When I’m convinced that this is safe, that I’m not suddenly going to be sexually assaulted in this tent, I finally let myself relax. Silas was right: skin-to-skin contact creates incredible warmth within me, annihilating any residual chill from today. I wish it didn’t feel this good to be with him, or I wish he could be anyone else in the world right now so I could actually enjoy this connection without feeling guilty.
I try not to think about it for too long, because if I’m truthful with myself, I need space from Silas more than I need this human contact, and willingly lying naked next to him in a sleeping bag is conveying the opposite message. Silas is under control right now, but he could flip a switch at any moment like he’s done countless times before. I can only hope that giving in to this night of connection will be enough to satisfy him and not leave him wanting more.
I can only hope that it’ll do the same for me.
21
Waking up in a tent in the middle of the woods is apparently not unlike waking up at home with Silas: opening my eyes to a room glowing with daylight and an empty space in bed next to me. This morning is no different. I’m alone in the tent with the sleeping bag pulled all the way up to my chin and tucked in slightly along the length of my body, cocooning me inside. It’s keeping me warm but is nowhere near as effective as the skin-to-skin contact I had experienced all night.
Just thinking about what happened and didn’t happen last night makes me cringe. I’d do anything to have the ability to turn off the primal forces within me when I’m around the only person I’ve had real contact with in the last couple weeks, the same person I’ll be stuck with for weeks or months or years to come. I can’t deny the heat that burns in my cheeks just thinking about how he helped undress me last night and the way he subtly touched me, just barely testing the waters instead of diving right in, even though he was surely on the edge ready to jump at any moment.
The familiar heat from last night is burning in my core again, negating most of the pain I feel from the soreness in my muscles from yesterday. I tighten my legs together as I realize these thoughts are only getting me wet again, setting me up for more disappointment, as I have no way to satisfy this hungry desire that won’t seem to abate.
My lips part at the realization that this morning is different from last night. Silas isn’t here right now. He’s probably nearby, but if I’m quiet enough, I can satisfy myself without him ever knowing.
That is, of course, unless he hears the loud thumping of my racing heart against my ribcage.
I waste no time in pressing my left palm to my breast and slipping my right hand between my legs. I’m already wet with desire, even more so than I realized as my fingers glide over my clit and find my opening, gently probing inside. The rush of what I’m doing causes me to exhale a soft but labored breath, and I quickly realize I need to be quieter if I’m going to do this without detection.
With my lips firmly sealed together, I squeeze my breast harder and insert two fingers all the way inside me, imagining they’re the needy cock of a man filling me completely. I pull them back and slowly insert them again, repeating the process until my fingers are dripping with my own wetness. I spread it up to my clit and rub myself firmly in circles there. My hips buck slightly against my own touch as I imagine there’s a man behind the fingers that are pleasuring me and bringing me closer to the point of ultimate release.
I hear the sound of footsteps approaching the tent from outside, but I can’t stop this now. Even as Silas opens the zippered door of the tent and peers inside, I keep going, not bothering to hide my heavy breathing now as I close my eyes and bring myself to orgasm. The height of it steals the air from my lungs, making it impossible to breathe or think or function as I’m consumed with the absolute pleasure overtaking me, each incredible wave of it causing my body to contract and shudder with bliss.
When my euphoric state finally dissipates, I’m left feeling completely embarrassed by what I just did. Reluctantly, I come out of hiding from behind my eyelids and look toward Silas at the opening of the tent. Our eyes barely have a moment to connect before he turns around and walks away without a word.
“Fuck,” I whisper to myself in frustration at my clear lack of good judgment, or any sense of judgment for that matter. There’s nothing I can do to change this now, though. What’s done is done, and what Silas just experienced can’t be unseen.
Part of me wants to stay hidden away in this sleeping bag to avoid facing Silas for as long as possible, but there’s a more prominent and terrified part of me that can’t handle the anxiety of sitting around in the face of impending doom. Whatever he’s going to do, I just want to get it over with as soon as possible.
The cold morning air envelopes every part of me the moment I sit up and pull the cover of the sleeping bag off my naked body. I quickly reach over and pull down the zipper of the tent for privacy and to maintain the slightly warmer air inside. Using my discarded t-shirt from yesterday as a makeshift towel, I wipe off the wetness from my fingers and between my legs before folding up the shirt and putting it aside.
After getting dressed in clean clothes from the duffel bag, I take a deep breath and unzip the tent door to step outside. The ground is cold and damp under my bare feet, but it feels good to stand up fully after sitting in a strained position all of yesterday. With each stretch and movement of my muscles, the aching and soreness throughout my body gets a little better. I try to focus on that positive aspect as I look around for the man who’s likely plotting ways to make my life a living hell again today.
Silas approaches from the direction of the truck with hurried footsteps through the brush and between the trees. His determined expression doesn’t change when his gaze briefly meets mine or even when he looks me over from my black V-neck all the way down my dark jeans.
“We’re moving out,” he says before handing me a couple of granola bars. “You have five minutes to get ready and then we’re getting out of here.”
“We’re going back to the house?” I ask, unable to hide the hint of excitement in my voice at the thought of being back within the comfort and safety of those walls.
Silas leans down into the tent for a moment and emerges with a water bottle in hand, striding over to me and shoving it into my chest as he replies, “Not yet. It’s time to hunt.”
The frenzied gleam in his eyes at the thought of going out into the wildness to kill other living things is slightly terrifying, but I’d rather his energy and attention be focused on anything other than me right now.
As he goes back to the tent to start packing up the contents inside, I realize the clock is ticking and that I need to be ready to move at the end of the five minutes Silas has allotted me. The last thing I need to do right now is give him another excuse to be upset with me or disappointed in my actions. I’ve done enough of that already between last night and this morning.
With Silas distracted in the tent, I set down the snacks and water bottle to sneak behind a large tree nearby to pee. Silas is already to the point of breaking down the tent by the time I’m back in the clearing. It takes me a minute to locate my shoes and put them on, but I manage to finish just as Silas stuffs the last bit of the tent back in its bag.
He slings the duffel bag over his shoulder and stuffs the pillow and rolled-up sleeping bag under one arm while carrying the tent with his other hand. He seems determined to carry everything himself, so I keep quiet and grab my water bottle and granola bars before following him through the woods to the truck.
Not a word or even a glance is shared between me and Silas the entire time he’s packing everything into the truck or when we get into the cab together or even once we’re back on the rough logging road we took to get here. Silas is impossible to read right now, even more so than usual. I worry that he’s angry with me and building up his fury to be unleashed on me at any moment. I’m desperate for him to say something, to give me any indication of what he’s thinking, but I’m too terrified to do anything about it. I can�
�t risk provoking him when he’s like this.
So instead I quietly eat my granola bars and drink from my water bottle as we drive, trying to relax my body and mind as I know today is only just beginning and there’s much more to come. The dirt roads Silas takes us on gradually improve the longer we drive, and about forty minutes later, he brings us to a final stop at a place that is still seemingly in the middle of nowhere, yet a less-wooded area than the one we were in before.
When Silas finally finds a good hiding place to park the truck, he exits the vehicle with purpose and an eagerness behind his movements that I know will be impossible for me to match, given my unease about him today. I need to do anything I can to improve his mood and keep him stable, though, so I get out of the truck and try my hardest to appear interested and engaged in what he’s doing. He puts on his backpack, then grabs both rifles from the back of the cab and slings them over his shoulder.
“Follow,” he commands as he locks the truck from the inside and closes the door, “and stay quiet.”
I do as I’m told and fall in step behind Silas as we make our way into the woods. He leads us at a quickened pace that’s difficult to maintain while being careful not to trip over loose branches and rocks in our way. It takes all of my focus to both keep up with him and to avoid Mother Nature’s obstacles on the ground.
By the time we run into a small stream and begin to follow its path, Silas mercifully decides to slow down, giving me a chance to catch my breath. I’m expecting him to ramp up his pace again, but it never happens. He continues to walk at a slower pace, seeming to pay closer attention to the area around us now.
After a while, we stop for a brief water break then continue upstream. The terrain gradually inclines and becomes a small hill, and when Silas reaches the top of it just ahead of me, he quickly turns around and motions me back.
“Stay down,” he whispers to me, the urgency in his voice causing an instant spike in my heart rate.
I crouch down as Silas kneels in the dirt next to me and pulls the two rifles off of his shoulder, handing me the higher caliber one that I haven’t even touched yet.
“This is the wrong one,” I argue as I try to hand it back to him, but he pushes my hand and the rifle back toward me instead.
“Same idea as the .22,” he quickly explains, “but the AR-15 has a full pistol grip and more kickback. The safety’s right here and the slide’s a little different.” He points to a small switch to the left side of the gun then pulls back the slide on top to chamber the weapon. “Show me your position.”
My thoughts race as I try to remember Silas’ instructions from two days ago, going step-by-step through the process of achieving proper hand placement on the handguard and pistol grip while keeping the butt of the gun against my shoulder. I leave the safety on and rest my forefinger along the smooth metal above the pistol grip to keep it off the trigger.
“Perfect,” Silas compliments as he readies the .22 rifle in his hands almost instantly. “Now follow me up to the edge of the hill.”
I move in the same crouched position as Silas up the short distance to the height of the incline. He lies down on his stomach and elbows against the dirt with the rifle still trained forward. I match his position on the ground and readjust my rifle to a comfortable firing position.
When I finally look forward to scan the area ahead of us for the game that is my target, I’m surprised to find something completely different instead. There’s a barbed wire fence surrounding a large property with a quaint two-story brown house in the middle of it. There’s a middle-aged man sitting on a wooden rocking chair in the sunlight just beyond the front steps of the house.
“I don’t understand,” I express with concern as I glance to my side at Silas. “What the hell are we doing?”
“We’re hunting,” he replies with sarcasm and an accusatory tone, as if I’m somehow to blame for why we’re here right now. “I need to see if you’re capable of doing what’s necessary to protect our home.”
I look at him incredulously. “You want me to shoot that man?”
“I want you to kill him.”
My lips part in confusion and shock, as I’m unable to comprehend the task Silas has set out for me, the task he’s setting me up to fail. “I can’t kill an innocent, unarmed man.”
Silas laughs. “How do you know he’s either of those things?”
I look back toward the man lounging in the chair, but pay closer attention to his surroundings this time. There’s nothing around him but a small table on the other side of his rocking chair, but if I look close enough, I can see the silver tip of a rifle poking out from the surface of the table.
“So he has a gun to protect himself and his house,” I retort. “What’s wrong with that?”
“Just wait,” Silas urges.
I remain skeptical as I watch the man, the house, and the surrounding area looking for whatever it is Silas expects me to see. After some time, it all becomes clear as a woman with shoulder-length, strawberry-blond hair steps out of the worn front door of the house with an empty glass and a tall bottle of amber liquor in hand. Even at this distance I can see the dark bruises that cover her arms and neck and the reddened lacerations on her forehead and lower lip. She must be in her thirties, but she looks like a child given the fear and trepidation with which she approaches the man in the chair.
Meeting Silas’ gaze with a horrified expression, I ask, “What is this?”
“This is the worst of mankind blossoming in the absence of society,” Silas explains. “This guy was an occasional abuser even before the world went to shit, and now he’s turned into a monster.”
I press my lips together as tightly as I can to hold back the words that want to escape my mouth in response to Silas, but it’s not enough. My lips part, and I ask in a low voice, “How are you any different given everything you’ve done to me?”
Silas narrows his eyes at me. “What you see here is the result of senseless violence. There’s always been a purpose behind what I’ve done to you.”
“And what about my brother?” My voice shakes with each word, and my chest tightens painfully. “How was what you did to him anything other than senseless violence?”
The loud shattering of glass immediately draws my attention as I look back to the man and woman near the house. He’s sitting forward in the chair now, and she’s a few feet away from him with her empty hand covering her mouth and an expression on her face that is both shocked and terrified.
“You little bitch,” the man roars as he gets up from the chair and storms toward her. She scrambles to back away, but loses her footing and falls backward to the ground.
“Shoot him!” Silas demands urgently as we watch the man pick up the intact neck of the broken bottle and direct its jagged glass edges toward to the woman who’s trying to crawl away.
Panic soars through me as I reaffirm my firing position and scramble to find my target in the scope. When I have him in sight, I flick off the safety with my thumb and move my forefinger to the trigger. With the crosshairs in the scope set perfectly across his back, I take a deep breath and then exhale, knowing that when the last bit of air leaves my lungs I’ll be pulling the trigger to fire the gun that will propel a large bullet toward another human being, and suddenly I question whether I’m willing to become like Silas and take this man’s life so easily.
“I can’t,” I whisper painfully as I abandon the scope to view the scene in front of me with my own eyes. The man stands over her now as she screams, pinning her in place with his feet on either side of her waist.
The AR-15 is suddenly ripped from my hands, and in one swift motion, Silas gets up to his knees and brings the rifle to a firing position at his shoulder. As the man raises the broken bottle up high in the air, Silas fires three deafening shots, each bullet piercing through the man’s upper and middle back. He immediately drops the jagged bottle and staggers briefly before collapsing forward to the ground.
My ears are ringing from the
booming sound of the AR-15, but I can still hear the woman’s hysterical cries as she scurries backward away from the man’s lifeless body. She struggles to her feet and scans the property until her eyes lock on to our location. Silas drops the AR-15 to the dirt and holds his hands open to show he’s no threat to her.
The woman’s frightened expression doesn’t change as she watches us for a moment, then quickly walks over to the small table next to the chair where the man was before. When she grabs the rifle still lying there and brings it up to a firing position, I automatically flinch backward thinking she’s going to shoot at us, but to my surprise, she takes confident and purposeful steps back toward the man on the ground and fires the gun over and over again into him until every last bullet has been emptied into his lifeless body. When she’s finally done and backs away from him, the terror she exhibited before is replaced with absolute relief. As she turns around to walk back toward the house, she glances in our direction with the slightest smile on her face.
Out of all the intense and confusing emotions I’m feeling right now over what just happened and what I almost allowed myself to do, the raging burn of jealously is strangely proving strongest as I watch this woman embrace her freedom in her assisted victory over the monster who tortured her. He can never hurt her again or play mind games with her or tell her she needs to do things she never would have done otherwise. He can’t transform her anymore or tear her to pieces or take away her dignity and self-worth and the people she loves.
However battered and beaten she is, she has her freedom, and I’m completely jealous of her for it.
“I’m disappointed in you,” Silas says angrily, prompting me to close my eyes for a long moment as I’m reminded of how trapped and controlled I am, so far from any sense of freedom. I hear Silas stand up and collect the guns over his shoulder as his footsteps come to a stop just in front of me, forcing me to open my eyes and look at him and the displeasure written all over his face.
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