The Free

by K. Webster

  We hang up and I worry about Judith. Coffee and spaghetti don’t exactly go together, but I’m too spaced out to figure something else out. My sister weighs heavily on my mind.

  A prickle of awareness making my hairs stand on end has me swiveling around. Eve looks every bit of thirteen in my massive clothes. But she looks warm and that’s what truly matters.

  “These are too big,” she says, pulling the sweats away from her body.

  I step over to her and show her the inside where the drawstrings are at. Pulling as tight as I can make them, I tie the strings in a bow and then fold the top down to make them fit even more snug. When our eyes meet, hers seem darker than usual. Hardened. Angry.

  “Did you have any trouble washing your hair?”

  “I don’t do it like you do,” she says with a pout that makes me smile.

  “I’ve had years of practice.”

  “I cleaned my teeth again.” She bares her teeth like a mountain lion.

  “Beautiful.” As soon as I say the word, her bluish tinted cheeks flood with crimson.

  Quickly, I tear my gaze from her and clear my throat. As though she were a child—I mean technically she is—I cut her spaghetti into small pieces so she doesn’t have to twirl it around her fork. She seems pleased by this and wastes no time scarfing it down. I’m not even hungry, but I force food down so I have an excuse not to talk.

  Everything I say comes out twisted.

  All my thoughts are no better.

  “Tomorrow, I’m going into town. Do you want anything?”

  “Fruit,” she chirps.

  A smile tugs at my lips. “That’s a given, Eve. What about chocolate? Cookies? Books?”

  “Knife.”

  Right. This isn’t some high school chick. No, this is Eve. Feral, wild Eve.

  “Right, a knife. I’ll find some better fitting clothes for you as well.”

  She nods, seemingly pleased by this as she holds her coffee mug. Her eyes close as she inhales the scent wafting from the steaming cup and then gingerly takes a sip.

  “I love coffee,” she whispers.

  “As much as you like fruit?”

  She glowers at me.

  “Point taken,” I joke. “I know you love canned peaches, but have you had a fresh one before.”

  Her head cocks to the side.

  Desperate for something to talk about so I don’t stare at her plump lips, I start blabbering. “Yeah, peaches. They grow in orchards. They’re an orange color and have a slight fuzz on the skin. You can eat it. Most people eat fresh peaches like they would an apple. My ma loves to put it in peach cobbler—”

  “Ma?” Her eyes water.

  Fuck.

  “Do you miss your mother?” I ask, my voice soft.

  Her lips press together. “I ache for my sister.”

  It makes me think of Judith. Finding her cold, broken body inside that crevasse. Feeling the weight of responsibility crushing down on me like an avalanche. I reach across the table and gently pat Eve’s hand. “I can’t imagine losing a sister.”

  She jerks her hand back. “My brothers…” Violence gleams in her brown eyes. “They hurt her.”

  Pain lances through my chest. “A brother is supposed to look after his sister. It’s his duty to protect her. I would do anything for my sister Judith.”

  A hot tear races down her cheek and drips from her jaw. “Is she your wife?”

  Disgust roils through me. “Fuck no,” I growl. “She’s my sister.”

  “My father was my husband,” she says, her voice growing cold. “My brothers wanted to be.”

  Jesus.

  What is it about these woods and fucking incest?

  This is a conversation Reed should be handling, not me.

  “Whatever they did to you was wrong,” I bite out. “Understand? Relatives don’t…” They don’t fuck or marry or whatever the hell was going on in those woods. “It’s just wrong.”

  Her features lose some of their hardness as she regards me. “Wrong.”

  “Yes, wrong.” Then I sigh. “Plus, you’re too young for all that.”

  “All what?”

  I rub at the back of my neck, trying to find the right words. “Bedroom stuff.”

  Her brows furl. “Sleeping?”

  “Together.”

  “Like us?”

  Fuck.

  “We sleep in the same bed because I only have one and you’ve been injured. You need me to look after you.” I shove the wet dream out of my mind.

  “Papa kept me in his bed but…”

  Goddamn, I don’t want to hear this. “He hurt you.”

  She winces. “Teaching me.”

  “That’s not education, Eve, that’s abuse.”

  “Abuse?”

  “When someone uses their power above you to make you feel powerless. To punish and torture you. What your father and brothers did is abuse. Sexual. Mental. Physical.”

  “You don’t abuse me,” she whispers. “We just sleep together.”

  God help me.

  “We sleep in the same bed.”

  “Together.”

  I give up on this one. “Yeah, Eve. We sleep together.”

  She starts to scratch on her chest and it reminds me we need to apply more healing paste. I stand and motion for her to follow me to the bedroom. When I start for the paste, she lets out a heavy sigh.

  “I don’t like that.”

  “And I don’t like seeing you hurt. The paste helps.” I motion at her. “Lift your shirt.”

  She pulls off the hoodie and I’m once again forced to stare at her chest. Her breasts, now clean, seem so soft and delicate against the harsh cuts on her chest. Thankfully, everything seems to be healing well.

  “I think you can apply the paste now,” I tell her, looking toward the window.

  “I don’t want to.”

  I shoot my eyes to hers and defiance shines in them. With an annoyed growl, I scoop up some of the paste and kneel in front of her. Her small hands go to my shoulders as I softly apply the paste to her tender skin. I can’t help but glance at her small, peaked nipples. It makes me some kind of twisted to want to lick them. My dick’s twisted too because I’m hard as fuck right now.

  I need to get the hell out of this house.

  Cass can suck my dick and make me forget all about these fucked up fantasies with Eve.

  It’s not fucking right.

  Eve’s just some feral kid.

  And I’m not the man who’s going to tame her.

  * * *

  * * *

  I wake up drenched in sweat and pains cramping through my abdomen. In the dark, I can’t make out my surroundings, but I smell him. Atticus. Not my father or my brothers, who always stank of their own putrid odors. Atticus smells fresh like pine and snow. His heavy arm is slung over me and he snores quietly. I take the moment to explore him while it’s safe. My fingers dance along his hairy arm and slide along the strong curve of his shoulder. When I reach his hair, I run the silky strands through my fingers before bringing it to my nose to inhale.

  His manhood—er cock—is pressed against my hip. It’s strange that he doesn’t ever put it inside me. I’d learned from an early age that when a man’s body grows hard, he needs to be inside a woman to make it go away. But Atticus never needs me to make it go away. It just does after a while. In his sleep, he rocks gently against me. I’m not terrified of him like I was with my family or even Reed. He’s the big bear from my imagination. The one who always looks after me. I’m fascinated by the way his breath hitches each time he ruts against me. How I can feel every curve and ridge on his cock through our garments. The more he rocks, the hotter I feel.

  Warmth licks and lashes at me like when I’m standing over a fire. It burns from the inside out, though. Between my thighs, I throb with a craving I don’t understand. My breasts feel heavy and achy—my nipples hard with this same need. To be touched. The throbbing pulsates until the need to rub at it and make it stop overwhelms me
. It’s an almost painful need. Like when I’m starving and my stomach growls desperately.

  My heart races and then stops altogether when he moves in his sleep. His massive hand cups my breast over my shirt. When his thumb brushes my nipple, a thrill of exhilaration burns through me to my unfilled womb. The throbbing is driving me mad. Without considering my actions, I grab his wrist and pull it there. To the aching place. His fingers—of their own accord—rub at me there.

  A moan escapes me.

  It feels good.

  Unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before.

  Confusing but wonderful.

  He’s still sleeping, but his breathing is shallow. Like he might wake at any moment. He mutters a name—Cassandra—and an unusual feeling churns inside me.

  “Eve,” I croak.

  All anger bleeds away when his hand slips beneath the pants. Flesh on flesh. His touch could create fire. It’s brilliant and beautiful. I spread my thighs, desperate for more. Rather than filling the ache within me, he simply touches a spot between my lower lips, buried in the hair there, and rubs it with expert knowledge. The sound that escapes me is one I’ve heard Devon make on many occasions.

  Feral. Hungry. Eager.

  His finger slides down, slipping in wetness that’s leaking from me, and then he’s back to rubbing that same spot. I lie there, helpless to the unfamiliar pleasure, as he introduces me into a world I’ve never been.

  Glittering stars.

  Bright lights.

  Cries of need.

  My body detonates. Every single hair on my body stands on end. A buzzing zings through every muscle, vein, and bone. And when it ends, I feel satiated and warm and tired.

  “Oh fuck.”

  I stiffen at his gruff words.

  “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

  He jerks his hand from my pants and rolls away from me. I hear something heavy hit the floor on the other side of the bed. Then, bright light floods the room. I squint against the harsh lights to find Atticus standing beside the bed, half asleep and…terrified.

  I look all around, searching for the threat. His home is safe, but could a bear get inside? A mountain lion? When I look back at him, he’s gaping down at his hand. His fingers are covered in blood. My blood. It’s then I realize I’ve begun menstruating.

  “I hurt you,” he chokes out, his face crumpling. “Oh, fuck, Eve. I’m so sorry.”

  Hurt me? He made me feel amazing.

  “It’s my blood,” I whisper, “but you didn’t hurt me.”

  His wild green eyes meet mine as he wiggles his fingers. “Then what do you call this?”

  “My blood.”

  “Because I hurt—”

  “Menstruation. It means my body is ready to bear children,” I admit with a frown.

  His gaze hardens, making me wince. “I can’t sleep in here with you anymore. It’s too…”

  Too what?

  Warm?

  I like warmth.

  “You’re a temptation I don’t need and didn’t realize I wasn’t strong enough to ignore.” He growls and storms into the bathroom. I hear the sink turn on as he washes his hand.

  Papa spoke of temptation in the Bible. Is that what I am? Cursed? Hot blood trickles from within me, leaking into my pants. Maybe I am cursed. I’m named after Eve, who wasn’t exactly God’s favorite.

  With a sigh, I climb out of bed and rid myself of the soiled pants. If I were in my shack, I’d roll up some old, tattered strips of cloth and use them to soak up the blood. I’m not sure what to use here. Blood runs down the inside of my thigh, dripping onto the floor below. I stare down at it, pondering what to do next.

  “I, uh, I don’t have female products,” he says with a cough, exiting the bathroom holding a small cloth. “Maybe clean up with this and I’ll see about finding you some way of dealing with that.”

  That being the river of blood running down my leg.

  He tosses the cloth at me and it hits the floor. When I make no moves to grab it, he strides over to me and kneels down. Then, he gently grabs my thigh and runs the hot cloth along my flesh.

  “Damn,” he grumbles. “It’s really coming down. Is this natural? Does it always do this?” He looks up at me in panic. “My mom and sister used tampons, but like, I never saw how they put them in or anything.”

  I blink down at him. “Sometimes it’s so heavy it attracts predators.”

  His eyes widen in horror. “Predators.”

  “They smell the blood. I use clothes to soak it up, but they still smell it.”

  “Jesus…fuck…Eve…”

  He lets out a strangled sound and then quickly cleans up my mess. I’m pleasantly surprised when he cleanses my lower lips, though it doesn’t bring me the same pleasure as before. Just a warm feeling inside my chest. That he’s looking after me, but not trying to hurt me.

  He hands me the cloth before walking over to his drawers. I admire his strong body as he roots around for whatever it is he’s looking for. Eventually, he pulls out his black underwear.

  “These are still too big for you, but we could roll up a towel and put it inside. Might soak the blood up while you sleep. I’ll add tampons or pads or whatever to my run to town in the morning.”

  Once I’m cleaned up, dressed in his underwear and the towel is secured, I lie back down on another towel. I wait for him to join me, but his jaw clenches furiously.

  “Eve…”

  “Sleep,” I bite out, patting the bed beside me.

  “No. I’m sleeping in my chair from now on.”

  I glare at him. “You’re warm.”

  “My house is warm enough that you don’t need me.” His green eyes flare with challenge. “You can sleep alone. Been doing it for years now, little fox.”

  A strange feeling tugs inside my chest. Sometimes, when I’m menstruating, I feel sad and lonely. So achy and desperate that death feels preferable. Hot tears well in my eyes. I also tend to cry more easily.

  “I’m not mad at you,” he chokes out, his brows furling together. “I’m mad at me. I…I touched you.”

  I don’t understand his anger at himself.

  “It felt good.”

  His nostrils flare. “That’s beside the point. It can’t ever happen again.”

  “What if I want it again?”

  He pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “I’m sorry for what I did in my sleep. I didn’t do it on purpose. But clearly, sleeping together is a bad idea. Please forgive me.”

  With those words, he slams the light off and stalks out of the room. I draw the covers up that smell like him and silently sob. I find one thing in my life that isn’t about pain, survival, and terrible memories, but I can’t even have it. Just a tease of something wonderful. A tiny taste of what Reed and Devon have.

  I think about the way Reed cherishes Devon. Simple looks they share. The way he claims her with kisses she seems to love. How his touches are gentle but possessive. Nothing he does to her is even remotely like the way my father and brothers treated me. They both enjoy each other. I’ve silently watched them from the trees for years, so I know it’s not something they only do in the presence of others. It’s real. With Atticus, hope had started to grow inside me. That maybe I could have something like that.

  He doesn’t want me that way, though.

  Atticus was clearly thinking about Cassandra while he touched me.

  Is Cassandra beautiful like Devon? I thought my sister was beautiful, but Devon is like how I imagine the angels in the Bible to look like. Golden hair. Sweet smile. Ethereal.

  How will a little fox claim a big bear if he has eyes for an angel?

  Bitterness churns in my stomach.

  A little fox has no place with a bear.

  Foxes were meant for the forests. Running far, far away from others. Foxes do better alone. Alone hurts, though. It really hurts.

  Another sob escapes me.

  I cry all night.

  * * *

  * * *

  I’m su
ch an asshole.

  Worse than an asshole.

  I’m a child predator like her father and her brothers. Fuck. This morning, I made her some oatmeal, turned on the television, and left her with the instructions to not leave. Then, like the coward I am, I bolted.

  I need space.

  Shame coats me like a drenching rain. I touched her. Made her orgasm. When I saw the blood, I nearly lost my shit. At first, I thought I’d hurt her. It sickened me. But then…

  My dick hardens in my jeans, making me hate myself a little more.

  Space.

  Lots of fucking space.

  I need to get her healed and sent back to the wild where she fucking belongs.

  As though on autopilot, I drive into town, headed straight for the bait shop. Everything else can wait. I need to get laid and I need it now. Then, I can think clearly and stop looking at Eve like that. When I see Cass’s white Chevy pickup in the front lot on Main Street, I park beside her and let out a relieved sigh. It’ll be like old times. We can run upstairs, make it quick, and I can be on my way.

  Hell, maybe I’ll ask her out for dinner or something.

  Cassandra is a good girl. I’ve known her since high school. She married right out of high school, but ended up divorced after their son was born. He’s in high school now, but Cass still never settled.

  I shut the truck off and fling open the door. Snow pelts my face, but I’m burning with the need to expel this sexual energy. I shut the truck door and trot into the bait shop. As soon as I walk in, the scent of familiarity hits me. It’s a quaint shop filled with fishing gear and one I’ve shopped at often. This morning I’m shopping for a curvy brunette with a sweet laugh.

  The moment I hear her laughter as she speaks to someone on the phone, my body relaxes. Yes. I need this. Desperately. Cass’s dark hair hangs long down her back and she twirls the phone cord around her finger as she listens to the person speaking on the other line. Her dad’s bait shop is the same as it was when I was a kid. Old but has a little bit of everything. I busy myself looking at the knives under a glass case at the register while I wait for Cass to end her call.

  “Love you too,” she says, “but someone just walked in. Okay, bye.”