“He’ll be done with her soon enough,” Chris said, lingering on the nauseating topic. “Since I’ve known him he’s gone through dozens like her, none meaning more than the last.”
I felt like a piece of my heart had been sliced off, seared, and chewed up. Dozens. I busied myself searching the cabinets.
Chris quickly joined me behind the bar and was selecting various bottles of high-end alcohol. “For morale,” she justified.
Being the busybody mother hen that she was, Chris had found a way to secretly tell Jason about my desperate need to be able to defend myself. He’d thought giving me a gun and showing me how to use it would be enough. He’d been wrong. As a result, several of us were having an impromptu evening training session in the penthouse suite’s living room. With the trendy burgundy, black, and gold furniture shoved up against the walls of windows, there was plenty of room for grappling. I was learning the basics of self-defense—specifically, how to get out of an attacker’s grasp. I was playing my usual role as the victim. And the attacker? Jason, of course.
“Oomph,” I grunted, thrusting my backside into Jason’s unyielding thigh and pulling at the arm he had locked around my shoulders. I am not enjoying this, I told my misbehaving nerve endings.
Jason’s only response was a deep chuckle.
Wedging closer against him, I heaved again and was surprised when his balance shifted. I had been trying to loosen his hold on me, I’d placed the majority of his weight against my back. Ungracefully, we collapsed face-first onto the geometrically-patterned carpet. Jason lay slightly askew atop me, well over six feet of heavy muscle shaking against the back of my body.
“What are you…are you laughing? At me?” I squealed in outrage. I squirmed and wiggled until, at the behest of my pointy elbows, he let up just enough for me to flip over. But he didn’t move off me—he was laughing too hard.
“Get off me you big turd!”
Jason raised himself on thickly corded arms just long enough to meet my eyes. “Big turd? Did you really just call me that?” He collapsed again, pinning me helplessly to the ground, and buried his face in my shoulder.
My heartbeat grew increasingly erratic, my breathing ragged. I should not love this. Giddiness and guilt warred in my chest. I wanted to wrap my legs around him. I needed to get away.
“I’m glad you’re finding me so amusing,” I breathed. I’d been aiming for a more authoritative tone, but with his hard body flush against mine, a whisper was the best I could do. “That’s what I’m here for. Ha ha…that Dani, such a hoot!” With the last word, I gave one huge, wiggly thrust in the hopes of creating enough room to scoot out from beneath him.
Jason’s convulsive laughter vanished, and I wondered if I’d hit a tender man-part. As far as I knew that resulted in more of a moaning, groaning, pretending-to-die display. But, I figured it was possible.
Practically jumping off me, Jason called, “Johnson!” Seconds later, Chris was standing next to him and staring down at me.
“Did you see?” I asked her as I stood. “Is this even worth it? I mean, I don’t want to waste anyone’s time.”
“Ha!” Chris barked, “Who wouldn’t crumble under this beast?” She rolled her eyes in Jason’s direction. “Nah, just blame him, hon. You’re so small…it was pretty much a given you’d end up on the floor.”
“Anyway, Johnson…I want you to help train her since you’re slightly smaller than me.” Jason sounded dead serious, but the corner of his mouth threatened to quirk up in a smile.
“Slightly smaller! You’re such a dick.” With a huge grin at me, Chris said, “When I’m done with you, hon, you’ll be able to take him down any time you want.”
“Yeah!” I boasted, poking Jason’s firm abs through his t-shirt and bouncing from foot to foot. “I’m gonna take you down…eventually.”
Wearing a cocky smirk, Jason watched me with glittering eyes. “We’ll see, Red. We’ll see…”
Some of the others watched the exchange, grinning and chuckling. Cece, sitting in the far corner, wasn’t one of them.
Date: December 17, 9:00 AM
From: Danielle O’Connor
To: Zoe Cartwright
Subject: RIP Sammy
Zo,
So much for writing to you yesterday…we searched and worked and trained for so long in our Portland “home” that I fell asleep before my allotted time at the computer.
Dammit! I feel so helpless being so far away from you! I’m really sorry about Sammy. I hope Dave recovers. Did you have all the first aid supplies and whatnot you needed? Did you have to stitch him up? I suppose you could always pour booze over his wounds, but that might sting a bit.
I know this’ll seem like small potatoes to you right now, but I forgot to tell you that Joey found some of his people. Back in Longview, I mean. They were holed up in one of the last houses he checked. He decided to stay with them. I’m happy for him…and it gives me hope for what awaits us in Bodega Bay.
Today I’m not searching Portland with the rest of the group. Instead, I’m on watch and food duty with Thomas (“It’s Thomas, not Tom!”). Thomas takes himself very seriously. He’s not awesome enough to be a Tom anyway, not like your dad. From what I can tell, he’s the same rank as Jason, and it rankles him a bit that your brother has assumed leadership of our group. I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m not out searching with Jason, my supposed partner…I’m getting to it.
Portland is Cece’s stop. Holy effing cow, she drives me insane. She’s 19 and barely out of basic training. She’s a horrid, sloppy flirt with every guy, especially your brother. And they all pay her a lot of attention. Oh, and she hates me.
Anyway, we have an odd number now, so there has to be a three-person group. Cece finagled her way into one that includes Jason. The thing is, he was going to stay here at the hotel, but the slut bag whined about how much safer she’d feel with him nearby. I’m sure his stupid puffed-up ego wouldn’t let him refuse. And worse, I feel less safe without him nearby. Crap! I’m just as bad as Cece! Ugh!
Okay, I should get to my unavoidably disastrous food duties. Thomas keeps throwing scornful glances my way. These people are crazy if they think I’ll be able to make them something appetizing. Or even edible. Hopefully Thomas knows what he’s doing…
Stay safe and warm, Zo. Sorry about the snow. My thoughts are with you, Dave, and Sarah.
Ciao,
Dani
12
ZOE
I stared out into the blackness beyond the windowpane. The storm hadn’t let up; the wind whipped through the trees, making them moan and creak. I shivered as a chill crept up my spine. What are we going to do now?
I wondered how long we’d have to stay in the cabin and if Dave’s legs would heal properly. I wanted to get to Colorado, but I knew Dave was in no shape to discuss plans for leaving. He’d been drunk since the incident with Sammy and the mountain lion, fading in and out of consciousness and waking only for another drink before passing out again.
Sarah had been lost in her own world of sadness since Sammy died in her arms. We’d wrapped him in a blanket—it had seemed like the right thing to do—before laying his lifeless body outside on the icy porch.
“Zoe,” Dave interrupted my morose thoughts. He cleared his throat, his voice hoarse from lack of use. “You’re cold.” I could feel his eyes on me.
I looked back at him just as he brought his trusty friend, Mr. Jose Cuervo, up to his lips and took a gulp.
“I’m fine,” I lied, walking over to his bed and removing a blanket to wrap around my shivering body. “Why don’t I get you something else to put in your stomach? Sarah made potato soup.”
Dave looked away and set the bottle down on the nightstand. “I’m not hungry,” he said thickly.
He needs a distraction. “Jose might be your friend tonight, but he’ll be your enemy tomorrow,” I warned with a grin, rearranging his comforter around him.
“He’s worth it.” A tiny smirk pulled at the corners
of his mouth.
Relieved at his Dave-like response, I smiled back, and before I realized what I was doing, I ran my fingers through his short brown curls. At least he’s okay. “I think this is the first time I’ve seen you without a ball cap all week.”
In the dim lamplight, I saw a spark of something illuminate his eyes. He struggled to move his injured legs, making room for me in the bed. His eyes fixed on me as he patted the mattress beside him. “You’re cold and tired. I don’t care what you say. Come on.”
Conceding that his words were true, I smiled sheepishly and climbed in bed beside him. This has bad news written all over it.
I couldn’t bring myself to deny him in his current state, and I didn’t really want to. My body craved warmth, erasing any concern I had that we would find ourselves in a compromising situation. Taking a deep breath, I let myself relax on the soft mattress. I hadn’t realized how exhausted I was until my head sank further into the pillow.
Before I knew what was happening, I felt Dave’s arousal zap through me like an electric jolt. Ignoring the fatigue and pain shooting through his lower body, he shifted and was suddenly on top of me. His hands grasped my arms with a surprising desperation. His lips were urgent and rough on mine, his breath smelled antiseptic and sour, and his skin was clammy from drunkenness.
Without warning, my mind was invaded by thoughts and feelings that weren’t my own. A succession of images flickered in my mind. It took only a moment to realize they were memories of me. But, they weren’t my memories.
My silhouette standing in front of the cabin window just moments before. My breasts accentuated by my slight waist.
My dark hair cascading over my blue-green eyes. Me looking up at him.
My naked body in his bed. My black hair trailing behind me on white sheets.
My body undulating beneath his. His fingers lingering on the tattoo on my right hip.
Dave’s grip on me tightened, and his tongue explored my mouth as if he’d never tasted it before—sampling and probing. It wasn’t sensual or intimate like it had once been, but instead it was desperate and hungry.
My body quivering as his lips trailed down my stomach.
The memories were suffocating. Dave’s urgency frightened me, and the images of myself were too much to bear. His desire confused my own feelings of discomfort and unease.
I panicked and struggled to push him off me. “I need air,” I gasped.
“God, I want you, Zo.” His voice was guttural, and I could feel how badly he yearned for me. He knotted his hands in my hair. Tugging too hard, he jerked my head back and caused my body to arch into his. Misinterpreting my reaction, his hands hurried to the waistband of my sweats.
“Dave, stop it. I can’t breathe!” Pushing with all my might, I tried to shove his body off me.
He stilled, hovering. His shaking arms straddled my torso while our chests heaved in unison.
I attempted to catch my breath as I peered up at him, unsure what to say as my mind replayed the images I’d seen. They looped like a broken record. I put my hand over my eyes and licked my stinging lips. My heart pounded like a drum, reverberating through my entire being. What the hell was that?
Knowing I’d somehow witnessed his private thoughts, I tried to overlook the mortification and disgust that stewed inside me. But I couldn’t ignore how dirty and objectified I felt. Uneasiness settled inside me, like vines were tangling in my stomach.
Dave’s eyes narrowed and then widened as he registered the revulsion on my face. Rolling onto his back, he looked up at the ceiling. He was embarrassed. I could feel him simmering in it, thick and sticky like his breath. “Sorry, I thought you still had feelings for me or something crazy like that,” he said bitterly.
“Dave, it’s just that I—” I can read your mind! “It’s complicated,” I muttered. Running my hands through my hair, I hoped to pull the tension away from the sudden headache pounding in my skull.
“I get it,” he grumbled, reaching to grab the booze from the nightstand. I could tell his ego was as wounded as his legs.
“I just wasn’t expecting that, okay?” I heard my voice rise slightly as I tried to control my impatience. “I’m not well.” I’d surprised myself with the admission, but Dave sulked and ignored me while he took another swig.
“I should get some rest,” he said between drinks. “You should probably go check on Sarah or something.” And just like that, Dave was gone. He’d completely shut me out.
Trying not to lash out at him, I reminded myself that he was brokenhearted by the loss of his best friend, was in a lot of physical pain, was sexually frustrated, and was drunk. I took a deep breath to gather my few remaining bits of patience.
“Go away, Zoe,” he ordered.
At his words, all my sympathy instantly vanished. “Fine, asshole!” With a rush of anger, I threw the covers off me, grabbed my blanket, and stalked out of the room. I made sure to slam the door behind me. So much for not lashing out…
Date: December 18, 2:00 AM
From: Zoe Cartwright
To: Danielle O’Connor
Subject: Dave’s an asshole and I’m losing my mind
Hey D,
I know it’s late (or early), but I can’t sleep. Too much shit’s happened in the last 24 hours, and it’s polluting my mind. With Dave’s injuries and the whole situation with Sammy, I haven’t gotten any sleep. But oh wait, there’s more...
Tonight was really unnerving. I’m not even sure how to describe it. You know how I’ve been having those strange sensations? Well, I know this will sound really crazy, but it just got worse. I thought maybe I was losing my mind, but now I know I am. Either way, it’s screwing everything up.
Dave came on to me—like full on tongue-down-my-throat, rocking-hip action—and it didn’t turn out well. He was drunk, which didn’t help, but I also saw these jumbled images of myself flash in my mind. In some, I was lying naked in bed beneath him. Why were they in my mind? I feel like he’s messing with my head on purpose, like he’s trying to make me feel crazy. But he can barely think straight, let alone do something that vindictive.
I know this sounds impossible (trust me), but I think they were his memories of us, from when we were together. I felt completely overwhelmed and violated, so I pushed him away. Needless to say, his ego is totally wounded. He won’t even talk to me.
Just thinking about seeing myself that way makes me sick to my stomach. I feel objectified. I want to rip him a new one and tell him to stop thinking about me like that. But what do I say, “I saw your memories and I don’t appreciate them, so stop it”? I knew Dave still had feelings for me…I’ve been sensing them since he showed up at my door last week, but I guess it’s just shocking to actually see how real his feelings are.
Now, he’s being such an asshole that I’m not sure what to do. Keeping my distance is probably the best thing, but I feel like I need to fix this. I also need his truck, and for that, I need him. I know it’s selfish of me, but my main concern is getting to Colorado. I feel like I should tell him why I pushed him away, but I don’t want him to have another reason to shut me out. He’s in such a bad space. I’m not sure what his reaction would be if I told him I could feel what he’s feeling and see what he’s remembering. This is way outside of my shit-I-can-handle comfort zone.
Thanks for the update on your travels. It sounds like that Cece girl is more of a super skank than I thought. Sorry you have to deal with her. Hopefully Jason will get tired of her soon. He generally has low tolerance for stupid people.
I’m surprised and a little upset with Jason’s strategic planning during your trip. He’s taking his sweet-ass time getting to Bodega Bay. Why isn’t he making Dad a priority? Did he give you a good reason? If it were me, I would’ve been there already. I understand he wants to help everyone find their families, but why can’t he break people off into teams?
Anyway, I should probably go. It’s really late, and I need to decide what I’m going to do about Dave. Try not
to kill anyone with your cooking (kidding). I worry about you. I hope you’re doing okay. You’d let me know if you weren’t, right?
Hasta,
Zoe
The sun barely shone in the gray sky. The air was bitter cold and burned my lungs as I stood unmoving under the frozen trees. The storm clouds lingered, but the snow had ceased falling, and the wind had died down earlier in the morning. I was grateful for the reprieve.
It was the first time the snow had stopped since we’d arrived at the cabin. I took the opportunity to escape Dave and the close quarters I’d been trapped within.
In the stillness of the day, the snow crunched beneath my feet as I made my way around the back of the house and toward the barn. I’d noticed the structure when we arrived a few days earlier.
I spotted an old shed next to the barn and approached it. Its metal door barely hung on its crooked hinges. With glove-padded fingers, I pulled the creaking door open, exposing the shed’s inhabitants; a leaf blower, a rake, and a hedge trimmer looked lonely hanging on the rusted metal wall. Something bright and red, situated in the corner beside a lawn mower, caught my attention: a gas can.
I picked up the can, listening as its liquid contents sloshed around inside. It was half-full of the precious fluid we so desperately relied upon. A triumphant smile spread across my face—a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.
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