Come Back to Me_A Brother's Best Friend Romance

by Vivien Vale

  His huge stature takes up the length of the door frame and slung over his shoulders is a bleeding deer carcass.

  He looks like the picture of a barbarian, a hot barbarian at that. He looks like he's been out in nature and that he's conquered something.

  I can only hope.

  I look at him now in a new light. Knowing that he's ex-military makes me feel and a newfound sense of compassion for him. I know there's a backstory to Jack.

  I step out of the shadows of the hallway so that he can see me, fully exposed, nude.

  I stand before him in all of my innocence and vulnerability. He's bigger than I am and more powerful too. But it's how he uses that power that will determine the nature of Jack's character.

  His eyes are alight with hungry ambition when he sees me. I know by the look and expression on his face that he's lusting for me. I feel the same way about him but a part of me feels fear and I tremble being in his presence.

  Jack is everything I've ever wanted in a man and yet he has secrets, secrets which I need to uncover. He's so big and all brawn that it makes me weak at the knees. I want him to have me.

  I want us to be together. But, our lives are so different that sometimes I wonder how that ever be.

  All I can do is hope.

  “I’ve missed you,” I say.

  The look on his face when I say it isn’t the one that I wanted to see.

  Jack

  This deer escaped me once and he's not gonna fucking do it again.

  I chase him down the mountain with my bow and arrow in hand.

  I never let my prey get away. The deer might be running now but he's not gonna make it out of this alive. I always win.

  This ideology also pertains to life and to women.

  What happened with Avery this morning is circling around in my mind. I can't forget what I almost did to her. And I can't forget the great desire that I have for this one woman, this woman who’s entered my life so randomly.

  Part of me hopes that when I get back, she’s gone. I can tell she was having nightmares last night, and for some reason, I’m completely sure they were all about me. She’s safer away from me and she must know it. Part of me hopes she’ll take off and I can go back to being fucking alone like I deserve.

  The other part of me knows that she’d better fucking be there when I get back. It’s snowing too fucking hard out here right now for someone so small and delicate and under-dressed to be traipsing around in this madness.

  And if she is gone…I’ll just have to track her down and haul her back to my cabin all over again.

  She's the only light in my life that I've seen in such a long time. Feels like she's come to me for a reason.

  But I can’t fucking think about that now.

  Don’t think.

  Just do.

  The deer is jumping and bounding over all manner of boulders and rocks, bushes and brush, but he's no match for me. I'll outrun him, I'll outsmart him, and then he'll be dead.

  The idea of this offers some form of relief. Having his dead body in my grasp does something to remove the pain. I need to kill, to hunt, to be alone in order to tackle my inner demons.

  And a fresh deer for dinner means that I don’t need to stop fussing about rations. I might not have enough ingredients to cook Avery all the pancakes her sweet little heart desires, but the least I can do is bring back some fresh meat to cook up.

  There aren’t many predators left on this mountain. That damned luxury hunting lodge has driven most of the wildlife off.

  Right now, as far as I know, I’m the only predator out here.

  And this big, muscular 12-point buck is my prey.

  I could never thrive around people as I do out here in the woods.

  I know this forest like the back of my hand. I've spent countless hours hunting and fishing all around the land.

  Nature has a way of bridging that gap between pleasure and pain. Being out here brings me a peace that defies all understanding.

  The deer's running one way but I run the other, determined to cut him off at the bypass. He'll never see me coming.

  I run down the mountain and the feeling of running makes my muscles burn. It's a welcome reprieve from reality. Exercise always takes me out of the torturous thoughts that go through my head, thoughts of my past.

  I round the corner to find the deer bolting towards me only he doesn't know it. I raise up my bow and arrow and with one shot, I have the animal flung off his path, stumbling to the ground.

  I've done it again. I've taken out my prey and it feels good.

  What part of me needs to kill in order to calm down? I don't even want to ask myself because I don't want to know the answer.

  The military has left me unhinged and not in a good way.

  Yes, I've been running from my pain and I'm perfectly aware of it. The thing is that it was working…until Avery entered my life.

  She made me see what I've been missing. She made me see that I need other people in my life, namely her.

  Buck even likes her. Sometimes, Buck doesn’t even like me.

  While I like the solitude and I could live out here all alone forever, at this point I'm starting to rethink things. If being alone means never having a woman like that to come home to, then maybe I don't know what I'm doing after all.

  I go to the deer and see he's still shaking, still alive.

  It should have been a clean shot, but it looks like he turned his leg on a rock at the last second. His black eyes stare up at me, full of fear.

  In those eyes, I see myself reflected back at me.

  I take out my knife and plunge it into his neck, ensuring death will arrive soon. I don't want the animal to suffer.

  I pull my arrow out of his side and wipe the blood off on my pants. I've killed him and with that comes a certain sense of being alive.

  I’ll use ever part of him. The hide will become something soft and nice—maybe a pair of pretty little boots for Avery’s tiny, delicate feet. His entrails will become bait. And I’ll whittle the antlers into something useful—forks or knives, or a little miniature of the buck himself.

  I feel at last as though I'm living in the moment, instead of in the past. It takes hunting to feel that way but it always works.

  I can go home now with a clear head.

  I swing the dead carcass over my shoulders and prepare for the long walk home.

  The air is frigid and gray. It'll snow soon.

  It's a good thing I got this done before the storm sets in. By the look of the sky, I can tell it’s going to be a big flurry.

  Living out here has made me especially adept at sensing weather patterns. When your survival depends on it, it becomes easy to sense a storm.

  The animal's blood is running all over my body and I don't even care what a savage it makes me look like. What the wildernesses have done to me is inescapable.

  I've become the antithesis of the modern man. I've devolved back into primitive times when the forest is all that there was. It's me and the land, me versus nature. And that's how I like it.

  At the same time, knowing this about myself, I also know that Avery shouldn't fucking be here with me. I'm a terrible fucking person inside and out. I can't be trusted around her. She could get hurt.

  And that's the last thing I want to do. I've never seen someone so sweet and innocent as her.

  As much as I want to claim her as my own and to keep her under my wing for the rest of our lives, I know that I don't always have control over myself, as demonstrated by this morning’s bullshit.

  I realize that killing the deer is an emotional metaphor for the way I kill the pain in my life. Once it rises up, I have to destroy it immediately.

  I'm not willing to face these things head on. I'm running from something for sure.

  I walk the many miles up the mountain back to the cabin. The exercise does me good and it clears my head.

  I finally get to the place that I now call home and I shake the mud off my boots before op
ening the door. I stand there with the deer slung over my shoulders only to see Avery peek her head out from the hallway. She stands naked before me and the sight cripples the newfound strength that I've just found.

  She's the most gorgeous thing I've ever seen. Her eyes widen at the state of me. I take a second to comprehend what she must be viewing.

  Me, covered in blood, with the deer slung over my shoulders. I'm not exactly refined at this moment.

  I look at her and the weight of what happened this morning hangs between us. I almost hurt her, though she could never know that.

  I want to confess. Come clean. Tell her how I almost wrung the life out of her pretty little neck while my big, hard cock pressed up against her over the blanket. That way, she’d know what a monster I am, and she’d know to stay away.

  At the same time, that electricity, that desire, that fucking lust is coursing between us. It's a connection neither of us can deny. It's been there since the first moment I laid eyes on her.

  The wind is starting to pick up outside and it's becoming very cold. The storm is brewing. I'm glad Avery's stashed away here in the cabin. She's warm and safe at least.

  But to her, I must look like a monster. I feel like one. Especially seeing her there, naked and tempting, waiting for me.

  I can’t fucking handle that shit.

  Girl needs to put some fucking clothes on and stay the fuck away.

  I look at her like she’s done something wrong, but in reality, it’s me. I’m the bad guy here. Can’t even look at a woman’s nude form without wanting to pin her down and make her feel my fucking lust.

  So I turn around and take the deer out back to my slaughterhouse. Actually, it's more of a room, a little wooden shack at the back of the cabin I made especially for blood and guts such as this.

  I didn't say anything to her because I didn't know what to say. I have no idea where her mind and emotions are at.

  All I know is that I can’t even be in the same building as her right now. The wanting is too much, and after this morning, I don’t fucking trust myself to do what’s right.

  I just left her standing naked in the living room. There is so much unspoken between us.

  I've probably scared her to death. While I'm supposed to be a safe fucking harbor for her, I have instead threatened her very existence.

  I'm surprised she's still here. Happy, but surprised. I just want to go back in there, drag her into my bed, and fuck her properly.

  But I force myself to resist.

  For now.

  Avery

  Before all this—before the failed wedding, the car crash, and the brooding, enigmatic mountain main I shared a bed with last night—I used to imagine how the first man to see me naked would look at me.

  I dreamed of adoration. Love. Maybe a little vainly, I dreamed of his jaw hitting the floor of his penthouse and crashing through the ceilings of the apartments below.

  I was sillier then. More naive. I was a dumb little girl who agreed to marry a billionaire I barely knew, just because my parents reassured me that it would look good for the family, and looking good was all I’d ever cared about.

  I could never have dreamed of the weapons contracts and shady dealings going on right beneath my nose.

  And I certainly never imagined that the man who I gave myself to would be anyone other than my husband…or that he would look at me with such complete disgust.

  Jack hates me now. When he looks at my naked body and walks right back out the door, I know.

  I’m still a virgin in the technical sense. No one has fucked me. I haven’t made love.

  But now, it’s only in the technical sense—in the same way that my friends who used their mouths on their boyfriends and employed God’s Little Loophole were so-called virgins.

  Before our little romp in the bathtub, Jack was sweet to me. Maybe a little naively, I thought we shared something beautiful and magical together.

  Now, I know the truth. It’s exactly like my mother warned me, really.

  He gave me my first orgasm (and my second…and my third…) and little ol’ me? I gave him exactly what he wanted.

  Men can only love purity, and now that I’m not pure anymore, Jack can barely even look at me.

  Clothes. I need clothes.

  But there’s the first problem: right now, clothes are a luxury that I don’t exactly have.

  Last night, my body felt divine. Holy, even.

  It felt like something beautiful had blossomed between my legs and had stayed there. A little garden inside me, just begging to be sowed further.

  But now, it feels like that little garden has withered, died, and rotted completely. No wonder Jack doesn’t want to look at me. I don’t even want to look at myself.

  So. Clothes.

  I race upstairs, fighting back tears. But I was never much of a fighter, and the tears come anyway. My sinuses burn. One hot, salty pearl after another boils up over my thick lower eyelashes. They stream all the way down my cheeks.

  Stupid fucking crybaby. I have no reason to feel so sorry for myself.

  I was warned. Mommy told me what men were like, and I didn’t listen. I acted like a slut, and now I’m paying the price.

  Buck trots along beside me, whimpering and nosing at my knee. I know he can tell that I’m upset. But for once, this is a problem that petting a cute, shaggy dog isn’t going to fix.

  I tear through Jack’s wardrobe, finding the smallest things I can. They still dwarf me with ease, but they’ll have to do.

  A navy t-shirt with a pocket that brushes softly over my nipples when I put it on. It only serves to remind me of Jack’s gorgeous, terrible touch.

  Pants, camouflage. I have to roll up the cuffs until they hang around my ankles like fat sausages. I take the waist in with one of Jack’s massive leather belts and tuck the t-shirt beneath it once I’ve pulled it tight. It reminds me of Jack’s big, warm hands encircling my waist.

  A flannel. I tie it at the waist over the belt.

  It smells like Jack, which I both love and resent. But it’s not like it matters—Jack’s clothes are the only option I have.

  Socks made of thick gray wool. I put on a couple pairs, which helps stuff the pair of Jack’s boots I find at the bottom of his closet. It still doesn’t help much. Even when they’re laced completely, they’re way too big.

  Jack’s feet are just as big as every other part of him, and my own feet have always been fashionably dainty and small. I clomp around in the boots noisily as I search for a coat.

  I find one in the downstairs closet, along with a furry Jack-sized ear-flap hat. Jack’s gloves make my hands look like they belong to a tiny porcelain doll. A thick wool scarf wrapped all the way around my neck several times tops off the look.

  I get a glimpse of myself in the sooty mirror next to the door and find myself laughing through my tears. I look like a little girl playing dress-up in Daddy’s clothing. But my father only owns neutral-colored suits and high-end sportswear. Occasional, he’ll put on a hokey Hawaiian shirt for when he needs his constituents to laugh at him a little.

  Jack doesn’t dress like the men I’ve known in my life.

  Jack dresses for practicality. Warmth. Comfort.

  There’s nothing in his wardrobe that’s self-conscious or concerned with how others might view him.

  Jack may be wild, but his style is simple. Just like his overgrown beard.

  I clomp into the kitchen and locate supplies. A thermos full of water. If it can keep the heat in, surely it can keep the cold out.

  A loaf of bread—when I raise it to my nose, it has the sour, yeasty smell of sourdough, though I know that Jack didn’t get it in any artisan bakery. He probably made it himself.

  A bag of dark red jerky that I know must be deer. The buck he just hauled back will likely meet the same fate.

  I stuff all my provisions in the only bag that I can find: a rough potato sack that I have to shake the last few spuds out of. I didn’t even know they still sold t
hings like this…but what do I know? I’m just a vapid, innocent idiot who’s never even been shopping at a supermarket for herself.

  No wonder I was taken advantage of so easily. Jack looks like he’s lived off the land self-sufficiently for the better part of his life. By comparison, I’ve barely lived.

  I might be ruined. I might be a slut for liking the things Jack did to me last night.

  But I’m done being too innocent to function.

  My new life? It starts now.

  I just have to face the blizzard first.

  I catch a final glimpse of Jack out the kitchen window before I leave. He’s out behind the cabin, shirtless as the snow flurries around him, chopping wood.

  Steam rises up off his hot, chiseled biceps as snowflakes fall and melt on his skin. Every time he brings the ax down to split another log, that sacred garden between my legs twitches again with life.

  I stamp it out before it can trick me into making such a stupid mistake again.

  Out the door, I grab one final thing on a whim: a Leica camera, the old kind, with a big, glistening flash bulb attached. I don’t know why I do it. I’ve only taken what I’ve needed from Jack’s cabin so far, and it’s never been like me to steal.

  Stealing is bad, after all. If Jack’s hot, slick tongue slipping between the lips of my pussy weighs heavy on my conscience, imagine how stealing must feel.

  Maybe I want to be able to capture the exciting moments of my new life, wherever it takes me.

  Maybe I just want something of Jack’s. Something solid and useless to remember him by.

  Or maybe, I’m just a dumb little rich girl turned kleptomaniac now that I don’t have anything to call my own anymore.

  It doesn’t matter. Not really.

  I’m leaving. Leaving Jack, leaving this cabin, and leaving my old life behind for good.

  As I begin to trudge out through the thigh-deep snow while the wind whistles around me, I can finally feel good about one thing.

  Jack is safe now.

  From Adam, from my family, and from whatever ill might befall me for learning what I’ve learned about them. For trying to run.