Love Without a Compass

by Lindy Zart

  He lets out an audible whoosh of air when I lean back. Ben’s hands are fisted in his lap, and I wonder why. To halt the need to push me away, or pull me closer?

  I meet his eyes, my nerve endings jumping in response. “There’s more water in the backpack, right?”

  “Yes.” Ben doesn’t make any effort to get up.

  “Okay.” I wait.

  He stares.

  “You want to get the backpack and look?” I ask, my mood presently set to snarky.

  “Of course I want to do that for you, Avery. I live to serve you.” Ben vaults to his feet and stomps toward the backpack.

  “Glad you finally realize that,” I call after him.

  I get up with less exuberance, knowing I’ll be covered in bruises by tomorrow, and look at one of countless mountains looming above. I have to tip back my head to see all of them, and there still are parts missing from view. Monstrous mounds of rock, dirt, and grass seamlessly meet with the sky and clouds. I can’t believe Ben fell down something like that and came out with nothing more than a scratch and a sprained ankle. Well…and no glasses.

  Ben tosses the backpack at me.

  I catch it and kneel on the rough ground to dig around inside the bag. “There’s hardly anything in here.” I look at him accusingly. “Did you eat and drink everything we brought?”

  His brows furrow. “I didn’t touch anything.”

  I hold the backpack upside down and two bottles of water and the package of trail mix fall out. “Is that what there was to start?”

  A black expression takes over his features. “No. It wasn’t. Are you sure you didn’t have anything? We need to make what we have last.”

  The accusatory tone makes my jaw clench. “I would remember eating disgusting nuts and even more disgusting dried fruit.”

  “That’s not enough food and water to last us even until tomorrow.”

  What annoys me the most is that Ben says it in a tone that implies this is my fault.

  Ben yanks the bag from my hands and inspects it, the look on his face obliterating any light the day may have. “There’s a fucking hole in the bag.”

  He heaves the bag to the side and clasps his head in his hands, going to his hunches. I watch Ben’s frozen form, not sure what’s happening. His shoulders begin to shake, a choking sound leaving him. Ben sets his palms to the ground and leans forward, his forehead almost touching the grass. I stare at the man, stunned to see him reduced to tears.

  “Um…Ben? Are you okay?” I awkwardly pat his shoulder. I didn’t realize Ben was so sensitive. I guess anyone who gets squeamish at the sight of blood would tend to be. “It’ll be okay. There, there, don’t cry.”

  Ben drops to his back, his eyes closed, his face contorted in some kind of mad humor. He’s laughing? How is this funny?

  “There’s a fucking hole in the bag,” Ben chortles. “Everything—everything we had fell out. The compass, the map, most of the food…gone!” He laughs until he’s gasping for air.

  “Wait.” I step closer, looking down at his sprawled form. “So when you accused me of losing the compass and map, they probably really were in the backpack?”

  “Does it matter?” he cries. “It’s gone. It’s all gone.”

  “It does matter,” I shout back, trying really hard not to kick him. “You blamed me for us getting lost when it was probably really the stupid bag’s fault!”

  Ben laughs harder. “You’re right. Let’s blame everything on the bag.”

  His laughter sends my anger spiraling into a blazing inferno. “Maybe if you weren’t blind, you would have noticed the hole in the bag!”

  Ben jumps to his feet and puts his face directly in front of mine, his eyes as hot as my fury. “Maybe if you hadn’t thrown me down a mountain, I wouldn’t be blind!”

  “I didn’t throw you down a damn mountain! But if there was one handy, I might,” I scream back at him.

  The air crackles. We stare at each other, desire and rage at war within us. We’re either going to kiss or kill one another. His eyes turn to slits, and just as suddenly, his forehead smooths and he steps back.

  “Do it,” he says evenly, quietly. “End my misery.”

  I look into despondent eyes, my ire snuffed out like a match. I swallow hard. “You don’t mean that.”

  “You’re right. I don’t. I’d much rather walk around for days without food and water and hope to be impaled or eaten by some mountain cat, or, I don’t know, lost forever with you.” Stone-faced, Ben turns and continues walking, leaving me and our meager food behind.

  “Where are you going?” I call after him.

  “I’m going to find poisonous berries and then I’m going to eat them!”

  I retrieve what’s left of the food and water and hurry after him. “At least wait for me so I can watch!”

  Ben halts, his back straight.

  I eye him warily as I wait for a reaction.

  He carefully turns to face me. Expressionless, Ben stares at the ground for half a dozen seconds before the oddest thing happens. Half of his mouth curves as he lifts his dark head.

  As soon as our eyes meet, he bursts out laughing. It makes me laugh, and pretty soon, we’re both laughing. It could be delirious-sounding, but that’s okay.

  “What do you want, Avery?”

  I jerk at the sound of Ben’s voice, lost in the lull between wakefulness and slumber. We decided to rest when the thought of more walking had us both rooted to the ground. I am so tired of walking. “What?”

  Like Ben doesn’t have a care in the world, he lies on his back, hands behind his head, face upturned to the sky. I guess if you can’t beat a situation, you might as well find a way to make it bearable.

  He turns to his side, his chin resting on his hand, and studies me with careful eyes. Looking at me as if maybe he doesn’t hate me. Probably all part of his vendetta against me. Be nice, confuse the subject, attack.

  It’s like, okay, I get it, you hate me. Let’s move on. Even though I can’t seem to move on from him—our inescapable close proximity might have something to do with that. Who am I kidding? Even if we weren’t together, I’d be mooning over him somehow, probably while watching sappy love movies on the Hallmark Channel and drinking hot chocolate.

  “If you could pick one thing to have, what would it be?” Ben says.

  I want to be happy, I say inside my head. It isn’t that I’m unhappy. I’m…misplaced.

  “I want to be home.” It’s not a lie. I want that very much. But to me, home isn’t a place. It’s a feeling. And I think that’s why I’m homesick, so lost and confused. I feel like an orphan. Where is my home? Where is my family? Where do I belong?

  “Yeah, I want that too,” he says with a nod. Ben returns to his back, face toward the sky. “But you know what I really want?”

  “To get washed up?” I get to my feet and move toward the layered rock wall to the left of us with a tiny waterfall gliding down its face. It’s to the point where dirt has become a part of me.

  Ben kneels beside me, cupping water in his hands and smoothing it around his face. He shakes his head in answer to my question. “Nope.”

  Our elbows touch as he shifts. It’s sad how much I savor that miniscule amount of contact. It makes me annoyed with myself, but not enough to move away. “To sleep in your own bed? Shower? Have whole pieces of clothing to wear?”

  “Well, yeah, those are all a given, but I’d even take a steak over any of that. If someone appeared right now with a nice, fat, juicy steak and gave me the option of eating it, or being able to have all that other stuff, I’d pick the steak, no questions asked, and continue to take my chances in the wilderness.”

  “Steak is good,” I agree, almost drooling at the thought.

  The sun lazily dips behind clouds. My lips are chapped and my skin itches from the sun more than the bug bites I’ve accumulated. I imagine I look like a scaly lobster right about now—a bumpy, scaly lobster, to be exact.

  “But?” Ben turns his
head to the side at the same time I do. His eyelashes curl up, pretty enough to be on a girl.

  “But what really sounds good right now is Malt-O-Meal,” I confess, looking to the side and back.

  “Malt-O-Meal?” he repeats suspiciously.

  I sit back on my heels, my ankles protesting until I shift to my butt. My throat feels thick as I explain, “My mom made me Malt-O-Meal just about every morning when I was a kid. Not because she didn’t want to or couldn’t make anything else, but because that’s what I wanted, every day. I especially looked forward to finding lumps in it. The lumps were the best. I miss Malt-O-Meal.”

  It isn’t the only thing I miss.

  Ben frowns, his body held still. “You sound sad.”

  “I’m not sad,” I deny immediately. “I’m…reflective.”

  He doesn’t look as if he believes me. “Where is your mom now?”

  “Why do you care?” I toss back, no longer enjoying the conversation. I know I brought it up, but now I want to forget I did.

  His face goes blank and Ben stands, stiffly replying, “I don’t.”

  “Good. Let’s keep it that way.” I clamber to my feet and brush off my backside. Why, I don’t know. My clothes are ruined, a little more dirt isn’t going to matter.

  Ben retrieves the backpack and settles it over his shoulders. I watch the muscles in his arms flex as he moves. His face is scratched and he favors his hurt leg as he stands. Scruff lines his jaw. His dark hair is usually combed in an orderly fashion, but nature has had its way with it. Ben’s always so put-together at the office. The image of unkempt masculinity he now portrays makes my heart beat faster.

  I ask a question I’ve been wondering since the leech incident occurred. “How did you know how to get the leeches off?”

  “Stand by Me,” he mutters.

  “Why?”

  “What?”

  “Why do I need to stand by you?”

  Ben shoots me an exasperated look. “It’s a movie.”

  “Oh. I’m going to find berries,” I announce, randomly picking a direction to pursue. I need something to do, and for some reason, looking for berries seems like a great idea.

  “There’s trail mix left.”

  I shake my head, the thought of eating any food actually making me feel ill right now. “I don’t want any.”

  Ben studies me. “You’ve barely eaten anything.”

  “I’m not hungry.” When he just looks at me, thinking whatever it is he’s thinking, I sigh and begin walking. Again.

  “Do you know what kind of berries are edible?”

  I jump at the unexpected nearness of his voice, shooting him a glance as I head into a heavily wooded area thick with shrubbery. “No. I figure I’ll try one and if I don’t die within the hour, I’ll try some more.”

  “That sounds like a solid plan.”

  11

  BEN

  It is late afternoon when Avery collapses to her knees. I hear it before I see it, jerking around as she hits the ground. Her head is bowed, and she sways side to side, her hands flat to the grass, shoulders hunched.

  Fuck.

  I stride for her. She needs food, but more than that, she needs water. My tone is harsh when I speak, but only because seeing her like this sends worry crashing along my spine. “Get up.”

  Avery shakes her head, her golden hair swishing around her shoulders. She has yet to lift her head. “I can’t. I’m thirsty, and hungry, and so, so tired. I just want to rest a minute.”

  “Not here, not now,” I state firmly.

  It’s almost dusk. We need to decide what we’re doing for the night, and we need to make sure we’re safe. We’re out in the open, completely unprotected from anything that may decide it wants to eat us. What concerns me even more than the thought of a feral animal attacking us is the thought of an unpredictable human wandering about looking for whoever is trespassing on their land, because I know, with absolute surety, that we are no longer in Shawnee National Forest. I have a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach; it’s telling me we’re on someone’s private land.

  “Please.” Avery finally raises her eyes to me and the look in them about does me in.

  “Get up,” I repeat, my voice like steel.

  A sob is wrenched from her. It’s full of despondency. My anger shoots to the surface at the pitiful sound. This isn’t like Avery. She doesn’t give up, and if she’s ridiculous enough to think she has that option right now, I’ll make sure she realizes she doesn’t.

  “Ben, I can’t…” She wordlessly shakes her head.

  I grab her under the armpits and haul her to her feet, holding her to me when she stumbles. We stand like this for seconds that seem to last lifetimes, her heartbeat thundering against my ribcage. Damn, she feels good in my arms. I absently smooth down her tangled locks, briefly pressing my cheek to her head before I harden my jaw, harden myself to Avery’s forlornness, and do what needs to be done.

  “You don’t have a choice in this, Avery.”

  “Just leave me here. I’ll be fine. Besides, I know you’ll be glad to have some peace and quiet,” Avery pants, the joke as weak as her shaking form.

  Fury pulses in time with the twitch under my eye. She did not just say that.

  “What are you doing?” she cries when I move us toward the nearest body of water.

  “Making sure I am guaranteed not a single ounce of peace or quiet.” I drag her to the water’s edge and force her to the ground. The water is shallow and clear enough to see the pebbles littering the base, and to me, that means it’s clean enough to drink. We emptied the last water bottle hours ago. This is all we’ve got.

  “Ben, no! Stop!” Avery fights me, but her efforts are lacking.

  “You need to drink something.”

  “I will not drink that water! I will not let parasites swim around inside my mouth again! I will not swallow them!”

  Under less dire circumstances, I might smile at that declaration.

  I grapple with Avery, eventually getting her to her back and locked between my legs. I squeeze, not enough to hurt her, but to keep her still, and to let her know she can’t escape. Sweat covers her face and collarbone, and Avery gasps for air, staring up at the sky. I study her, intrinsically aware of her breasts and legs. She’s beautiful, and sexy, and sweeter than I realized.

  “You don’t have a choice in this,” I repeat, my tone hard. I look down, getting a little lost in the golden depths of her eyes when she finally brings them to mine. “You’re drinking the water.”

  Tears fill her eyes, making them shimmer. “I don’t want to be sick.”

  “You’ll be sick if you don’t drink something,” I tell her gently. A muscle jumps in my jaw as I sweep my eyes over her sun-abused skin. There are shadows beneath her eyes. Her lips look dry and swollen. She’s taken a beating from nature, that’s for sure.

  Even so, she’s strong enough to get through this. I know that. She has to believe it too.

  I hold her gaze and give it to her straight. “It’s almost nighttime, Avery, and no one’s come for us. We need to drink, and eat, and find shelter. You know the routine. We have to do what’s necessary to survive. All right?”

  Avery sniffles.

  “You can do this.”

  A transformation takes place as my words sink in. Avery’s eyes harden, and her spine straightens. Taking a rattling breath, she blinks away the tears and puts a hand to my legs, pushing until I release her. Avery goes to her hands and knees, looking down at the water. I watch her warily, posed to tackle her should she run. Motionless, quiet, Avery considers the drinking source.

  “The water won’t get any cleaner by staring at it,” I let her know in my driest tone.

  “I knew I wouldn’t look good, but…I look horrible,” she says in a shocked hush, staring at her reflection.

  “That’s not possible.” The words come without thought, a simply stated fact.

  Avery swings large eyes to me and I shift my attention to the wat
er. I kneel beside Avery. “On the count of three, we both drink.”

  A faint smile flutters across her lips and disappears.

  “Ready?”

  “Sure.” Avery’s confirmation doesn’t sound the least bit sure.

  “One…two…three.”

  I cup my hands and bring them to the water, capturing the clear liquid between them. I quickly bring it to my mouth and swallow. It’s cool and tastes like minerals. Avery shudders as she does the same.

  “Not bad?” I ask after I’ve had my fill. The water doesn’t help the gnawing hunger clawing at my guts, but it’s refreshing.

  She scrunches up her nose. “As long as I don’t think of the fish poop I’m probably drinking along with the river water.”

  I laugh. “I’m sure there are worse things in there than fish poop.”

  Avery scowls. “Thanks. That’s what I wanted to hear.” She takes a couple more drinks. Shifting back, she gives me a curious look. “Do fish poop?”

  Unable to hold back a smile, I tell her, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure they do. This is a lake, by the way, not a river.”

  She stands as I do, her attention on the water. “How can you tell?”

  I gesture to the hills and mountains surrounding us. “Lakes generally have land on all sides, and they’re still more than moving. Plus, they’re cleaner.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I read a lot,” I say with a shrug.

  Avery eyes me doubtfully. “But we’ve seen multiple waterfalls. I didn’t know lakes could have waterfalls.”

  “None of them were big ones.”

  Her daintily arched eyebrows lower. “They seemed big.”

  “It’s all about perception.”

  Avery looks at me and quotes, “‘Everyone’s perception is their reality; let yours be epic.’.”

  I am speechless for about a minute. I had no idea Avery even knew that saying. “I wrote that.”

  “I know. It’s the slogan used for ‘Epic Computers’. It was one of Sanders and Sisters’ biggest deals.”

  Pride pulses through my chest. That was my biggest sale with the company. The feeling of accomplishment fades as soon as it appears, and my jaw hardens. It was the biggest deal Sanders and Sisters had in a long time, until Avery made an even bigger one with a makeup company last month. ‘Beauty is more than skin deep. Show the world what you’re made of.’ That was the pitch that caught Elliot Accessories’ attention and made them ours.