“No,” Sawyer cuts me off firmly. The word is a complete sentence and leaves the room as cold as the snowy drifts outside.
“Uh, ok. Never mind.” I quickly turn around and turn off my iPhone. Just because I’m not panicking about the battery, doesn’t mean I should let it dwindle down to nothing. I take a deep breath, wondering how I offended Sawyer. I guess I don’t really know anything about him. Maybe he is a murderer after all.
No. I know that’s not true. So, he doesn’t want his picture taken. It doesn’t mean he’s a criminal. Does it?
I head back out and Sawyer is walking back through the door with yet another pot.
“Hey, sorry I snapped at you,” he kicks the door shut behind him, “I shouldn’t have. I just really hate the whole selfie thing.”
I nod, “Sure, whatever, it’s fine.”
“No, it’s not. No one should talk to you like that. Don’t put up with anyone being an asshole to you like that, not even me,” he says the last part quietly. I can hear the regret in his voice.
Why not? That’s how everyone treats me. My foster sister. My fiancé. My own parents. I push down the lump growing in my throat. “What’s in the pot?” I change the subject, “More snow?”
“Nope,” he breaks out into a huge grin.
“What then?” I begin to walk over to look inside.
“Rabbit stew,” he looks proud. “I didn’t want yesterday’s meal going to waste so I turned it into a stew and kept it out in the snow. Just needs to be heated up. I figure you must be hungry enough now to give it a try.”
I don’t want to tell him he’s right. I try to look like I don’t really care. That my stomach isn’t reminding me every five minutes that a few plain crackers aren’t going to cut it.
“I might be persuaded to try it,” I answer.
“Good!” He beams. He looks genuinely happy. I can’t help but smile back. “You’re going to love it. They say the only thing better than a rabbit stew is an aged rabbit stew. It’s going to be great. Besides, you’re going to want a full belly tonight.” He places the pot on the stove and begins to rummage through the hiking bag he brought with him.
“Oh? Why is that?” I lift my eyebrows sky high.
“Because, just a sec here,” his arm disappears deep into the bag, “there it is!” He smiles and pulls out his hand, clasped around an amber bottle of booze. “I found this last night in the back of a cupboard. I planned to squirrel it away and bring it back to my place after all of this was done with.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I guess I feel like celebrating,” he shrugs.
“Oh? What for?” I’m not protesting. I could go for a nice meal and some drinks. I’m curious though.
“Well, it’s not every day I find myself snowed in with an absolutely stunning woman. It feels like the gods are smiling on me. I can’t think of a better reason to celebrate,” he puts the booze on the counter.
I can feel the crimson wash over my cheeks as I blush. “I feel the same way about you,” I whisper.
“Great!” He cracks open the cap of the bottle and pours a little of the whiskey into a couple of cups, then holds his in the air. “To us,” he smiles.
I slide up to the counter and clink my glass against his, “To us,” I agree.
15
Sawyer
It’s hot in here. Between the roaring fire I’ve been feeding logs of wood to all day, the stew cooking on and the warmth of the booze spreading over my body, it’s starting to feel balmy.
I grab the canning pot and dump the hot water in the basin by the fire. “I’m going to grab some more snow,” I slip my boots on and look over at Ashley. She’s leafing through the worn pages of my book. My only book. When I left for the wilderness, I had enough stuff to take with me, bringing a library wasn’t an option. Instead, I brought the one book that meant the most to me. Since then, I’ve picked up tons more on every trip I’ve made into town, but Catcher in the Rye is still the one I go back to.
“Can I help?” She looks up at me from where she’s sitting on the floor. Her knees are propped up and she’s leaning back against the wood wall, the absolute picture of serenity. Since I’ve met her, she’s never looked more relaxed. More at home.
“No, it’s not going to take long. I’ll be right back,” I pull on my parka and my forehead prickles with sweat. I can’t believe how toasty we’ve made this place. If it gets much warmer, we’ll have to strip down. She can always wear her bikini again, that was a good look. Or even better, nothing at all.
I force myself to stop remembering the soft curves of her naked form. To stop thinking about how good her smooth, warm body felt next to mine. I grab my pot and go out into the bitter cold night.
Instantly, I go from overheating to freezing as a swirl of icy pellets sweeps up and whips into my face. I drop my head and step down from the porch, quickly filling my pot to overflowing with packed snow. I work quickly, trying to turtle into my parka to protect myself from the plunging temperature.
Grabbing the full pot, I take the porch stairs two at a time and burst back into the cabin like an explosion just as another burst of icy air helps push me through the door.
“Oh my god, it looks so bad out there!” Ashley stands up and stares at the solid pellets of hail that the wind gusted onto the floor.
“It’s a lot nicer in here,” I agree and dump the snow in the basin. “I’ll be back,” I inform her.
“Don’t go back out there,” she pleads, “we have more than enough water.”
“One more pot,” I don’t wait for her response. It’s not a negotiation. I brave the punishing weather one more time, filling the pot quickly and go back inside. I throw this one on the propane stove and crank it up. My numb skin warms up and I drop my winter gear to the floor and step closer to the fire waiting for my fingers to have feeling again.
“There, no big deal. Now we can enjoy the evening,” I smile.
“It’s so terrible out there, I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t found me.” She peers out the window and shudders. As if just by looking, she can feel the cold creeping over her.
“Well, I’ll put it this way. You wouldn’t be surprising the search and rescue team with your beautiful smile like you will once this passes.”
Ashley’s eyes slide from the window to me. Her full lips twist up and her cheeks flush. “You think I have a beautiful smile?” She looks down at the floor, hiding her bright blue eyes under her long lashes.
Why do girls do this? She knows she’s pretty, why does she need to hear me say it? “Isn’t that what your Instagram cult thinks?” I walk over to the stove and check on the stew, ignoring her attempt to fish for a compliment.
“That’s not really what I’m known for, I don’t think I have any pictures of me smiling, actually. Do I?” She wonders out loud.
“Well, why not?” I plunge the ladle into the pot and pour it into our mismatched bowls.
“I don’t think that’s what most of my followers want. They want to see my ass, mostly,” she shrugs.
Irritation rises up inside me like the tendrils of steam whirling up from our bowls. “Why would you want that? Why do you want a bunch of strangers staring at your body?”
“It’s hard to explain,” she mumbles. “Hey, that smells amazing. I can’t wait to try it,” she changes the subject.
I’m happy to let it go. I don’t want to think of a bunch of faceless internet dicks staring at Ashley’s perfect ass anyway. Not because I’m jealous, well, mostly not. But because she’s so much more than that. I hate that she can’t see that she has to offer.
“You’re gonna love it,” I bring our bowls to the small table on the other side of the counter. It reminds me of the bistro style tables we had set up on the patio in the summers at the restaurant.
My mind flickers over the memories of all the celebrations we had there. Holidays, anniversaries and my favorite was always the birthday parties. From the time I was just l
earning to walk up until the year I had to shut the doors for good, I had every single birthday at the restaurant.
I remember how the loyal patrons grew every year, making my Happy Birthday song fuller and louder. I never wanted anything else. No pin the tail on the donkey or elaborate themed parties. I loved the tradition of my mother making me my favorite manicotti and being surrounded by the love of family.
The memory fades, but the pain never seems to. I look down and realize that I’m clutching the whiskey bottle tight. Ashley is watching me, I can’t even remember what we were talking about.
“I’ll get us some drinks,” I clear my throat. “It’s time to celebrate,” I force a weak smile.
“How old are you?” She sits down at the table.
“Twenty-eight,” I crack open the bottle and pour us each some liquor. “How old are you?” I realize that I have no clue. She looks very young, but from her career and her mention of her failed engagement, I’ve always assumed she had more life experience than her youthful face lets on.
“Twenty-three.”
I pick up my spoon, “Ok, let’s eat!”
Ashley furrows her eyebrows together, but she takes a spoonful of stew and only pauses for a moment before trying it. Her eyes light up and the smile that I’m secretly glad I don’t have to share with the world spreads over her face.
“It’s so good. Wow, I can’t believe you made something so delicious out here,” she doesn’t wait for me to say anything, digging back in with enthusiasm. Pride fills my chest and I watch her take another bite and close her eyes like her senses are overwhelmed.
“I told you that you’d love it,” I smirk.
“Mmmm,” she agrees, her eyes still closed and her head tilted back.
It makes me happy to take care of her. To look out for her. For some reason, I get the feeling she’s not really used to that. “So, tell me about yourself,” I pry, eager to learn more about her.
The smile fades from her plump, pink lips and her spoon hovers mid-air. “There’s nothing to tell, really.”
She’s lying.
“Come on,” I push. “You’re trying to tell me all there is to your life is an ex-fiancé and an Instagram account? I’m not buying it,” I watch as she battles her emotions.
“No,” she barely breathes the word. “Unfortunately, there’s more.”
Normally I don’t pry. Normally, I’d tell someone to fuck off if they were digging into my past like this. However, I can’t shake the insatiable desire I have to know more about her. I want to hear it all. I want to feel like I’ve been with her for every detail of her life. There for the loves, the heartbreaks, the ups and downs. I need to know.
She sighs, “I don’t want to be a downer.”
“Please,” I reach across the table and grab her hand. “You can trust me.”
16
Ashley
I look down at my dwindling bowl of stew and take a deep breath. I want to trust Sawyer, but my past isn’t something I share easily. I haven’t even told Ben much about my life. Yet, when I look in his eyes, I see an earnest concern for me that I never saw in Ben’s. He doesn’t want the salacious details to entertain himself, he wants to know the real me. The one I’ve been trying to hide for longer than I’d like to admit.
“I’m a foster kid, I was put in the system when I was eleven by child services.” I blurt out.
“I’m sorry, that couldn’t have been an easy life for you,” Sawyer answers.
“No, it wasn’t,” I admit. “Most kids are taken when they’re younger and it’s easier to place them because people like cute, little kids. Not a lot of people like taking on a pre-teen girl. They cost more for one, and they usually have a lot of scars. Like sexual abuse and shit like that.”
Sawyer’s face twists like I just stabbed him. “That’s not what happened to me,” I reassure him and he breathes a sigh of relief.
“Anyway, a lot of women don’t want to take on an older girl because they have this messed up idea that you’re going to seduce their husbands. Isn’t that fucked up?”
My mind flashes angrily to the first house I was placed in. How, when she found out her husband liked to drink and make me watch him jerk off after she passed out in a drunken stupor, she acted like I made him do it.
Like it wasn’t some predator taking advantage of a vulnerable kid. Instead, I must have been “Begging him for it.” My cheeks flush with the shame I felt then. Like I was just dirty and unlovable. Like no one could ever want me in their lives unless I could do something for them.
“Did your parents die?” Sawyer intrudes on my dark thoughts.
“No, that probably would’ve been better,” I confess. “I know that sounds terrible,” I blurt the words as his eyebrows cinch together in a frown. “They were meth heads, they made it themselves for some guy who sold it for them. He split the cash with them so they were happy. But then they got into it too, bad. They were high all the time and screwed him over by giving him a bad batch and he was pissed. He told them they owed him his money back or he’d kill them,” the words pour out of me like I’m sitting in a confession box. I’m guessing the booze is helping all this bubble out of my mouth.
“But you said they didn’t die?” Sawyer tries to piece together my story.
“No, they decided to try to sell me to get the cash. Like my parents were my pimp.”
“What the fuck?” Sawyer’s face contorts with rage.
“Yeah, lucky for me they were both fucking idiots,” the memory flashes back over me.
“You look beautiful honey, look at yourself,” Mom nodded at my reflection in the mirror. I smiled at my heavy makeup, feeling like a princess. It was the first time in months that she had been so nice to me. I wanted the moment to drag on forever. For her to do my hair and makeup, like we were a couple of girls at a sleepover. It felt magical.
“Thanks for making me look so beautiful, Mommy. I love you,” I looked at her beaming.
“What?” she looked down at her cheap wristwatch. “Yep, for sure. Love you too honey,” her voice was rushed. “Ok we don’t have much time, baby, there’s a man coming here to take you out.” She explained hurriedly.
“What? Where is he taking me?” Worry twisted in my gut. My biggest fear was coming true. I was being taken away.
“Just on a little drive. Who knows, maybe you’ll get to stay in a hotel room, if you’re lucky,” she fluffed up my hair and I leaned back against her like she was giving me a warm hug.
“What are you doing, sit up straight,” she snapped at me. “Listen, just do what he wants, ok? It won’t be that bad if you just go along with it, you understand?”
I didn’t. But I pretended to. I didn’t want our time together to end. I wanted my mom to talk to me forever.
“Good girl,” she smiled at me and my heart fluttered, desperate for her praise.
Our apartment buzzer rang and Mom ran over to answer it. “That’s him, okay come here, come here!” She demanded.
I stood with her at the door as the strange man came in and examined me. He was tall and scary looking with a scar under his eye and dirty clothes.
“So, she’s fresh? Never been with anyone?” He questioned my mother as I stood wilting under his angry gaze.
“Yep, she’s intact. So, it’s two grand for the night,” Mom negotiated.
“And I can do whatever I want, right? All the stuff I emailed you about?” He glanced over at my father watching TV in the other room, willfully oblivious to the whole scene.
“Yep, that’s right. Whatever you want,” she chirped.
“Great,” he grabbed me by the arm roughly and took me out in the hall as my mother slammed the door behind us.
My feet squeaked in my worn sneakers against the linoleum floor as he guided me down the hallway and around the corner into the arms of a female police officer.
I was too confused to make a sound. “We’ve got them,” the man nodded at her.
“Come here honey, I’ve
got you,” the woman wrapped her arms around me and I buried my face against her.
Suddenly a swarm of police ran up the stairwell and down the hall to my parents’ apartment. There was a lot of screaming and commotion as they hauled my folks out in cuffs and dragged them down the hall.
I cried against the woman holding me, confused and scared that I’d done something terrible. Desperate for her embrace. Desperate for any love I could get.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” I kept crying over and over.
“You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s all over now,” the officer soothed me. But I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was rotten. Unlovable. Why else was all of this happening?
I shake my head and drop my spoon into my bowl with a clang as the tears stream down my face with the memory. “They tried to set it up, but they just put up an ad on Craigslist like a couple of morons,” I sob. “They got busted in a sting operation and arrested for child prostitution and drugs. They’re still locked up,” I choke on my words.
“I’m so sorry,” Sawyer jumps up from his chair and pulls me up into his arms as I cry. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, like I did the day they took my parents away.
“So am I,” I cry.
17
Sawyer
I hold her tight against my chest, angry that she ever had to endure that betrayal by her own parents. By the two people in the world who were supposed to do anything to protect her.
Ashley sniffles as her tears flow. No wonder she’s so obsessed with the approval of strangers. Her parents obviously never cared about her. What kind of fucking monsters would try to sell their own daughter? Anger bubbles through my veins. For a moment, I consider hunting them down and putting a bullet in their brains like you would for any diseased animal. We wouldn’t let a rabid wolf run around the forest, spreading their sickness, but it’s okay when people do it.
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