The Cabin (The Cabin Novellas (Book One))

by Stark, Natalie

  At first I didn’t know how to feel. What was the secret? What had this gentle and caring man been hiding from me? Could it be as mortifying as the secret I’d been keeping from him? Perhaps he shared the same fears as me? Perhaps he had scars like me? No, just emotional scars, we all pick up a few of them along the way, but real scars? Scars which showed you did something bad – that you’d needed to be punished.

  He wouldn’t have scars like that. I couldn’t imagine Nathan doing anything bad in his life to anyone or anything. I couldn’t imagine Nathan ever needing to be punished.

  Griping his hand tightly, I looked into his eyes, and with my heart starting to quicken, I said, “What is it you’ve been keeping from me, Nathan?”

  Looking sheepishly at me, he said, “There never was any red-haired girl with freckles.”

  “Red-headed girl with freckles?” I frowned. Then I remembered the day he had strolled into the café and into my life. This was the last thing I had expected his secret to be. With my heart beginning to settle again, I felt more amused than cross at his sudden confession.

  “Don’t be mad at me,” he said, trying to anticipate my reaction. “I just needed to find a way of speaking to you. I made up that whole thing about the date.”

  “And the glasses?” I said, feeling confused.

  “No, that part was all true. I really did drop my contacts down the plughole in the sink,” he said. “I was so nervous about plucking up the courage to come into the café and speak to you. My hands were shaking like a leaf.”

  “But why me?” I asked, feeling confused, but at the same time flattered. “How did you even know I worked there?”

  “I saw you on the bus one morning,” he started to explain as we walked around the edge of the duck pond on that crisp February morning. The grass was flecked white with frost, the water frozen over and cracked in places. “I had my contacts in that day or I probably wouldn’t have seen you at all. But I did see you and I couldn’t stop thinking about you. So the following day, I caught the bus again. For a whole week I got on that bus and it didn’t even take me in the direction I wanted to go in. I was late for work each day at the store. My boss threatened to sack me on the spot if I were late again. I knew I had to speak to you or forget about you. And I knew I could never have done that.”

  As I listened to Nathan make his confession, I couldn’t help but feel my heart ache. Perhaps I should have felt a bit creeped out knowing he had practically stalked me for an entire week without me even being aware of his presence. And why hadn’t I been aware of it? Because I never would have expected it. Who in their right mind would’ve wanted to follow me? Who would have risked their job by travelling miles out of their way each morning just to look at me? Perhaps he was a pervert after all?

  But in my heart I knew he wasn’t. He was a giant of a man, tall, broad, with shoulders as round as basketballs and hands as wide as shovels, but he was gentle inside, kind and undemanding. That’s what I liked about him. He had a patience which drew me to him. He wasn’t like the men my friends talked about. I had listened to their painfully intimate stories, and secretly shuddered as each of them relished describing in exhaustive detail their sexual encounters. Although my friends told me their secrets, I never told them mine. They would think me a freak if I were to try and somehow explain what I had done and with whom. How could I explain that I trembled at the thought of undressing in front of a man – in front of anyone? I didn’t want anyone to see those scars, because then I would have to explain what I’d done to get them. You only got scars like that if you had been real bad. I had been, and those scars were a constant reminder of not only what I’d done, but the man I had once loved. How could I have told any of my friends about that? Worse still, how could I even begin to explain to Nathan about those scars?

  In the short time I had known Nathan, I had grown to love him, and he loved me. I knew I wasn’t in love with him; I knew the difference. I had felt that kind of love before. I loved the soft hugs Nathan gave me in his huge arms, and the kisses, although I often pulled away when he slipped his tongue into my mouth. That made me feel uncomfortable – as I knew it would lead to more. But Nathan was patient with me, gentle and understanding, and unlike the men my friends raved on about. Nathan, like me, seemed a little hesitant – unsure – about intimacy. I got the feeling he hadn’t had very many experiences with women – if any. I don’t think he feared it like me, and I don’t think Nathan would’ve worried for one moment about being naked in front of me. He just seemed a little bit unsure of himself – like the day he’d come into the café pretending he was meeting another girl, when really he was trying to muster up the courage to ask me to join him for afternoon tea.

  So when I pulled gently away from his kisses, slid from his arms if one of his hands strayed too close to one of my covered breasts, he didn’t seem to mind too much. It was as if he liked being with someone who was as inexperienced as he was. I guess it took a little bit of pressure off him. But I wasn’t inexperienced like he believed. I had already experienced much – and got hurt.

  So, an idea came to me as we walked on that bright, but chilly morning, as Nathan placed his arm around my shoulder and said, “Is it a Catholic thing?”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, glancing up at him.

  “The reason you pull away from me? The real reason why you won’t let me touch you, undress...”

  “Yes,” I cut in. I had been raised a Catholic for as long as I could remember and understanding that Christianity and purity were very important to some – Nathan unwittingly had provided me with an easy and believable excuse. Nathan had bought me some time.

  “I thought as much,” he said. “I spotted the crucifix on the windowsill at your parents’ house and I’ve known since I met you that you go to mass every Sunday.”

  “You make us sound like a bunch of religious maniacs,” I said with a smile as I tugged at the sleeve of his coat. My mother and father and both their parents were devout Catholics. I wasn’t sure if I was anymore, even though I went to church with them each Sunday, but I’d stopped going to confession some years ago.

  “I didn’t mean it like that, but it’s obviously very important to you,” he said, eyeing me.

  “Yes, it is,” I said back, knowing this to be a half lie. I had been schooled at a convent, which had had more than its fair share of ups and downs for me.

  “I might be wrong, as I don’t really have a true understanding of what it is you believe in, but do you have to wait...do you have to wait until...” he struggled for the right words.

  “Until my wedding night?” I finished for him.

  “Yes, if you understand what I’m getting at?” he said, looking away a little embarrassed. “We can’t sleep...make love to each other...unless we’re married.”

  “Is this some kind of a marriage proposal?” I half joked, feeling uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading.

  “No...well...I don’t think it is,” he said, looking at me.

  Leaning close into him and resting the side of my face against the soft suede of his coat, I said, “I don’t want to give myself away until I’m married. Does that bother you?”

  “No,” he said, and just like me, I got the feeling he was somewhat relieved by what I had just said.

  Together we continued to walk through the park, me clinging to his arm in the comfortable knowledge that we never might marry and my lie would therefore never be discovered.

  Three

  We both still lived with our respective parents. This gave little opportunity for either of us to get physically close. If our outer-course – as Nathan had started to call it – did get too uncomfortable for me, I had a perfect get-out-of-jail card. We had been dating for about a year, when one afternoon, just after Christmas, we were snuggled up together on the sofa at my parents’ house. The Christmas tree had yet to be taken down. The twinkling lights lit the room. I had heated some popcorn and opened a bottle of red wine to share while
we watched an old black-and-white movie on the TV. We were alone in the house, my mother and father had gone to visit their elderly parents who were now in nursing homes on the other side of town. The night was drawing in, and by half-past four, it had turned fully dark outside.

  Pulling me alongside him on the sofa, Nathan wrapped one of his strong arms around my shoulder. With his free hand, he slowly started to finger my long blond hair. He coiled a length of it around his fingers like they were a set of curling tongs. Feeling relaxed and slightly heady from the wine, I rested my cheek against his shoulder. Diverting his attention from the TV, Nathan pulled me closer, sinking further down into the wide, soft cushions. Turning his head, he gently brushed my cheek with his lips. Softly, he sucked my earlobe into his mouth and I closed my eyes. Nathan buried his head against my neck and started to cover the soft flesh there with kisses as we settled down to some outer-course. I never really knew if he wasn’t teasing me just a little when he called our kissing and cuddling that.

  Nathan took one of my hands in his. I closed my eyes, settling back onto the sofa as he kissed my neck and face. Then, without any warning at all, he pressed the palm of my hand firmly into his lap. There was a hard lump there and I snatched my hand away. Snapping open my eyes, I looked at him. I knew what he had made me touch. I had felt him hard and stiff once or twice before. During our outer-course, he had rubbed himself against my thigh and I’d felt his penis, long, hard and stiff beneath the fabric of his trousers. There was little temptation for me to set it free, hold it in my hands, or do anything else with it. To do so would lead to more, and I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t let that happen. Not yet.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” I snapped, yanking my hand away from his groin.

  “I’m sorry,” Nathan whispered, a look of disappointment in his eyes.

  It hurt me to see him like that, but I just couldn’t help the way I felt.

  “I thought we agreed...” I started, sitting upright again and straightening my clothes.

  “It wasn’t as if I was going to have sex with you,” he said, sounding ashamed. “I just wanted you to touch me. Is that so bad?”

  No, it wouldn’t have felt so bad to a normal person, but I wasn’t a normal person. Or at least I didn’t feel like one. I hadn’t felt normal for some time now. Not since I had been punished for what I had done. I felt afraid now. I wasn’t scared of touching his penis – nor putting it in my mouth or inside me – I was scared of what it would lead to. What he might see and then what I would have to explain. That’s what I was scared of. He would ask questions and I couldn’t tell him the answers.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered, reaching for him. I didn’t want to lose Nathan, I loved him. I was tired of being alone. I had been alone too long and I needed someone who felt like me – someone who wanted to get close – but not too close for comfort. I was hoping that, like me, he would be happy with little intimacy in his life – enjoying my company and friendship.

  So, reverting back to my trusty excuse – my way of escaping from these situations – I added, “You know I can’t have sex before marriage. You know that’s what I believe in.”

  Nathan climbed from the sofa and knelt before me on the floor. Looking at me, he whispered, “Then marry me, Mia.”

  With my heart starting to race, I looked down at him and said, “Are you being serious?”

  “I’ve never been more serious about anything in my life,” he said, taking my hands in his again. “I love you, Mia, and I want to be with you. I want to share my life with you. I want to share everything with you.”

  To say ‘no’ would have driven Nathan from my life. I knew however patient he was, there was a limit even to his good nature. But if I said ‘yes’, then that day would come when the excuses would have to stop. The day would come when I would have to overcome my anxieties and fears and give myself fully to him. But that day could be a year away or more. Weddings took a long time to plan. There was no way my mother and father would accept a quick registry wedding. They would want the whole nine yards. The church, the white dress, bridesmaids, and everything that came with it. The bigger the better, I thought. The longer it would take to plan and organize. And who knew what would happen in that time. I might overcome my fears. I could feel completely different in twelve months’ time or more.

  So fearing that if I said ‘no’, Nathan would leave me, I looked at him and said, “I would love to marry you.”

  So that’s how I came to be sitting on the edge of the bed in my wedding dress, as Nathan came across the honeymoon suite towards me. It seemed like a lifetime ago that I’d agreed to marry him. Even as I stood at the altar and happily said, “I do,” this very moment had still seemed an eternity away.

  But those hours had slipped by, there were no more minutes or seconds left. Time had run out for me.

  Four

  Nathan sat on the bed beside me. My heart was racing so fast in my chest, I was sure he must be able to hear it. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him as he leant close and kissed me softly on the cheek.

  “I love you, Mia,” he whispered in my ear.

  My skin tingled, not with pleasure, but fear. My stomach felt crunched up, as if gripped by an invisible fist. I could feel myself stiffening. I looked across the room at the closed door. Using every last shred of willpower, I fought the urge to jump up from the bed, race across the room, fling the door wide, and make my escape.

  Nathan kissed me again, but this time he gently placed his hand on my knee. I could feel his fingers squeeze my flesh through the wedding dress. With his other hand, he took hold of my chin, and slowly steered my face towards his.

  “I love you,” he said again.

  “I love you, too,” I whispered, heart racing in my ears.

  Nathan placed his lips over mine and kissed me. Nervously, I kissed him back, closing my eyes tight like a kid taking a spoonful of foul-tasting medicine. And yet Nathan’s lips didn’t taste foul. They tasted of the red wine and champagne he had drunk at the reception party. His skin smelt good, too, of aftershave and a musky, excitable sweat. It would have been easy for me to kiss him back with vigor, to let him pull me down onto the bed and make love to me. Part of me wanted that. To give myself fully to this man who had been so caring, patient, and understanding. Nathan, who had waited so long to make love to me – the woman he loved. Easing my lips apart with the tip of his tongue, Nathan began to explore the inside of my mouth with his. As he kissed me, he slowly lifted the hem of my white flowing dress and ran the tips of his fingers over the white lace of my stockings.

  I could sense his growing excitement as he gently placed his free hand on the nape of my neck and pulled me closer towards him. I kissed him back, feeling for the first time my own sense of growing desire in the pit of my stomach. It was a feeling which began to slowly untangle the knots of anxiety within me. It wasn’t as strong as the feelings I had felt once before for the other man who I had once trusted and loved, but there were feelings. However weak, I could feel them there. Maybe this was the start of my journey towards telling Nathan the truth. But how could I tell him now, on our wedding night? Hadn’t I left it too late? Hadn’t Nathan deserved knowing the truth before – before either of us had said ‘I do’ and made such a sacred union? Wouldn’t he see me as a liar? Would he ever trust me again? If he knew the truth, wouldn’t he lose all respect for me? Just like I’d lost all respect for myself. If it wasn’t for the scars, then I could have kept the past my secret. But that’s why they had marked me – so whoever I loved next would know what I had done.

  Placing one hand on my shoulder, Nathan eased me down onto the bed. Again I could feel him hard against my thigh. Once on my back, Nathan moved his hand further up beneath my wedding dress. I felt his fingers twitch as they moved nervously over the top of my stocking and touched the soft smooth skin which was just inches away from what he really wanted.

  “It feels like I’ve waited a lifetime to be like this with you, Mia
,” he whispered, his fingers moving slowly up the inside of my thigh.

  I felt his fingertips brush over the soft silk of my panties. I shuddered and tensed up. He sensed it.

  “Are you okay?” he breathed.

  I nodded, without opening my eyes.

  “I’m nervous, too,” he confessed, trying to make me feel better. “Just like you, Mia, it’s my first time, and I’m so glad it’s with you.”

  Why did he have to say that? I screamed inside. How could I ever tell him now? But I had to or the guilt would kill me. He didn’t deserve this and he didn’t deserve me. Not only did I have to come clean that I wasn’t a virgin like him, I had to explain those scars. How could I even begin to explain on our wedding night? How could I tell him I didn’t love him as he loved me – that I was looking for just companionship to mask the loneliness I had felt for so long? I would happily spend my life with Nathan enjoying outer-course and friendship if it meant I could keep my scars hidden.

  With the ball of his thumb, Nathan hooked aside my panties and gently ran his forefinger over my clit.

  “I can’t,” I whispered. “I’m sorry Nathan, but I can’t.”

  “What’s wrong?” Nathan breathed, sliding his fingers out from beneath my panties and skirt. He looked down at me lying on my back, his face a mask of confusion and concern.

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, my lower lip beginning to tremble as I fought back the tears. I sat up and moved to the edge of the bed again. Nathan moved beside me, wrapping his arm around my shoulder. I eased away. I didn’t deserve his comfort and concern.

  “I can’t...” I started to sob.

  “It’s okay,” he said, reaching out and brushing a lock of hair from the side of my face. “I understand your nervousness. Maybe if we took it slower...”

  “How much slower?” I said through my tears. “We’ve been at a standstill for the last two years and it’s all been my fault.”

  “Hey, don’t talk like that,” he hushed. “It’s nobody’s fault.”