Snapshot

by Rebel Farris

  The thoughts had my step quickening, and soon I was leaving Xander behind. He didn’t talk much, and I think that was what I liked most about him. When he said something, it was something that needed to be said. He didn’t waste time on idle chatter.

  When we got back to his house, I walked right in and sat at his kitchen table, tossing my purse on the ground. He paused at the door before following me in. Maybe it was presumptuous of me to think he’d welcome me back into his home for a second night, but I was frustrated and scared. I just wanted to be home more than anything right now. Even if Billy and Joanne were going at it again, it would be more comforting than being stuck out here, waiting for death to come for us.

  He sat in the chair at the end of the table and kicked out the chair next to me to prop his feet in. He leaned back, pinning me with a stare. I looked away, uncomfortable with his scrutiny.

  “I can’t tell you when I will have the truck repaired. I do not know.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “I will give you a ride to your home as soon as I can. You are welcome to stay here. Make yourself a home.”

  I snorted. “It’s make yourself at home.” I smiled to take the sting out of the correction, but it was cute. “Thank you.”

  “Of course,” he replied. “Make yourself at home.”

  We sat there in silence. I didn’t think either of us knew what else to say.

  “I should get to the truck. But please, use whatever you need.”

  “I will,” I said with a nod.

  He got up and left, the screen door clapping loudly to mark his exit. I looked around the room, trying to figure out what I’d do with myself. The funny thing was that I could go days on this earth without talking to people, without watching the news or caring how the rest of the world fared. But being this far removed from everything, and with all that had happened, I was restless for contact. No phone, but he did have a TV. The problem was—it was in his room.

  That would be awkward. I’m sure he didn’t mean make yourself at home and go watch TV in my room. What were the odds that he had cable or even an antenna? I tried to force my mind to something else, but it kept bothering me. I needed some connection to the outside world. Just to make sure it hadn’t ended. Fire and brimstone could be raining down everywhere else and we’d never know. I couldn’t take it anymore.

  I jumped from the chair and walked toward the hall, looking back over my shoulder to make sure he was busy outside. I couldn’t see him, though; I assumed he was. I peeked around the corner, and there was an antenna—rabbit ears—sitting on top of the small TV set.

  His bedroom had a king-sized bed with a slatted headboard and footboard that looked handmade from rough cuts of cedarwood. The cedar smell lingered in the air. It smelled like him. A mismatched wood chest of drawers sat in the corner opposite the lone nightstand. The TV filled a low table opposite the bed. It was neat and tidy. The bed was made, the corners of the quilt tucked in neatly. Two doors flanked one wall, leading to what I assumed was a bathroom and a closet, but I didn’t look. I turned my attention back to the TV.

  I turned the knob, squatting down in front of it. White noise and static filled the screen. I turned the station dial to a local channel number. Dropping to my knees, I reached for the antenna, wiggling each metal stick side to side, trying to catch a signal. Faint faces faded in and out, but nothing solidified.

  It seemed to work better if I moved it closer to the wall. I nudged forward, leaning over the TV. Suddenly, loud, breathy moans filled the air. I leaned back. On the screen, a dick penetrated a pussy. Whoa. It was so loud; I must’ve turned it up, trying to turn it on. I grabbed the volume-power knob and quickly quieted the noise. Porn. Why is there porn on a local channel?

  With the volume down, I could hear a whirring noise. Its source was the VCR on the floor. I must have bumped it with my knee and turned it on. I sat back on my haunches and watched.

  Though my ears were tuned into the sounds outside, I watched with utter fascination. It was a fairly typical porn. Well, I assumed it was. I didn’t have much experience watching them myself, but the people in it were just having sex. After they panned out of the close-up, there were bouncing breasts and open mouths. The leading lady was blonde, and her pubic hair was neatly trimmed.

  My thoughts turned to my own dark hair and ungroomed area. But if he liked blondes, then I was definitely not his type. My dark skin and Latina heritage ensured that.

  My thighs began to ache from clenching, and I felt myself growing wet. I heard the hood of his truck slam down, or maybe it was the door. I really didn’t know. I scrambled to rewind the tape back to the close-up shot and turned it off. I turned the whole thing off and jumped up from the floor, hauling ass out of the room.

  The light was fading outside, and I knew dinner would need to be made soon. Maybe I could find something to cook? Make myself useful to him somehow. Repay his kindness. I rushed into the kitchen and started looking for ingredients.

  It took me a moment to find what I needed, but there was a package that looked like ground beef or sausage in the fridge. Pasta and jars of preserved tomatoes were in the pantry. I could do this. I’d make spaghetti and meatballs. Hopefully, the food prep would take my mind off the porn. And thoughts of him watching the porn. Then maybe he wouldn’t notice the look on my face when he came in. He wouldn’t know that I knew what was in his VCR. Or had very graphic visual images of what he did while watching it. No, I’d forget while making spaghetti and everything would be totally normal. It only took about twenty minutes to make it, so that was plenty of time.

  When I heard the screen door slam shut, my spine straightened. His boots thudded across the linoleum floor, stopping just behind me. I could feel the heat of his body even though he wasn’t touching me. He smelled of cedar, fresh air, and motor oil, almost overpowering the food cooking in front of me.

  “Smells good,” he said in a low tone.

  Tingles travels up my spine, leaving a wake of goose bumps behind.

  I cleared my throat. “It’ll be done in a few minutes. But here, have a taste.”

  I dipped the wooden spoon into the sauce and held it over my open palm. I turned to offer it to him, but he stopped me with a hand on my wrist before it collided with his chest. My eyes met his. An image of him on the end of his bed, watching the video and stroking himself popped into my mind, unbidden. My face started heating up, and I looked away.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Why can’t I stop thinking about this?

  “Delicious.” His voice held a tone that made me think that maybe I wasn’t the only one with not-so-innocent thoughts. Or maybe that’s my imagination? “I will go wash up before it is ready.”

  I nodded and turned back to the stove.

  As he left the room, my legs gave out and I had to catch myself on the counter. It was obvious that the shock was wearing off, and I was attracted to this man I was stuck with for the foreseeable future. And that porn seemed to light a spark in my hormones. This was bad. This was so bad.

  Rebuild

  I pushed the empty plate away from me after the last bite. The food turned out well, but it feels like a lump of stone in my stomach. I’ve spent the entire meal avoiding his eyes. I felt guilty for snooping around in his room. I shouldn’t know what kind of movies he enjoyed watching. And if I would’ve read my book or showered or something, things wouldn’t be as awkward.

  “Have I done something to offend you?” he asked.

  “What?” My voice came out shrill and thready. I cringed. I tried to laugh it off, but it only made it worse.

  His brows rose in response, but he withheld comment.

  He reached across the table and grabbed my empty plate. At the sink, he made a quick job of washing the dishes and placing them in the drying rack. He came back, but he didn’t sit in the chair across from me. He pulled out the chair next to me and sat. I leaned back to counter his closeness. I met his eyes. They were this crazy shade of indigo blue.

  “I have ba
d news for you.” He spoke hesitantly, as if testing the waters of how I’d take it.

  I constructed my face into a neutral mask. All the previous awkwardness was shoved aside by the serious look on his face and the reminder that our situation wasn’t ideal. There was a killer on the loose, and I doubted he’d let us live. He knew we were here. He took my car. He would return. It wasn’t a question of if, but when. I nodded for him to continue.

  “The carburetor on my truck is shot. I will have to dismantle it completely and machine the parts. It might take a few days or weeks. I am sorry. I wasn’t expecting any of this to happen. I have no other way to get you back to your home.”

  I blinked several times to stave off the tears I felt brimming to the surface.

  “Do you have friends or family that will look for you? Did you tell anyone you were coming out here? We can place something by the road to get their attention.”

  I shook my head. “No, I live alone. I didn’t tell anyone. Other than my boss and coworkers, no one will miss me. But they’ll just think I left town or something. They’ve got their own lives to worry about.”

  The tears finally did fall. My life was a sad state of affairs. And I’d gotten myself into a situation where I’d nothing to save me. Nothing but a stranger in the middle of nowhere, who was being way more kind than he had reason to. I pulled my knees up to my chest, resting my heels on the edge of the chair.

  I’d never looked at my self-imposed isolation as a bad thing until that moment. The moment when I’d nothing left.

  He reached out and wiped the tears from under my eyes.

  “I will help you. If you want, we take our chances and hike to the nearest town. It will take a few days to get there, but I will go with you. Or we can stay here. I have enough provisions to get through the winter.”

  My eyes cut to his sharply. “You’d do that?”

  “Yes. I think the chickens will survive without me for a few days.” He laughed.

  I gave a halfhearted laugh to try and match his. “Give me a moment.”

  I had to think it through. Staying there meant that the killer would come back, and we would definitely have to face him. But we would have food and shelter. Even though he never brought it upstairs, I knew he had a shotgun. So, our chances were pretty good.

  Leaving to walk to the nearest town would ensure that I got home faster, but at what cost. I knew the Texas countryside as well as any local. There were coyotes and mountain lions out there, not to mention the rattlesnakes, copperheads, water moccasins, banana spiders… and a killer who could find us at any moment.

  At least here we had some shelter. Some control over how he came after us. We had a better chance at fighting back. Of surviving. I could wait. All that was waiting back home was my need to find a new job. I knew Oscar wouldn’t wait long to look for a replacement. I was supposed to be there, working.

  “I think we should stay,” I said. My voice was quiet and shaky; it didn’t hold the conviction of my decision it needed to have. But I wasn’t quite sure I was making the best decision, just the best decision based on the information I’d at my disposal. “But I want to help you. Whatever you need done around here, I’ll do it. I don’t want to just sit around and eat your food and fret about when he might come back for us.”

  His smile was hesitant at first but grew quickly. All white teeth set in a squared jaw peppered with a five-o’clock shadow. Lips that curved up at the corner in just the right way. I realized that moment was the first time I’d ever seen him smile. Really smile. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. No—beautiful wasn’t the right word, but handsome didn’t cut it.

  I was staring at him again—no, I was gaping at him. I closed my mouth and looked away to hide my embarrassment.

  “I have something for you. Tomorrow,” he said with a nod, like he just decided something. “But you can take care of the chickens for me. Maybe cook and clean. Dinner was delicious. Much better than the eggs I make myself daily. I never have time to make more.”

  “I can do that. I don’t know the first thing about chickens, but it can’t be that hard. Cleaning is in my skill set. Do you need me to do laundry?”

  “We are going to get along just fine.” He smiled again, rising from the chair. “Tomorrow.”

  “Tomorrow,” I repeated, my brows pinching together because I didn’t know why we were saying tomorrow. The sun had only set an hour before. He couldn’t possibly be going to bed…

  “Good night, Rosie.”

  My flesh prickled in response to my name from his lips. I watched him as he turned and left the room. The subtle swagger of his hips distracted me.

  I called out too quietly. “Good night, Xander.”

  His door clicked shut. I looked around trying to decide what to do with myself. A shower. I needed a shower. I turned off the lights and tiptoed to the upstairs bedroom. The clothes he’d given me yesterday still sat at the foot of the bed. I scooped up the T-shirt and prayed he at least had soap in there— shampoo and conditioner might be too hopeful. Pulling the shower curtain back, I stared at the tub below. On second thought, a bath was in order. I needed to relax a bit. I turned the water on and toed off my boots while it heated up. When I sank into the steaming bath, I felt a bit better about my decision. Staying was the right thing to do. I just had to hope he could get his truck fixed, sooner rather than later.

  Sleep

  I’d been sitting in the rocking chair for hours. I tried to lie in the bed and sleep, but every noise, every shadow, had me springing out of the bed to the window. The woods at night seemed to be alive—the restless wind stirring up trees, the distant yips of coyotes and yowls of mountain lions, the glow of the moon and sway of the trees—none of it giving comfort to sleep. It felt more like a medley designed to mask the movements of the killer. A killer that was coming for me.

  Finally, I relented and sat in the rocking chair. Pulling out the Anne Rice book, I attempted to read in the dark. The light wasn’t going to work because then I couldn’t see outside.

  Nothing eased my mind but staring out the window. So I watched over the yard, wondering if I’d ever get a good night’s sleep in this house. Something out in the hallway creaked, and I sat still, listening. After several minutes of silence, I leaned back. It was no use. Blinking weary eyes, I came to terms with the fact that I wouldn’t get any sleep.

  Unless…

  Sleep had come easier the night before when Xander stayed in the room with me. It could’ve been the exhaustion that finally took over, but I was placing bets on him. It was my only hope.

  Frustrated, I grabbed the pillow and quilt off the bed and opened the door. Taking slow, measured steps, I cautiously made my way down the wooden stairs. I paused each time a creak threatened to expose my movements. It was a slow journey until I stood outside his door, debating whether to knock or just sneak in and lie on the floor at the foot of the bed.

  In the end, sneaking won out. Embarrassment toppled the debate. I wasn’t used to needing people. I didn’t need anyone—hadn’t needed anyone since I was a young child. Admitting defeat and my need of a stranger was harder than I thought it would be. I turned the knob and the door creaked quietly. I froze. I waited, but the only sounds from the room were from the low hum of the air conditioner. Even in sleep, he was the definition of quiet.

  I took a deep breath to steel my nerves and shuffled in, silently pushing the door closed behind me. I went to my knees, crawling to the foot of the bed. I spread the quilt out and placed the pillow at one end. Lying down, I covered myself.

  The light from a lamp switched on. I stilled, closing my eyes, as if that would hide me from the shame that he knew I was there.

  “What are you doing?” his voice asked from somewhere above me.

  I cracked one eye open to find him standing near my head. His hair was ruffled and his eyes half-mast, like sleep still rode him. He was shirtless, with only low-slung flannel pants that seemed to cling to the bulging outline of his cock. My pussy
pulsed. I’d never responded that strongly to a man before. It scared me, but it didn’t overpower my need to not be alone. It didn’t abate the need for sleep.

  “I couldn’t sleep.” I sat up on my knees, the blanket falling to the floor behind me. Something shifted in his eyes. “I did last night when you were in the room, so I thought I’d just sneak in and sleep here on the floor. I didn’t mean to bother you. I’ll leave. I’m sorry.” I looked down at my hands resting in my lap, twisting my fingers together.

  “Get in the bed,” he said, causing my brown eyes to meet his dark blue ones. “I will sleep on the floor.”

  “No,” I answered. His eyes shifted again, not physically, but something within them. Indiscernible thoughts. “I’m not gonna run you out of your own bed.”

  I gathered up the blanket and pillow in my arms and stood. He moved as if to grab me, but his hand stopped in midair, and my eyes stuck on it. Neither of us moved for a moment.

  “Please, take the bed.” His voice was a plea, but there was something else that rode the edge of his tone.

  I shook my head. We were at an impasse.

  “Then share my bed. It is big enough for the two of us.”

  My eyes snapped back to his face, tracing the furrow in his brow and questioning his intent. The rhythm of my heart kicked up. I looked to the bed. It was mostly untouched. Still neat and tidy, except for the small area near the lamp and nightstand that was rumpled. The king-size bed was huge. A vast sea of blanket and mattress would separate us. The blanket tumbled out of my hands as I nodded. He laid it over the footboard and watched me as I moved to the other side of the bed, still clutching the pillow. It was only when I bent to pull back the blankets and felt the cool air of the air conditioner kiss the back of my thighs that I remembered I was only wearing the plain white tee he gave me—his shirt.