’s ten degrees,” he said. “It’s going to get a lot colder than this. It’s a good reason to stay inside, isn’t it?”
Again, I just nodded. His mood was a little edgy and I didn’t want to irritate him with my chatter. He seemed speculative and maybe even secretive. Like while I was calculating, so was he. Our circling each other in the ring again.
When I returned from the outhouse, he was drinking a cup of coffee, dressed, a pack at his feet. He handed a second mug to me and I reached for it gratefully, taking a hot sip, and letting it slide down my throat, warming me from the inside out. I had never liked black coffee, but I was getting used to it. The bitterness was fading.
After a swallow, he took the mug back from me and set it on the counter. “I’ll be back tomorrow. You’ll be fine. There’s plenty of wood.” He tipped my chin up with his fist. “Be a good girl.”
What did he mean by that? My nose twitched, just slightly, under his scrutiny. “I will.”
I waited one hour, two, measuring time on the antiquated clock he had on a shelf above the kitchen. At first, I hadn’t been sure it was accurate, but after days on end of staring at it, watching its hand make its rotation, I knew that it kept time if not one hundred percent accurately, at least close enough. Then I layered up my clothing, putting on two pairs of socks and three shirts. I pulled on snow pants and my coat and boots and cautiously ventured outside. The dogs that he had left behind all turned and looked at me. It seemed like their expressions were accusatory, or maybe that was just my fear.
Skirting them so they wouldn’t start barking, I started counting my footsteps out loud. “One, two, three…” But then the sound of my voice was too loud, too startling in the still morning, so I retreated into my head with my count. I kept darting my gaze left and right, terrified a bear would just stroll out of the woods and charge me. The air smelled crisp, cold, and my breath was so frantic and foggy it rose in hysterical puffs above my eyes. At step twenty-four, I stumbled on a log, but I recovered without going down.
I had no idea how long it took to reach the river in terms of minutes, but it was eight hundred and twelve steps.
And when I took the last one at the edge of the frozen river, I saw him standing there.
Waiting for me.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
I looked backwards, out of instinct, the urge to run almost overwhelming. But what point would there be in running? The only place I had to retreat to was his house.
Coming up short, I said, “Oh! Hi.” A weird, nervous laugh flew out of my mouth. “You scared me.”
He took a step towards me. “What are you doing? You’re a long way from the outhouse.”
“I wanted to see the river. I got bored.” It sounded stupid. Totally illogical. But I had no better answer. My heart rate increased and inside my gloves my palms started to sweat, the perspiration my body pushed out tinged with anxiety. Fear sweat. “Where are the dogs?”
I could already hear them and see the sled out on the river. The treeline had blocked my view of them until I was right on the bank. The dogs were lying down so he had been waiting for a while. Waiting for me. I wasn’t fooling him for one fucking minute. He knew I was going to try to leave, or at least look around. He wasn’t stupid. If he were he wouldn’t have survived life in the bush.
“Get in the sled,” he told me.
I did, without hesitation, head down, unable to look at him. I didn’t want him to see my fear. But when he stood on the platform, I did chance a look behind me. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I wasn’t trying to be disobedient.”
“I think that’s exactly what you were doing.” He stared at me. “Do you not understand how dangerous it is for you out here? You have no fucking clue what you’re doing. None. Now tell me the truth, Laney. Where. Were. You. Going.”
Each word was spoken so shortly and deliberately that whatever I might have said caught in my throat. Nothing I could say would appease him. I knew that. So I kept my mouth shut and I faced the front, clasping my arms over my chest. I could already imagine what he might do to me back in the cabin. How he might punish me. How had he known I wouldn’t stay put? Had the trip to town been a ruse just to test me?
The only way I would know was if he chose to tell me.
It was probably only my imagination but the ride to the house was rougher than it had been when we were fishing. Or maybe it was the snow and icy under layer. But it felt like he was driving the dogs faster, out of anger. I sat there on the sled, waiting for his direction when we arrived back at the cabin. It didn’t take long. He yanked me up by the arm before reaching under my ass and just lifting me straight up into the air. Over his shoulder I went, a jarring disorienting bounce, my ribs knocking against his collarbone.
He was definitely angry.
I’d hung over his shoulder before, half unconscious that time. This time I was aware of every step, every clash of my teeth together.
In the cabin, he didn’t bother to take off his boots. He just strode across the room and tossed me down with one arm, a giant heave ho. I hit the mattress painfully hard, bouncing, my hair falling in my eyes. Some innate sense of self-preservation had me crab walking backwards immediately, scrambling to get out of his reach.
“Stop moving.”
I froze. I wanted to explain, cajole, but I kept my lips sealed. I knew him. I knew nothing about him, absolutely nothing about his past, what made him, yet I did know him. It was a bizarre thought. He reached down and tore my boots off and tossed them behind him. Then he took my coat off and t
wo of my shirts. I expected him to take me down to nothing but skin, but he stopped there and instead, raised my arms over my head and tied me in the restraints on the headboard. My sore wrists were already rubbed raw, and I winced involuntarily. He didn’t react at all, but just yanked my jeans down, scraping my skin with his fingernails in the process.
Then he brought a pitcher of water and a straw to the end table.
Wait a minute.
I suddenly realized what he was going to do. He was going to leave me. I fought the restraints. “No, don’t go. Please. Don’t. I’ll be good. I swear.”
He put a pot on the bed next to me. “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ll lock the cabin when I leave. You’ll be fine.”
“Sweetheart,” I said, because I needed a name for my plea and I didn’t have one. “I just wanted to see the river but I’ve learned my lesson.”
“You haven’t learned anything yet.” He took a breath and let it out, his shoulders tense. “My job is to protect you. Even from yourself. So show a little gratitude.”
That stunned me. “I…” I was supposed to be grateful? For him keeping me prisoner, away from my life, my family and friends?
But then I thought about the fact that I would have died without him rescuing me. Hypothermia would have claimed me. Even here, in the cabin, I couldn’t survive without his help and knowledge, that was undeniable. He had also made me orgasm more times than I could count.
I should be grateful. I owed him my life. How completely and utterly messed up was that? I had to be grateful to the man who had given me my life, but was simultaneously stealing it.
I stopped fighting the ropes. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I am grateful. You saved my life.”
He looked away, like he couldn’t tolerate the sight of me. He took his hat off and tossed it aside. Then he peeled off his jacket. Then he unzipped his pants. I knew what was coming and I moved my legs apart. But instead of entering me he bent over and dropped his mouth onto my clit. Startled, I cried out, shifting restlessly at the unexpected heat, the flicker of his tongue. He gripped my thighs and worked me fast, furiously. I shot to the cusp of an orgasm almost immediately.