Paradise Forbidden

by Natalie E. Wrye

  By the time she bends down by some Clintonia, “the blue-bead lily of the Smoky Mountains” (she calls it), I am convinced. Kat actually knows what she’s talking about. It wasn’t at all done for the sake of appearances.

  I squat into a stance beside her, marveling at her knack for this: her talent. I’d been skeptical about her before. Now, I see my concerns were unfounded. I can’t believe it. Ho-ly shit. Maybe Chris wasn’t so wrong after all…

  I crouch closer to the lily, taking the opportunity to sniff it, but another smell is even more alluring than the beautiful flower. It’s Kat.

  My soap smells differently on her skin: muskier, somehow. I inch closer to her hair, curiosity pulling me deeper into her scent. We’ve used the same lathers, the same shampoo, and yet she is almost surrounded with this distinctive aroma. It’s intoxicating.

  My creep-o-meter has ticked its way into the red, but I can’t help it. I can’t stop myself from examining Kat as she examines the yellow lilies. Her fascination mirrors my own; I am enthralled by this sky-eyed beauty. Who is this girl? I never quite know what to expect from her.

  I push my luck, however. I lean in too far… and Kat notices. She stands up quickly, taking an awkward step backwards. Her eyes are suspicious. She has every right to be… but I am not prepared for the storm clouds that now descend upon my head.

  “What are you doing?” she asks harshly, her voice quivering in its pitch. I grow uncharacteristically sheepish, shaking my head in an attempt to loosen an answer that won’t come out.

  I stand from my position with more conviction than I feel. I truly have nothing to say.

  “I… I really don’t know…” If it’s possible, I’m even more confused than Kat. I’m drawn to her in all of these little physical ways, bewildered by these tiny aesthetic traits that leave me gazing in awe.

  Kat is a work of art that even a blind man could see.

  She places one hand into her front jean pocket, regarding me closely. She uses the other to reposition the sunglasses in her hair back onto her face, hiding her misty-colored irises, making them black and empty.

  Hurricane Kat is back, and I wait for the rain to drop.

  “Let’s not get too chummy, Trevor… ok? It’s nothing personal. I just think we should keep our focus on sticking to the task at hand and not each other. I don’t really care to share a bonding moment, gaping over the same flower.”

  Oh. She thinks I was looking at the flower. Good… I think. Still, part of me is honestly offended. We can share the same space, sleep in the same tent, work together to trek out of the wilderness, but God forbid that we have any sense of intimacy, any semblance of a friendship.

  What’s her deal?

  “Fine,” I reply before I can take it back. “If that’s the way you want it.”

  “It is,” she nods solemnly. And that’s that.

  For the next couple of hours, we travel without a peep. I can see Kat suppressing the urge to speak. Her eyes are taking in everything we pass with wonder, but her lips refuse to yield, pressing into an unnaturally thin line that’s almost painful to see.

  And once again, I am alone.

  The separateness between us is back with a vengeance. I never knew that I could feel so isolated in the presence of another person. At times, it’s like Kat isn’t even here. She checks out mentally, pulling back in a way that leaves me feeling physically abandoned.

  Under these circumstances, it’s one of the most depressing situations to ever be in.

  The sky darkens overhead, when I realize that it’s not yet dusk. I smelled the rain coming from a mile away, but I hoped it would stave off. Too late now. It’s almost here.

  As soon as we reach some levelized land, I drop my bag, grabbing quickly for the tent inside. Kat stops short, irritated. She swivels on me when she sees what I’ve done.

  “You’re stopping?” she asks abrasively. Her tone is annoyed, condescending.

  I point to the sky without looking at her. “The rain is coming. Can’t you feel it? The chill in the air? It’s going to get cold… and wet. Soon.”

  I hear her intake of breath, and I brace for her barrage. But the floodgates never open, and instead she walks over to help me.

  We set up the tent quickly, settling inside. And no sooner do we enter it before the sky opens up with torrential rain showers.

  We huddle next to our bags while the rain swishes downward. I grab the flashlight and illuminate the tent’s corner while we wait.

  But the rain lessens by very little, and soon, the remaining daylight dwindles.

  “Looks like we’ll be here for the night,” I say, breaking the silence. “It’s getting dark, so we might as well cool our heels here.”

  Kat says nothing, and we continue to sit quietly in the tent, hunched over, as we try to bundle against the deepening cold.

  I soon grow tired of this shit.

  “So, are we going to actually have any conversation while we figure out a way to get out of here, or are we going to continue ignoring or sniveling at each other the entire way?”

  Kat’s eyes flicker to my face, shocked – probably at my belligerent pitch.

  “Look,” she replies. “I think it’s best if we keep a mutual distance.”

  “Yeah? Well, I don’t, princess. We’re escaping this hell together, remember? And we never will… if I keep feeling like I want to rip your head off every time you bitch at me.”

  She snaps immediately. “Ok, fine! I get it. And quit calling me ‘princess,’ alright?”

  I raise a finger at the point she’s made. “You’re right. Ice Queen suits you better.”

  She glowers. “You don’t even know me. I’m not usually this bitchy.”

  “Could’ve fooled me,” I counter, staring into her blue eyes.

  “Listen,” she continues, “it’s been a bad fucking month for me, and this is just the icing on top of the pile of shit that I’ve already been handed, alright? I’m irritated, and I’m tired, and I just want to make it to my destination, ok?”

  “So do I. That’s why I need us on the same. fucking. page, Kat. No need to make this more of a shit-show than it already is.”

  I push my bag to the side out of frustration, with the sheer aggravation that I can’t seem to get through to this girl.

  Our eyes cast collectively downward, and we gaze at our own shoes with sudden mock fascination.

  Kat is the first to speak again, and when she does, her voice is uncharacteristically calm.

  “Maybe… maybe you’re right. We do need each other to get out of this. Maybe… we can… finish what we started last night. You know? Getting to know at least a little about each other.” She shrugs. “I mean, we’re stuck here, anyway…” she trails off.

  I look up. I’m skeptical but expectant. “Ok…” I cross my arms. “Where should we start?”

  She exhales. “Well, I’m a writer…” She hesitates.

  I nod slowly, revealing nothing.

  “I was a writer, at least,” she continues. “I got fired for a basic ‘failure to comply,’ and now I’m just… picking up the pieces.” She shrugs. “And you?” She glances eagerly at me now, stealing my breath with her gorgeous pale eyes.

  I clear my throat, not knowing what to do next.

  So, I sprinkle a bunch of half-truths into the air, stirring a mix of lies and fact into a believable spiel. Freelance editor. Possible gig at a start-up company. Interviews forthcoming.

  She believes it.

  She looks at me curiously. “So, where are you headed?” she asks.

  I don’t hesitate. “As far from fucking Tampa as possible.”

  She sniffs softly, running a finger over her adorable nose. She regards me closely before asking. “What are you running away from?”

  I freeze, staring back at her. I decide to bluff. “The fact that you thought to ask that question makes me think that maybe you’re running from something.”

  She stops, lowering her eyes. She tightens the grip on h
er backpack. I guess I made the right call. Now, I’m curious. She is running. But from what?

  She looks back up at me, offering up a slow grin. “Are you a criminal on the run? Drug dealer, perhaps?”

  I scoff. “I wish. That’d be much easier.” I don’t expound… and she doesn’t push me to.

  For the next two hours or so, we actually talk… as in have a conversation… with literal words and everything. I’m shocked. We find ourselves bonding over a love of the written word… and traveling.

  Beyond our conversations about “international drug smuggling,” I am free to tell the truth. I tell her about my sister, Dina, in Chicago. I mention my mother who lives close to her. I glaze over any details about my father, and soon I am asking Kat about her family.

  I find out she’s the middle child of a three-daughter household. Her parents are still together, unlike mine, and she’s from the working class part of Memphis that she refers to as “Blue Collar Hades.”

  She attended Vanderbilt (I went to Dartmouth), and now she’s telling me about her rise to her position at Journey Life, the popular travel magazine under publishing giant, Foxxhole.

  I swallow thickly upon hearing the recount of her life.

  The internships, the coffee runs, the egos. Kat’s been through it all; her ascent to full-time journalist was rocky. Her fall from grace? Even rockier, she says…. but she won’t go into detail.

  I lean closer, genuinely curious. “So, how’s unemployed life treating you?”

  She opens her mouth to speak, then pauses, tilting her head ever so slightly. I can tell she’s reconsidering her mind’s first answer. The hesitation is short, but I must admit that it’s killing me.

  “I don’t really know…” Her tone is melodic, questioning… as if she’s just realized something important. “I thought that it’d be crushing… but somehow it isn’t. It hurts… just like any loss does, but I’m not so sure that leaving this job really is a loss. I think that I thought of it as a loss because I felt that I was supposed to… not because that’s what it really was… you know…?”

  She asks the question without really expecting an answer. I know it’s not meant for me… but for her. She’s mulling over her feelings and thoughts, processing them.

  I’m utterly captivated.

  Several seconds later, when she asks me the same question, I am ready.

  “Rewind back thirty seconds ago,” I say. “And repeat those same words. That’s exactly how I feel.”

  She grins knowingly, nodding her head in shared sympathy. I feel lighter in that moment, more at ease. I slip up.

  “It’s easier to say that to you, a stranger, than it is my dad,” I laugh mirthlessly, nearly forgetting myself and my surroundings. The laugh is clipped: cut short. I didn’t want to talk about him. At all.

  Kat seems to sense the shift. Her brows furrow. “Really? And why is that?” I glance at her face, reading her expression. She’s inquisitive, not nosy, and I can tell it’s from concern.

  I decide to answer. “Well, my dad always said if there wasn’t a way to fuck something up, I would create one. He and I don’t quite see eye-to-eye on what I choose to do with my life.” I try to shrug it off.

  She blinks once at me, not moving a muscle. “Your dad’s an asshole.”

  I stop dead, dumbfounded… before I burst out into instantaneous laughter, inciting a nervous chuckle from Kat’s throat. There goes that no-holds-barred bluntness I’ve come to know.

  “Sorry about that,” she remarks blushingly. “I keep blurting things out without thinking all the time. That’ll change.”

  My grin is wide, amused. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve come to expect it… almost like it.” She hangs her head at my quip, hiding a flush across her face.

  We finally come back down to earth, and I urge her to continue talking about herself.

  I discover that she is a part-time yoga instructor and health food connoisseur (apart from her chocolatey sweet-tooth), and for some strange reason, I am floored. I howl when she tells me. Actual tears spring to my eyes.

  I chuckle loudly. “I thought yoga instructors were supposed to be calm, peaceful… pleasant?”

  She gapes in exaggerated outrage, slapping my arm. “I am! Usually… but then again, our circumstances here aren’t particularly usual. It’s brought out some of my worst sides.” She stops, biting absently on her bottom lip. “I apologize for the unwarranted stuff. Seriously.”

  She reaches into the red knapsack and throws a Twix at me. “You haven’t exactly been a picnic, either,” she retorts.

  My smile wilts by a fraction. She’s right. I haven’t. I’ve been… bearable, but I haven’t exactly been nice. This trek across half of Tennessee (Ok, I exaggerate) isn’t what I had in mind when I came here, and meeting Kat this way has put me on edge…

  “Yeah, about that… Look, I’m sorry for the role I’ve played as well.” I smirk at the response that comes to mind, mimicking her earlier reply. “That’ll change,” I remark with finality. I catch her eye… and now we are staring at each other again.

  But this isn’t like it was on the bus. This isn’t a challenge, anymore. This staring contest is hotter, tenser… carnal.

  I realize I want Kat so damn bad.

  Thunder rumbles suddenly, violently shaking the tent. The flashlight in the corner flickers ominously, and it makes me look away from Kat. I lose the contest this time.

  “We need to think about bedding down,” I say, opening my bag… avoiding Kat’s eye. “We’ve got to conserve the flashlight, anyway, and layer up. The temperature’s dropping like a bitch.”

  Kat stays silent and reaches for her own bag. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch her stealthily pull that blue agenda from her sack. She writes something down on its pages with a black pen and then quickly stuffs them both back in the bag. I refocus.

  I pull the bedroll out, unfurling it along the tent floor. I place it closer to her side.

  “It’s yours… as always,” I declare. She looks up at me, throwing a small grateful smile in my direction.

  She zips the side of the sleeping bag, crawling underneath. She closes it up to her neck, snuggling like a bug in a rug. I watch her as I pull my thermal shirt overhead, rushing to provide extra padding against the cold night’s bite.

  I grab for the flashlight, warning Kat before turning it off. She nods quietly at me, rolling over while I do the same, finally cutting the soft amber glow.

  I lay down, pulling my grey hoodie on at last, but damn, the cold is a bitch. I try to sleep huddled in my corner, but to no avail. I even listen to Kat’s breathing to try to slow my own, but still nothing. Almost two hours pass me by… I think.

  Sleep is a dancing dervish, and I can’t quite seem to catch her. She’s a cruel, cruel tease that whirls away from my chasing subconscious. I toss and turn a few more times. She will escape me again tonight; I just know it.

  And it is so damn cold. I struggle to find comfort. And just when I start to give up the good fight, a soft sound from the dark surprises me. Kat’s hushed voice.

  “Trevor, I know it’s freezing out there. This is your sleeping bag… and there’s enough room for two. Let’s just… share tonight…”

  Kat

  I can’t believe these words are leaving my lips… but they’re tumbling out before I can stop them.

  Trevor can’t sleep, and I think I know why. It’s too flipping chilly out, and I know it’s making it hard on him. I could probably see my breath in the night air… if I could see anything at all.

  I know enough about the outdoors, and at this altitude in the Tennessee Mountains, I can see how it could get wintry, even in spring.

  To be honest, I feel guilty. I’ve hogged the only small luxury that we’ve managed to have on this trip for the second night in a row, and it isn’t even mine to begin with.

  My flimsy justification from last night that Trevor might be a sex offender won’t hold water tonight anyway. If he had wanted to attack me,
he could’ve… and I just don’t believe that he will. Somewhere in the past few hours, I’ve already surmised that Trevor just isn’t that kind of man.

  I don’t think the kind of man that would freeze his balls off just to make sure a strange shrew like me is cozy would then try to sexually assault that comfortable, little shrew.

  I hear Trevor roll over after I voice my suggestion, and I don’t take another breath until he speaks. I’m facing the other way, but he’s looking at me now; I can tell.

  “Ar-are you sure you’re ok with that?” he asks.

  I feign nonchalance. “Yeah, I’m sure. I mean… I’m ok with it if you are.”

  He hesitates. “Normally, I would say no to something like this… but you’re right. It is fucking freezing out here.” He laughs softly as he talks, creating chills that run up and down my arms.

  I hear him scramble from his lying position and then he’s directly behind me. I flatten my body against one side of the sleeping bag, and now he is unzipping the sleeping bag slowly down its side.

  My chest is now heaving heavily with the anticipation, and I would literally give anything to calm myself down right now. I hear him remove his extra layers of clothes and now he is inside of the bag with me: our t-shirts and jeans now the only layer of separation between us.

  The bag is big… but not that big and we now lay completely side-by-side, spooning; the entire line of my body is pressed to the front of his. If I inhale too deeply, the bag will probably burst, but somehow I am extremely comfortable in this position.

  Unfortunately, every bit of discomfort that I feel is centered right between my thighs.

  I can smell the soap on Trevor’s skin. I can feel the hardness of his chest pressed against my back. More importantly, I can feel his growing erection against my ass, and every inch of my skin is now tingling with excitement.

  I never considered that I would turn Trevor on; I could only think about how he made me feel. And now, to know that I am affecting him is bringing me a level of exhilaration that I had forgotten existed.

  His breath is a whisper across my hair. He inhales and exhales steadily; I can feel it through his torso. But his heart… it beats like the drum-roll of a snare-drum: staccato, quick-paced. Just like my own.