by G. S. Carr
I’m, no monster so of course her words sting. The tick in my left cheek is the only response I show though. Luckily she doesn’t seem to notice it.
“Oh so sad Kara,” Damon cuts in. “I’m sorry to hear that. And what about you Wyatt? Why should you win?”
“I got my reasons.”
My mouth clamps shut after those few words. Yeah that’s all I am going to give them. I need Kara to know her sad stories, whether real or not, aren’t going to phase me. We are playing this game until the end. No holds barred.
Damon sputters for a brief second, before he pulls it together and that Stepford Wife smile slinks back across his face.
“Well then. A man of few words. I can respect that. Looks like you came to play, and dare I say win? Ahahaha!”
Damon looks into the camera as he says this. I shift my eyes to Kara. A red hot flame of loathing burns bright in her dark chocolate eyes. She probably thinks I’m a heartless prick. Good.
“Well it looks like this game won’t be won on this stage tonight so it’s off to the game complex!” Damon pauses for dramatic effect and more fake audience cheering. “The complex is our property with nothing but a house for the couple to share and several well placed woodland creatures for realistic effect. It’s like having a cozy cabin in the woods. The couple will live there, and annoy each other until one of them gives in and…”
“Asks for a divorce!!!” The fake audience answers Damon before erupting into more cheering and clapping. When I win this game I am going to find the sound effects room and smash that soundboard to pieces.
“That’s right! Alright you too love birds, let’s get you married. Please hold hands.”
I comply with Damon’s command and step forward hands out palms up. I don’t reach for Kara’s hands because I want her to come to me. We may not be in the complex yet, but the game has already begun and every power play counts. Kara stays rooted to the spot, suspicion lacing her shrewed gaze.
“Come on now Kara. Take Wyatt’s hands so we can get this game started.”
She resists for only a few more seconds before placing her small hands in mine. Her skin is so warm and soft I have to resist the urge to run my thumbs over her knuckles. I don’t live under a rock so of course I’ve seen black women before in my daily life, but I’ve never been in such an intimate position with one before. The sight of her brown hands against my tan ones has a type of mesmerizing allure I’ve never experienced before.
“Ok, we’ll start with you Wyatt. Do you take Kara Davis to be your lawfully wedded wife til death or divorce do you part?”
“I do.”
The words come out with a little more conviction than I intended. I clear my throat to hide the slip. Damon doesn’t notice or care as he nods his head in satisfaction before focusing on Kara.
“And do you Kara take Wyatt Carter to be your lawfully wedded husband until death or divorce do you part?”
“I do.”
“Then by the power vested in me by the state of Colorado, I know pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss the bride. Ahahaha!”
Kara rips her hands from my grasp and takes a step back as soon as the word kiss slips past Damon’s lips. To bad. I would not mind tasting those lips to see if they are are as sweet as they look.
“I guess that’s a no. Ahahaha! Well in that case it’s time to enter the game complex and play… Divorce Wars!!”
“And cut. Great job Damon!” The studio instantly becomes a buzzing hive of activity. A small blonde woman scuttles over to hand Damon a bottle of water then pats his damp brow with a towel.
“Alright you two,” a man with a clipboard says. “Follow me and we’ll set you both settled.”
I extended my arm before Kara in the universal you first gesture. Her eyes narrow suspiciously as she stares at me unmoving. I think the idea of refusing crosses her mind, but clipboard guy already walked away and this standoff could get us left behind.
Kara takes a stance of dominance, hands on hips, feet spread apart like Superman. Her little way of letting me know she isn’t afraid of me and is watching for my tricks. She stays in the pose for a few seconds then turns her back on me to follow the studio guy.
Oh yeah. This is going to be fun. Let the games begin.
* * *
Kara
It’s official. Life is not fair. At least mine isn’t. How is it that I have to be fake married and subsequently divorced from a man that looks like young Brad Pitt and a Greek God had a chiseled, square jawed, honey-ocean eyed love child? I refrained from raking my eyes over his well muscled, lean frame while we were on stage being recorded, but now that we are alone with the little blond girl from the production crew I can’t help looking my fill. He doesn’t notice me ogling him from head to toe since his attention is riveted on the girl as she gives us instructions.
I should be listening to her as well but the drumming of my heart in my ears drown out everything she says. The rollercoaster that took up residence in my stomach when my eyes first saw him walk out on the stage, goes crazy the longer I stare. Part of me wants to call him sexy, but the word isn’t enough. This man is…stunning.
What would it be like to really be married to this man? Is he tender and sweet? Does he like walks in the park while sharing about his day? The Chinese style fire breathing dragon tattoo wrapped around his left bicep suggests otherwise. The strength in his arm as it bulges under the weight of holding his duffel bag slung over his shoulder, makes the dragon appear coiled and ready to attack. Legs spread apart, right hand in his pocket, this man exudes self-confidence with a hint of danger.
“Ms. Davis?”
I snap my eyes away from the well-formed male specimen and focus on the little blonde. Her quizzical expression suggests I missed something, probably important. My name has probably been called several times as well.
“Yes…” Crap! I forgot her name.
“My name is Cindy. I asked do you have any questions so far?”
I shake my head vigorously. There is no way I can ask her a question now even if I had been paying attention enough to form one. It will be just my luck to ask her something she already explained. Then I’d have to confess that I missed what she said because I was too busy mentally drooling over Wyatt.
“Okay then. I’ll finish with a brief rundown on safety. There are no dangerous animals in the game complex. At most you will see some dear and rabbits. Everything else has been removed and placed outside the perimeter of the fence. This is a button for the intercom system that connects to the studio headquarters,” Cindy points to the button in question with her clipboard.
“There will always be someone available to answer your call 24 hours a day. Please only use it in case of emergency. We will be watching as you know, so we will probably send emergency help before you even call if such a situation arises. There is no communication with the outside world for the next six weeks so this intercom system is your only connection to anyone besides yourselves.” She pauses to take a breath. “Those are all my instructions. Oh, one last thing. We aren’t perves so there are no cameras in the bathroom, so keep that in mind if you want to get busy. Do you have any questions before I leave?”
Heat creeps up my neck at the pointed way her eyes bounce between us at the mention of getting busy. My eyes dance around the room refusing to look the two other occupants. I thought I was the queen of awkward moments, but Cindy took the cake with that one.
“I’ve got nothing,” Wyatt replies first.
“No. I don’t have any questions either.”
Cindy tucks the clipboard under her arm as a wide smile spread across her face. “Great. In that case I will leave you two to get to know each other. Good luck.”
Silence stretches between Wyatt and I as we watch Cindy exit through the front door of the small cabin we are to share for the next six weeks. Well hopefully shorter than that. My eyes roam around the interior of the small structure.
The rectangular living room we are standing i
n is spacious enough for us to not feel like we are standing on top of each other, but nothing too special. The walls are painted a creamy eggshell color. Along the front wall a large bay window sits a few feet away from the front door.
Two gold framed paintings of gray and gold gooses feathers hang on the wall to the right, as the rooms only decoration. A navy blue love seat sits along the back wall facing the window. Two openings at the ends of the wall on either side of the sofa lead into the kitchen. There is a hallway at the back left of the living room near the second kitchen opening, I assume leads to the bed and bathrooms.
When the door clicks shut hard honey-ocean eyes meet mine. The swarm of bees go crazy in my stomach again, but like on the stage I keep my facial expression neutral. I can’t let him know how much he affects me. There is no room for weakness in this game.
“I guess we should get settled in,” I say, inflecting a steadiness I don’t feel into my voice.
Wyatt only nods in return. After another beat of awkward silence and no action, I grab my small bag of clothes that I dumped near the front door and head down the hall. It’s not a long walk. Wyatt stays on my heels the entire time until we stop in front of two doors on opposite sides of the hall.
I peek over my shoulder as he opens the door to his bedroom. After all I had to check out his digs to compare them to mine. I’m not an envious person or anything, but you know curiosity and the cat and all.
I can barely see into the room. Wyatt only opens the door enough to squeeze into it. From the little I can see it looks as if his room has the same creamy eggshell walls as the living room with little in the way of decorations. A large, probably queen size bed with navy sheets sits in the middle of the room. Not bad. As soon as he is in the room Wyatt kicks the door closed with his foot, effectively blocking me out.
Whatever. I shift my bag to my left hand focusing my attention back on my room and open the door. Disbelief roots me to the spot as the door swings fully open, with a slight bang against the back wall. This must be some kind of mistake. My hand gropes blindly along the wall for the light switch. Light illuminates the room as my hand finds the switch. The same sight I saw when the room was cloaked in darkness is still before me.
“This is a bathroom.”
Looks like the joke is on me today. The show people forgot to mention there is only one bedroom and now Wyatt has it. For now anyway. Turning on my heels I march across the hall to bang on the closed bedroom door.
“May I help you,” Wyatt says through the crack in the door only big enough to allow his head through.
“It appears there is only one bedroom,” I reply.
His eyes dart across the hall to the open bathroom door. “Yes it would appear so.”
More silence stretches between us as he stares back at me with a smug grin plastered on his lips. So this is how he wants to play it.
“Are you going to let me in the room or not.”
“I think not. I never was that great at sharing. Plus you look like you snore.”
“I do not! And don’t be a butt munch. Where am I supposed to sleep?”
“Sounds like a personal problem to me. Then again I might be willing to share if you are willing to share.”
“Of course I am willing to share. Why else would I be asking you to let me in?”
“Not that kind of sharing sweetheart,” he says as his chest vibrates with a chuckle.
Even after that statement it takes my brain a few seconds to fully comprehend his meaning. “Oh! Yeah, um no,” I reply, dragging out the o. “That’s not happening.”
“Why not? We are married after all.”
“Because I don’t know you and for all I know you could be a walking STD.”
My insult doesn’t seem to phase him as he lefts out another chuckle. “I’m not and suit yourself. You can always sleep on the love seat.”
“That thing is tiny. I can’t get comfortable on it. I’m not asking you to leave the room, just to let me in too. Any half way decent human would do it.”
“Sweetie decent is no where to be found in the definition of Wyatt Carter.” He leans in closer and lowers his voice a whispered growl. “Check my body count. This is a game and I want to win. Don’t expect any gentlemanly behavior from me. This snake is a snake and don’t fool yourself into getting bitten.”
He slams the door in my face before the echo of his woods has died in the air. Shivers race through my body as my mind processes his words. All previous attraction and desire I had for him shrivels up like a puddle in the desert. Is he serious about the bodies? Has he really killed before? Part of me doesn’t want to believe it, but the hard edge to his watchful gaze relay the truth in his statement.
Why me? I’m a generally decent human. I volunteer when I can and I’m always nice to old people even though they creep me out. I thought I had a decent storage of good karma. So how did I get paired with the crazy, hot killer dude?
I head back down the hall the inkling of doubt from earlier growing more intense. Maybe I can’t win this. I close my eyes to calm the thundering of my heart and call forth the image of my mothers smiling face. She needs me to win this. I have to at least try. For her. Squaring my shoulders I plop down onto the love seat and stare out the window and remind myself this game is just beginning.
Chapter 4
Kara
Three weeks, four days and eight hours. That’s how long I’ve had to endure this Neanderthal. Why me? I couldn’t have gotten the weaselly hypochondriac dude from two seasons ago? I would have just thrown some dirt on him and told him I put my poop in it and won this thing by day two.
Instead I get the guy that is willing to fight dirty. LITERALLY! The man hasn’t washed the entire time we’ve been on this show. In fact I think he rolled in the dirt on purpose a few times. He smells like a rotting corpse and the farts he holds in until he is standing directly in front of me smell like… Actually, I don’t think a word has been invented to describe the level of stomach curdling stench that are his farts.
He hasn’t cleaned a dish the entire time we’ve been here, let alone an article of clothing, the bathroom, the kitchen, or his bedroom. I once left the garbage in the bin for a week and a half to see if he would leave every aspect of cleaning to me. Sure enough I had to break down and take it out myself or choke on the vomit that rose to the back of my throat every time I passed the smelly thing. From what little knowledge I’ve acquired from almost every magazine on the planet, this is reflective of a real marriage.
Sitting out on the back porch I inhale the fresh early morning air. Reds, oranges, and yellows paint the sky as the sun crests the ridge of the mountains in the distance. The small log cabin the network gave us to live in sits a little ways back on the edge of a cliff giving a breathtaking view of the expanse of woods beneath.
I drug one of the rockers to the back of the wrap around porch on day two of our stay to create the little slice of peace I escape to before dawn every morning. The fact that the male human sleeps late into the morning is a blessing I can’t express my gratitude enough for.
Sketch pad in hand I scan the beautiful scenery before me. Branches of Douglas-fir trees filled with lush green needles stand erect, reaching toward the sky as far as the eye can see. A pristine ice-blue lake rests on the far northern side of the game complex. I’ve thought about going to take a dip in it on several occasions, but wilderness 101 dictates that you never go out alone. And there is no way I am going anywhere with Wyatt that requires potential life-saving team work.
I wave my hand over my case of oil pastels as inspiration takes hold of my imagination. The perfect shade of crimson catches my eye. I pick it up and press it to my sketch pad. Broad strokes in varying degrees of pressure start the formation of an image.
I sit in the peace of the creative moment until the soft creek of the screen door alters me that I am no longer alone. An exasperated sigh from deep within my weary soul escapes my lips. What was he doing up so early? I need this good start to
my day if I am going to make it through without a murder charge.
“Nice morning.” Wyatt’s voice cuts through the early morning silence.
My impatient gaze drifts to the large interloper standing in the open doorway. Wyatt’s annoyingly handsome face has the nerve to look thoughtful with a hint of uncertainty. Faded denim jeans and a blue and black checkered flannel shirt rolled jut above his elbows make up his outfit. That mixed with the full reddish-blonde beard that hasn’t seen a razor since we got here give him a rugged mountain man look. I have to admit, even if begrudgingly, that the man wore the look well. Only the knowledge that those chiseled biceps were cultivated in the gym and not chopping wood breaks the spell of any Paul Bunyan fantasies he might invoke in me.
“Yup.” I say nothing else. I stare at him, lips pursed, eyes narrowed.
He shifts his weight before rubbing his hand up and down the back of his neck. A beat of silence passes between us that I have no intention of breaking. “What are you drawing?”
“What do you want?” I demand.
“Look, you are the only person I can potentially talk to at the moment. The fact that we don’t is driving me crazy. I need human interaction.”
“Sounds like a personal problem to me.”
My scowl deepens, punctuating the point that I have no interest in talking to him. Well, except that I do, but I’ll never let him know that.
Wyatt scrubs his large hands over his face before releasing and exasperated sigh. Stepping fully onto the porch he leans against the rail meeting my pointed gaze. “Look I know you read a lot and all, but that doesn’t take the place of human connection. How about we call a truce for the first hour of the morning and talk to each other. Then we can go back to annoying and hating each other after that.”