by Frankie Love
I want to fucking respect myself.
And right now, I don’t.
10
So. It’s been two weeks. Two weeks of me pent up––cooped up––all alone, in my new home. I swear, after that first night together, that first magical, mystical, sensational night where Nick rode my body and I gave him everything that I had to offer, he hasn’t even looked at me.
Literally, he leaves in the morning before I am awake, he comes home at night in the dark, mutters a few words in my direction, then eats the food I have managed to make—which is really fucking hard, I might add.
I definitely should have taken some sort of cooking classes before I came. I’ll wash the dishes in the leaky sink, hoping he’ll toss me a freaking bone. Instead, he stokes the fire and then goes to bed.
That is my life. Happily ever after? What a freaking joke. A magical algorithm that supposedly gave me my perfect match? Hardly. I got a caveman in outer space.
If I thought I had been lonely before, I didn’t have a clue what loneliness meant.
Yesterday I asked him if he could please just take the afternoon off of work so we could go back to the landing site and get the cargo that was also brought here.
There’s some stuff in that container that I could use. There’s fabric and I would like to make some curtains—the morning sky here is brilliant— but it is bright as hell and really messing with my sleep.
Do I know how to sew? Not exactly. But I have seen every episode of Project Runway. If I could get my hands on that fabric and a needle and some thread then I know I could make some sort of curtains for this place. I also know that there’s a bunch of cleaning supplies in that container. Basic ones, but better than what I’ve currently got to work with.
And I’m pretty sure I remember the list of items including Mr. Clean, which is what I would start with. Because it looks as if Nick has lived here for five years and never once washed the floors... I’m not saying it’s disgusting, but, um. It’s disgusting.
And that isn’t just me being a rich bitch. That’s just a base level cleanliness.
I am gaining muscle, though: it’s really hard washing clothes with boiling water. It’s basically pointless, too. Nick works in a mountain made of deep red clay. It’s impossible to get out of his work clothes.
Well, I do know how to get it out because I’ve been starting to do it. But I've got to keep trying. I boil the water, add the powdered detergent, and using the only scrub brush I can find, I pound the clothes against rocks. It entails a lot of sweat. And a lot of tears.
Thankfully, no blood.
I can’t believe I compared the six-month shuttle ride to what it must have been like for the women in the Wild West. I’m ridiculous. The space shuttle was like a fairytale. This is like a nightmare.
A lonely, boring, redundant nightmare.
And my husband is doing his best to ruin any shred of hope.
Like yesterday, when I asked him if we could go back to the landing site for the cargo, you know what Nick did? He grunted in my direction and said maybe.
Maybe?
Maybe you can get an attitude adjustment, Mr. Hugh.
Well, that’s what I thought, I didn’t say it because after fourteen days I almost think I’ve lost my voice. Who would I talk to? There’s no one here. Nothing here except a flock of birds that fly around the cabin—teasing me. Even the birds have friends.
I’m craving human connection. And if Nick wasn’t such an asshole, maybe he would be enough. I want him to be enough.
But he won’t even look at me.
This morning, though, I wake up extra early, determined to get a word in with him. At breakfast, I sit across from him, and ask, “So do you always work seven days a week?”
“Until I find the Candeo, yes. That’s what I’m here for, Nova. I’m not gonna find it if I’m hanging out around this cabin.”
And I know that’s what he’s been doing for last five years. Working day in and day out. He certainly hasn’t been cultivating his piece of property. It looks like he may have spent a few months at some point making a garden. There’s a plot of land past the woods that looks like it was plowed at some point.
But without my cargo, I can’t even plant seeds. And I think it’s the right time to plant. Obviously, I’m not some agricultural genius, but the days have been getting warmer and I think it’s time to get seeds in the ground.
But Nick just leaves me at the table like he does every day. He tells me to stay safe and stay put.
No kiss. No hug. No goodbye. He just leaves the cabin. Stay safe?
I roll my eyes, watching him leave in his rover. I look around the cabin, grateful that the clothes were washed yesterday. I twist my lips trying to decide WTF I should do all day. I paint my nails. Every nail a different shade. I do my hair in complicated knots, pinning it up so it doesn’t look so obvious that I haven’t properly bathed in 2 weeks. There is a shower outside, and it works—thank God Vitaie has clean, healthy water—but there isn’t anything like water pressure, or you know, warm water.
That done, I check on the beans soaking for dinner.
Beans. I’ll add some garlic powder to it. And a packet of dehydrated corn. And some soy protein powder, but that’s it. That’s my life.
Two weeks of this is two weeks enough.
I bang my hands against the metal counter top, frustrated and irritated. I wanted a challenge, sure—but my one hope was that I’d find someone who wanted to be my partner. After letting go of my family— I found myself utterly alone back on Earth.
But I’m just as alone up here.
That said, I’m not a victim, and I can find my own happily ever after—it just might look a hell of a lot different than I expected. First off, I need to get out of this cabin.
My world needs to expand, and if Nick is hellbent on not helping me with that, then fine. I’ll do it myself. After all, I know there are at least 98 other people on Vitaie. It’s time I go find them.
So, I put on my coat, lace up my hiking boots and I walk down the path that I watch Nick leave on every day.
Here’s my plan: I take this path and find out where he works. Maybe I can meet some of his co-workers. Then I can ask who their wives are. They will happily introduce them to me.
And then I can make some friends. Obviously, they will be women I’ve met on the shuttle, and sure, no one on that craft wanted to be my friend except Cassie and Aurora, but maybe their opinion of me will change now that they’ve spent a few weeks up here.
Maybe they are craving connection just as badly as I am.
Honestly, I don’t care who it is, at this point, I just need a girlfriend to talk to.
There are well-worn tire tracks in the path and I follow them for what feels like miles. In all honesty, I’m guessing it’s a 3-mile walk.
And eventually, I see Nick’s rover parked. Just past the vehicle is a white geodesic dome at the base of the mountain.
There are two other rovers here and that puts a bounce in my step. People are here. Possibly people who are nicer than my husband.
When I get to the dome, I pull open the door.
If I thought the cabin was a bachelor pad, this is a whole other level of disgusting. This must be where these men who worked at the mine spend most of their time or at least have spent most of their time over past five years. There is garbage on the tables, grimy chairs coated in red clay, and there are even a few cots.
I’m guessing people take shifts and rest here to avoid traveling all the way back to their cabins. Why would they if it’s just been a bunch of bachelors?
But it’s not just bachelors anymore. Now there are wives involved.
There isn’t anyone here, but I do see a few jugs labeled Moonshine.
I purse my lips at them, wanting some of it myself. I need some liquid courage right now. But I want something else more: a friend.
So, instead of pouring myself a few fingers worth, I walk through the dome, to the door at the other sid
e, and pull it open.
Once inside it’s like I’m stepping into another world. Which is saying something considering I’m already living in another world.
But once I step inside, I find myself in the heart of the mountain
It’s dark and wet and dank. It smells like sulfur and iodine. It’s dark, and I step back out through the door to grab one of the flashlights I saw on a worktable. I turn it on and return to the caves. To the left, I see what looks like a path has been made. I follow it, but it isn’t clear where it leads. The path is incredibly steep, and I try to hold onto the walls to keep steady because the decline is so severe.
But the walls are completely useless in helping me steady myself. It’s a clay wall, and with crumbling pieces of it in my hand, I realize it’s not going to help me.
With the decline increasing, I am forced to my butt, trying to scoot up and reverse my course, but the clay surface is wet and my hands and feet are slippery. The bright orange clay soaks through my jeans as I slide down.
Unable to help myself, I call out for help, trying to brace myself against the ground. The flashlight falls from my hand and tumbles away.
I’m more than a little freaked out. No flashlight means it’s completely dark in here, and I’m grappling tightly against the ground to secure myself, pushing my feet against the floor as if maybe I can climb my way back up, but it’s so damp and wet in here that I’m unable to get anywhere.
In fact, I just seem to be sliding down faster and faster, until I’m sliding into a dark abyss. I scream, terrified, spinning and falling through the clay, it crumbles apart beneath me.
With no idea how deep this goes, or where I am, I scream for my life. I scream for Nick.
Feeling as if I’m falling to my death.
Remembering his words this morning, stay safe, stay put.
Why, oh why didn’t I listen?
I scream for him, hating that he is so cold. Hating that I’m going to die all alone.
I’m yelling at the top of my lungs, calling for the only person I know. Nick. Nick. Nick.
And then I stop calling because I can hardly catch my breath.
Because now I’m not only falling, now I’m free falling. The ground has broken beneath me, and instead of spiraling toward a dead end—the ground beneath me has split open and I fall through a sinkhole.
And there’s no one here to catch me.
11
Matt is on tenterhooks, listening as Jordan explains his adventure last night with his wife. Well, his wife and the ball gag she packed. And the pair of handcuffs.
“Hot damn,” Matt says slapping his knee. “You sure got lucky.”
Jordan shrugs. The three of us are taking a lunch break in the dome outside the mine.
“You got lucky too,” Jordan says to Matt. “I swear to God I heard your woman last night. Moaning for fucking hours. Our houses are too damn close to one another.”
I choke on my protein bar, trying not to stare at these two. Before the shuttle landed, I thought it was the men who were gonna be begging for it day and night—but it turns out the women were pretty damn horny themselves after being cooped up for six months.
Well, that, and there isn’t much else to do out here once it gets dark, besides fuck.
Sex is all the crew talks about, every damn day. Where they had it, how they had it, and when they had it.
And I’m really fucking happy these forty guys working on the mine are playing out their 50 Shades of Gray fantasies, but I’ve about had it.
“Did you hear that one woman, Aurora, got ditched on day one?” Jordan asks.
“What happened?” Matt asks.
“Apparently her husband ran off with another woman—and that woman’s husband.”
“That’s some kinky shit,” Matt says, shaking his head. “What is the ditched girl doing?”
Jordan shrugs. “I guess she’s staying at the old base camp—cleaning it up, keeping herself busy.”
Shit luck, I think, realizing my own luck could be worse. Can’t even imagine how I’d feel if Nova left me for Matt or Jordan.
“Why are you so quiet, Nick?” Matt asks. “You should be the happiest motherfucker out of all of us. God knows you’ve been keeping your woman away from everyone. You scared if you bring her out the other women are gonna get jealous? Or you scared she’s gonna want to have some fun with one of us?” Matt laughs, slapping his knee again like the fool he is.
My blood is boiling, though. I don’t want them to talk about my wife that way. Even though I sure as hell don’t know how to talk to her.
In fact, I don’t know how to deal with her at all. So I just leave her alone. Work at the mine. Avoid everything about her. Mostly because I don’t trust myself around her.
I wake up with her in my bed every morning, my cock rock hard, and all I want to do is pull her on top of me and take her sweet tight pussy again. Or, after a long day of working with these assholes, I’ll come into my cabin and I see her in her tiny yoga pants, her round ass teasing me as she walks around our pitifully tiny place.
I never thought this place was so bad until I started watching this woman, who is so damn perfect in so many ways, making it her place too. Every day there’s some new little woman’s touch. She found wildflowers and shoved them in a plastic bottle and set them on the center of the table. And she’s not satisfied with just boiled beans, no, she adds seasoning, doing her best to make this shitty food we have into a real meal.
And the thing about Nova is that she has never once complained.
I know she wants to go get her cargo, and me lording it over her is a dick ass move, the thing is, the moment we go get that cargo she’ll start unpacking it and start making this into more than a place—she’s set on making this place her home.
And I don’t want that. That’s why I’m working so damn much. To find the fucking Candeo. Once I find some, I’ll convince Farrow to let me go home. Let Nova get back to her life and let me get back to mine. That way I won’t have been the man who sleeps with the enemy. Because right now, I can’t stand myself for taking her as mine when I know deep down I could never live with a woman like her.
I won’t do it again.
And if she gets her cargo, she’ll set up shop more than she already has.
It’s for her own good that I am keeping her away from the other women; keeping her from everything that could make her think that this is going to be her life. Because it’s not. I’m gonna find that Candeo if it’s the last thing I do.
“Damn, Nick,” Jordan says, looking at me. “The permanent scowl makes no sense, you know that, right? Your girl is so fucking hot I just want to squeeze her ass. When I saw her show up, I thought—damn, somebody’s gonna get lucky.”
At that, I can’t take it anymore. I push out of my chair, reach over and grab Jordan’s shirt collar. “You stop talking about my wife that way. Do you understand me?” I growl at him. Dropping his shirt, and I shove his chest back.
Matt whistles low, and I still have a bit of fight in me. We all have way too much pent up energy for our own good. “You have something to say?” I shout at Matt.
Matt raises his hands in defense. “No, sir, chief. I’m just here to do my job.” He says it all serious, putting on a fucking act, and then I see the smile spread across his dumb ass face. “But damn,” Matt laughs. “I’d rather be home doing my wife.”
I shake my head in disgust, stepping away from the guys, so fucking tired of this bullshit. I should have spent the last five years working harder than I did. Working seven days a week still isn’t enough if I haven’t found the Candeo.
I grab myself a bottle of water before heading back to work, and as I do, I swear to God I hear something. “You hear that?” I ask the guys. “That sound like some sort of whining?”
“Nah,” Jordan laughs. “I think the only person whining around here is you. It’s time you lighten the fuck up.”
I shake my head, getting the sound out of my mind. It’s probab
ly nothing, or a bunch of bats caught up in the shaft that we’ve just opened.
Jordan’s words are the ones ringing in my mind as I get back to work. I’ll lighten the fuck up when I find the damn Candeo.
——
Hours later I’m done for the day. The other guys left hours ago, and once again I am the last one standing and the only one empty-handed.
As I get in my rover and drive home, I brace myself the same way I do every day. I tell myself not to give into the things I want. The things my flesh desires.
Craves.
Nova.
Wrapped around my body.
Nova.
Slipping my fingers into her pussy, tasting her sweet cream.
Nova.
Kneeling before me, widening her mouth as she takes my cock.
Fuck, man, I need to get my shit together.
It’s dark when I get home, the pink sky fading gray to black. The moons overhead are crescents and the stars are beginning to shine above me.
When I get out of the rover, I know something is off right away. Mostly because there aren’t any lights on in the cabin. We don’t have a ton of power, but still, we have a lantern on the table, and when I look up to the sky, there isn’t any smoke coming from the chimney.
Doesn’t make a hell of a lot of sense, since unless Nova fell asleep, there’s no way in hell she’d let the place get chilly. She may have surprised me with her ability to rough it, but she has still made every effort to keep this place as cozy as possible.
I step inside and call for her. She’s not here. There are beans soaking in a bowl of water, not even cooked. That alone raises a red flag. Nova spends half the day getting the food ready.
“Nova?” I call out. But there’s nothing. She’s not here. The bed is made, but empty. Her coat isn’t on the hook, her boots not here either. The flashlights are, though, which means she left before it got dark. Where the hell would she go?
I don’t ask the other question—why would she go--because I fucking know that answer.