by K. Webster
Atticus storms back into the bathroom, the concern for me rippling from him. I’m comforted by his presence.
“I-I don’t know what to do. Does it hurt? Can you teach me?”
His green eyes blaze with an emotion I don’t understand, but finally he grunts in agreement. He stares at my breasts for a long moment before he shakes his head. “I need to find my swim trunks.”
I frown in confusion. “Why? Are we swimming?”
“Actually,” he grunts. “It’s fine. Just…just don’t look.”
He unfastens his pants and they fall to the floor. His giant manhood springs to life. I watch in awe as it bounces out in front of him. Points at me as if it knows me.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he’s going to mount me and make me his wife. But earlier, he’d gotten angry. The thought that maybe I’m too dirty crosses my mind. For once, I’m disappointed to not be wanted. I sulk as I step into the shower. His massive body joins me and I’m forced under the hot spray.
I’ve never felt anything like it.
I moan as the heat rushes over my dirty skin. His manhood pokes against my hip. We stand there for a long moment, his body pressed against mine in the small space and the hot water cleansing me. My breath catches in my throat when he squirts something cool on top of my head. Then, his long, strong fingers are massaging it into my scalp. I moan in pleasure.
“I’m washing your hair,” he explains, his voice but a whisper. “We might have to wash it a couple of times. You’re lucky I have long hair. I only buy the expensive shit.”
I have no idea what he’s talking about and I don’t care. All I care about is the way he makes my body thrum to life with just his fingers. He truly is an angel from the Bible. I’m completely lost in this wondrous dream as he tends to me. Scrubs and rinses over and over again. Eventually, he claims he’s finished and hands me a slippery white block.
“Soap. Use it to wash away the dirt,” he tells me.
When I frown at him, he chuckles. “Just rub it all over your body.”
I bite on my lip but obey him. The soap smells good and I like how it feels on my flesh. His manhood is still hard and expectant. I wonder how it will fit. If it will fit. Will he be gentle like Solomon sometimes was? Will he be brutal like Ezekiel?
“You’re crying,” he whispers, his fingers lifting my jaw.
I blink away the tears. “Will it hurt when you mount me?” Boldly, I reach down and grasp his manhood. “It’s so big and I’m so small.”
He lets out a choked sound as he backs me against the wall. The fire in his eyes lights a fire within me. “Eve, baby, you can’t touch me there,” he growls. “Please.” And yet his hips slightly buck against my grip as if my hand is the best thing he’s ever felt.
“Will it hurt?” I try again. I’m fascinated with the way his manhood jolts in my grip.
He leans his forehead against mine and grinds his teeth. “It won’t hurt because it won’t ever happen.” Slowly, he pulls away from my grip. “Fuck.”
My chest aches in disappointment. “Why don’t you want me to be your wife?” I don’t understand the way I feel inside.
“You’re like sixteen or some shit, Eve.” He scrubs at his face with his palm. “I’m almost forty.”
He’s worried about my age? My family never worried about these things.
“But your body wants mine,” I argue, my gaze falling to his manhood that is very much still alive. “Your manhood is ready for me.”
“My cock,” he corrects, “has a mind of its own. I shouldn’t be showering naked with you, Eve. This is wrong.”
He slips out of the shower and leaves me alone. The rejection crushes me. Tears, much hotter than the shower water, burn down my cheeks. I stand there silently crying until the water shuts off. Atticus, now fully dressed, pulls the cloth away and holds up a giant warm blanket. Reed and Devon have these same ones.
“Dry off. These are towels,” he tells me, his eyes diverted to the floor. “Get dressed. I want to show you something.”
After he leaves, I use the towel to swipe away the water droplets. I put on a new, clean shirt that smells like him. He’s left more garments, but when I try to put them on, they swallow me and won’t stay on. Eventually, I give up. When the steam melts away from the mirror, I’m shocked to see the woman staring back at me.
Clean.
Wide brown eyes.
Full lips.
I’m still amazed at how much I look like Esther. It’s like she’s here with me. Staring back at me. I hear sounds coming from the other room. When I enter, moving pictures are dancing across a black box on the wall.
“It’s called a television. It’s meant to relax and entertain you,” he explains from his cushy chair. “Now sit and let me brush out that mess.”
With my eyes glued to the television, I watch in awe as people move and talk. Everyone is clean and smiling. I’m amazed. Gently, Atticus begins brushing through the knots in my hair. It feels good—like when he scrubbed my scalp in the shower. I find myself drifting off while he brushes.
“Hey,” he murmurs, waking me from my nap. “You’re shivering.”
He urges me into his warm lap. I curl into his bare chest and bury my nose against his neck. His giant arms wrap around me and I once again fall asleep.
I wake in his bed. He’s nowhere to be found. It’s dark outside now and a quiver of unease ripples through me. I can hear him making sounds in the other room. Clangs and rattles. My chest is wet with newly applied salve and my shirt is gone. Heat pools between my thighs as I imagine him touching me while I slept. Forgoing the shirt, I use the toilet like he taught me and brush my teeth. I love the cold, clean feeling in my mouth. I’m quiet as I creep out of the room. He’s in the kitchen preparing food and it makes my stomach growl.
When his green eyes lift, they flicker with hunger. I love the feral look in them.
“Eve,” he grunts. “Where’s your shirt?”
“You took it off me.”
His jaw clenches. “Go put it on.”
“It irritates my wound,” I murmur, the lie shaky on my tongue.
All I get is a grunt in return as he goes back to stirring. I’m curious, so I make my way into the room with the delicious smells. Foods I’ve never seen are boiling.
“Spaghetti,” he tells me as if that strange word makes sense.
“Spaghetti,” I repeat.
“Here,” he says as he scoops some of the red sauce into a spoon. He blows on it and then offers it to me. “Taste it.” His eyes bore into mine and I wonder why he doesn’t like looking at my naked form.
I part my lips and accept his gift. I’ve never tasted anything like it. A low moan of pleasure escapes me as I devour the small taste. “This is extraordinary.”
He smirks and gives me a half shrug. “It’s even better with the noodles. Can you please wear something?” The strain in his voice has me wanting to look at his cock as he calls it. As if it calls to me, it bulges proudly in his pants. Since my nakedness seems to bring him physical pain based upon the frown on his face, I reluctantly go dress.
Once I walk back into the kitchen, I settle in the chair and watch him cook. It smells so good and my stomach grumbles loudly. His jaw clenches as he cooks quietly. I close my eyes and think of my sister and of Mama too. There was a time when I was happy. My mother would tell me stories of the city. Places called restaurants and movie theaters and malls. It all sounded so magical. Papa would always get stern with her and tell her she was filling our heads with nonsense.
I wonder if I’m allowed to talk about the nonsense with Atticus. Would he frown like Papa and tell me not to speak of it? Worry niggles at me. As soon as I am well, I will leave his home. Everything here is too unusual and I feel out of place. I don’t want to say or do the wrong thing.
I just want to be free.
But you’re lonely.
The voice within me mocks me and emotion quivers through me. My lower stomach is aching and
I know I’ll be menstruating soon. The sadness is always the worst during that week each month. Perhaps I should leave before I start. Tears fall and don’t stop for days on end sometimes. I certainly don’t want Atticus seeing me that way.
“Here you go, little fox,” he murmurs as he sets down the mountain of food in front of me.
I lift my gaze to his and our eyes lock for a moment. My core clenches simply from looking at him.
Because he’s so beautiful.
Blinking away that thought, I stare down at the food that steams. I wait for him to sit and eye my plate warily. When I kill rabbits or squirrels, I cook their carcasses over the fire and eat the meat from the bones. And the fruit I just gulp straight from the can. I’m unsure how to eat this…spaghetti.
He picks up a utensil and starts twisting. Then, he shovels in a bite, the red sauce splattering over his whiskers. It makes me smile. He freezes mid-chew and I wonder if I did something wrong. Quickly, I look down at my plate.
“My friend Suma Walkingstick will be by tomorrow to check on you,” he says after he swallows his food.
I carefully pick up my utensil and attempt to mimic his actions. The twisting is difficult and if the food wasn’t so hot, I’d settle for just picking it up with my fingers and eating it that way. I manage to get some of the food into my mouth but most of it falls back onto the plate. I let out a frustrated groan.
“Would you like me to cut it up to make it easier to eat?” he asks. Our eyes meet and his green ones sparkle with humor.
My cheeks burn in shame. I remember my brothers ridiculing me and this doesn’t feel much different.
“Fruit,” I snap and let out a huff.
“Whoa,” he says, chuckling. “Calm down. I wasn’t insulting you. I’m just trying to help.” His bare foot nudges mine under the table and it sends currents of excitement zapping through me. Instead of retreating, I rub my cold feet against his warm one.
“I don’t eat food like this.”
He lets out a sigh. “Which is why you’re skinny as fuck. We’re going to fix that, Eve. I’m going to teach you things.”
The utensil falls to the plate with a clatter and I rise to my feet. My hands tremble with worry. “I don’t want to learn,” I rasp out. I cringe at the many lessons my father and brothers taught me.
Slowly, like I do sometimes when I’m sneaking up on an animal I need to kill for food, he rises. Both his palms are out and his brows are furled together.
“I won’t ever hurt you,” he rumbles, the vow thick in his voice.
Somehow, I believe him.
I’ve known him for years and he’s not hurt me once. In fact, he’s only tried to please me with gifts and kindness.
“I can’t stay. I don’t need a husband,” I whisper.
His lips flatten into a firm line and he shakes his head. “Whoever hurt you from before…” he trails off. “I’m not like them.” He tilts his head a little as he scrutinizes me. “I’m like Reed. I just want to keep you safe and well.”
Slowly, I approach him and press my palm to his chest. His heart beats steady and strong inside. It makes me think of nights when I’d curl up with my sister and lay my head on her chest. She’d hum and stroke my hair. Hot tears burn my eyes and I turn on my heel.
I need to leave.
Being here with him, not worrying about constant survival, it gives me too much time to think. The last thing I want to do is think about the past that hurts.
Rushing over to the door, I manage to fling it open and dart out into the night. I’m not sure how I’ll find my home, but I’ll try. As soon as my bare feet hit the snow covered landing outside the door, I let out a squeak. Atticus yells my name, but I can’t stay.
I long for my boots that I took from my brother when he was killed. I’m not sure where they went or what happened to them. The snow bites into my flesh as I run out into the darkness. Sticks and rocks beneath the snow stab at the bottoms of my feet, but I don’t stop. I run through trees, dodging them here and there. The licks of the branches hurt, yet I don’t stop.
Eve! Eve! Eve!
My name is called out over and over again.
I’m running and running when I fall into an especially large snow drift near a big tree. My body sinks into the snow that’s chest high. The chill works its way down to my bones.
Someone sobs, loud and ragged.
Defeated.
That someone is me.
And then two strong arms are pulling me out and into their warmth.
Atticus.
I cling to his shirt and sob against him. My entire body shudders. Will he whip me like Papa and Ezekiel would when I didn’t obey? I cry harder and find it difficult to breathe. I don’t want Atticus to hurt me.
“Shh, little fox,” he rumbles as he moves swiftly back to the home. “You can’t run away like that. I was only trying to feed you, not insult you. Promise me you won’t do that again. It’s not safe.”
I nod even though I’m not sure I can promise it. Anything to hear more of his soothing words. He’s not angry. He seems sad.
“I’m c-c-cold,” I chatter out.
“That’s what happens when you run your near naked ass out into the snow.” He chuckles and it has me relaxing considerably.
Once inside, he closes the door behind him. He carries me through the home back into his room. The heat feels good, but I already know what will feel better.
“Shower,” I croak.
He shakes his head as he sets me to my feet. “In a little bit. You need to warm up first.”
“The shower is warm,” I argue. For such a smart man, he’s not acting that way at the moment.
“Fine,” he grunts.
“Fine,” I mimic.
* * *
* * *
I can’t tell her no.
When I try, she frowns and her swollen bottom lip pokes out. It fucks with my head because I want that lip. I’m not supposed to, but I do. I want a lot of things I’m not supposed to.
Walking past her, I head into the bathroom and start the water. By the time I turn around, she’s naked, blue, and shivering in the doorway. My cock reacts. Again.
“I’ll be in the kitchen,” I say gruffly as I start to move past her.
She doesn’t step out of the way and instead presses a palm to my chest. “Shower. You and me.” Her wide brown eyes blink at me and her brows furl together.
“I can’t.” Because a man only has so much self-control and she’s testing mine.
Her head bows as the rejection of my words stings her. My first instinct is to comfort her. I wrap my arms around her frigid body and hug her to me. She relaxes against my chest. I can’t help but run my fingers through her soft hair.
“Just…just wash your hair like I showed you. I’ll reheat our food.”
I grip her shoulders and peel her from my body. She’s still trembling from the cold and her teeth clack together. Poor Eve. Such a fucking mess. I scrub my palm through my short beard and shake away images of my assisting her in the shower.
She allows me to turn her and gently guide her into the shower. Like a fucking perv, my eyes skim down the bones in her spine and land on the two dimples above her ass. I quickly look away.
“Holler if you need anything,” I say in a gruff tone.
Once I hear her moaning under the hot spray, I bolt out of the bathroom. I find a pair of my thickest socks, some sweats, and a hoodie. Maybe if she layers up in all this stuff, she’ll warm up.
I head back to the kitchen and am just starting a pot of coffee when the house phone rings. As soon as I see who’s calling, I smile.
Mom.
“Hey—”
“You were gone weeks, mister. Weeks! And I find out from Suma that you’re back home! You didn’t even call your own mother—”
“Ma, it’s fine. Just been busy. I was going to come into town in the morning to see you. Scout’s honor.”
“Oh, don’t you Scout’s honor me, kiddo. I can tell whe
n you’re lying, remember?”
I let out a heavy sigh as I watch the coffee brew. “A friend of mine was hurt. Fuckin’ bear.”
“Lord,” she breathes. “Is he okay?”
“Yeah, my friend is fine,” I say, delicately dancing around the fact he’s a she. If Mom knew I had a female friend, she’d sniff that one out until she made me crazy. “Suma patched things up as per usual.”
“Do I need to stop by and bring some soup?”
“No,” I say quickly. “I’ll come into town for supplies and stop by.”
“When your friend heals, I want you both home for dinner. Understood?”
“Yes, ma’am.” Then, because I’m an idiot, I ask a question that usually leads to a lot of probing ones. “You seen Cassandra around?”
The line goes silent and I frown.
“Ma? Did we get disconnected?”
“Um, yes. I’ve seen her around. Still works at her daddy’s bait shop.”
I let out a sigh of relief. Cassandra is my fuck buddy. She’s great in the sack and doesn’t put up too much of a fight when I fall off the grid to do my own shit. It’s like she’s always waiting around for me. Hell, maybe I’m supposed to settle with a girl like Cass. It wouldn’t be the worst thing.
“How’s Judith?”
“Oh, she’s Judith,” Mom replies with a sigh.
“What now?”
“Dating some guy who’s bad news. Your father wanted to throttle him at dinner the other night. She has some bruises on her arms. I asked her about them and she got angry. I don’t know what’s going on with her.”
Typical Judith.
My sweet sister wasn’t the same after her near death experience.
Another added layer of guilt on my conscience.
“I’ll talk to her,” I vow. “When I come to town, I’ll visit with her and get to the bottom of it.”
“You’re a godsend. See you soon, sweetheart.”