Caveman

by Andrian, V.

  I take the steps excruciatingly slow and turn towards the sound. It gets louder as I walk – or rather stumble – and I realize it’s the sound of chopping wood. I hesitate for a moment, thinking I’m about to go find someone with wild hair, long beard and wielding an axe but I shake my head and go on. If he wanted to hurt me he would have already done it. Or at least that’s what I hope.

  As the sound of the axe gets louder, I see him. And I can only go so much further before I’m stopped in my tracks. Because my caveman is shirtless. And – oh my God – he is ripped. And his skin is glistening with his sweat as his muscles flex and jump with his movements. And his cargo pants fall low on his hips, hugging his firm ass tightly. Oh my God. Am I drooling? I think I’m drooling.

  I’m completely mesmerized by his body. I watch as he cuts the logs, splitting them easily in half, as if it’s just a simple thing. My stomach tightens and I feel my blood heating up. Oh, fuck me. I’m turned on because, yeah, he is hot. He sticks the axe on the supporting log and lifts a hand up to wipe the sweat from his forehead. It’s now I notice that he has his hair in a loose, low ponytail. He bends down and lifts a canteen with water to his mouth. He tilts his head back as he drinks and I let my eyes slowly rake his body one more time.

  His head swivels towards me and I’m caught staring. He stays still for a moment and then his eyes harden. He drops the canteen and stomps towards me. Oh shit. What did I do? Was I wrong to think he wouldn’t hurt me? He seems furious. And still he looks beyond amazing. My eyes can’t help but notice the trail of dark hair leading down, under the band of his pants. I try taking a step back from him, forgetting my bandaged leg and I trip. I’m falling slowly and I mentally prepare myself for the impact.

  A strong arm shoots out and wraps around my waist. I’m being pulled forward to hit against a rock hard chest. My hands come up to steady myself and land on his pecs. God, the man has pecs! I think I’m still drooling. My body is definitely still reacting to his even though I’m pretty sure the look in his eyes could be described as murderous.

  With a swift movement, he bends his knees and wraps an arm around my legs while moving the other around my back. When he stands back up, I’m being lifted in the air and cradled in his arms. A small squeal escapes my lips and I wrap my arms around his neck to steady myself.

  “What are you doing?” I ask in apprehension. And why am I still turned on? He’s probably taking me back to the cabin to chop me into pieces and cook me up. God, I even find his sweaty body a turn on.

  He doesn’t answer, just lets out a low growl that vibrates his chest and I have to stifle a whimper. That was so hot! And I’m so messed up!

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask again, trying to get my voice to sound firmer. “Who are you? Where are we? Where is the pilot?”

  He still doesn’t answer, just keeps on walking with me in his arms. I search his face for a sign that he can listen but he’s not looking at me. His eyes are fixed straight forward and a muscle is ticking in his jaw. Yep. My previous assessment was correct. He is beyond pissed.

  “Look, I’m sorry, okay? Whatever I did that has made you angry I’m sorry. Just tell me where we are and how I can find the nearest town and I’ll be out of your way.”

  His jaw moves in a grinding movement and I’m pretty sure I just made him even angrier. Great. If he’s not already a psychotic murderer I’m sure I can turn him into one.

  The trees clear a bit and I realize we’re back at the cabin. He pushes the door open with me still in his arms and storms in the room. When he reaches the side of the bed, I expect him to toss me down but it’s not what happens. He lowers me carefully on the mattress until I’m lying on my back and he is hovering over me.

  “Stay,” he growls and – oh shit – I think I just had a mini orgasm. His voice is deep, gravely and rolls over me like warm honey and I have to hold my breath not to pant. What the hell is wrong with me? Oh, and that solves the mystery of whether he can speak or not.

  He moves his body and comes to bend over my leg. His hands pat the makeshift bandage as if he’s making sure it’s in place. Then he whirls around and stomps out of the room, slamming the door behind him and rattling the entire structure. I’m pretty sure I’m wrong but… is it possible he was angry because I got out of bed? Because I could have possibly hurt my foot more?

  I remain laid down, unmoving in fear of him coming back. But I make a realization. I’m not afraid of him in the manner that he could hurt me. I simply don’t like him angry. I don’t know what he would look like not-angry but… Wait. I know what he looks like calm. When I woke up earlier and he touched my face he was calm and comforting. Safe. It must be why I was instinctually certain he wouldn’t hurt me when I saw him coming towards me in the woods.

  I close my eyes and try to calm my racing heart. I need to figure out where I am. How long I’ve been out. Where the pilot is. If people know our plane crashed. If they know I’m alive. And I need to find a way back. I need to get back to looking for Damon. I was so close. What if he is in McCarthy as we speak and I’m stuck here? With my sexy caveman?

  The sound of the fire crackling and the birds chirping is unsurprisingly calming and I’m slowly drawn back to sleep. As I feel my consciousness slipping away, I think I hear the door swinging open, followed by soft footsteps. Maybe I’m imagining the rough fingers grazing my cheek, trailing my jaw and brushing the seam of my lower lip. I think I almost imagine a deep voice muttering “Fuck,” before I completely fall asleep.

  When I wake up, the cabin is quiet like before. The sound of the fire is my only company and the room is darker through my closed eyelids. I think it’s nighttime. I try to shift but I’m cut off by a sharp pain on my leg. I forgot about the splint for a moment. A small sound of protest comes out of my mouth and I prop my elbows on the mattress in an attempt to sit up.

  Rustling of clothes and a hand appearing to press on my lower back have my eyes flying open. I guess I wasn’t alone after all. My caveman’s face is next to mine and he’s helping me sit up. My heart immediately finds a crazy rhythm. Taking a few deep breaths, I manage to sit on my butt and my caveman helps me turn so I can lean against the wall behind me. I look up just in time to catch his eyes watching me and holding mine.

  “Thank you,” I whisper. I’m breathless again and I need to figure this shit out. I think it’s because I haven’t had sex in over eighteen months that I end up panting for a random man.

  He nods and looks away, focusing on my leg again. He checks the bandages and when his finger accidentally brushes my shin, I have to suppress a shudder.

  “Is it broken?” My voice is a little groggy and I clear my throat, feeling my face heating up.

  He keeps his eyes trained on the splint. “No,” he finally says. His voice is just above a whisper too but he doesn’t seem to care. And I definitely don’t. It’s sexy as hell.

  “Thank you,” I say again, searching for his eyes. “I’m Cassandra, by the way. Or Cassie as most people call me. I… I don’t know exactly what happened but I know you helped me, probably saved my life too. I don’t know what to say. Just… thank you.”

  He nods again and I think I see his throat moving as he swallows. Am I making him nervous? If we’re out here all alone, is it possible that he has absolutely no one? And if that’s the case, how long has it been since he last spoke to another person?

  He moves away from me and I have to clench my fists to keep from stopping him. I feel like I need him to be close. He goes over the table and takes something in his hands and turns back to me. It’s a metallic plate and there’s cooked meat in it.

  “Eat,” he says softly and moves to sit in the chair that he has placed in front of the fireplace.

  My stomach recognizes the smell of food and growls loudly. I’m not even embarrassed by that and I try to keep my manners in mind as I devour the meat. I don’t think he has much cooking equipment but it’s delicious. Or I’m that hungry. When I’m finished, I’m surprised and gratefu
l to see him get up and refill my plate. I’m more civilized on my second filling and I try to study him.

  He has his elbows propped on his knees, leaning towards the fire. Unfortunately he’s back to wearing a shirt and his hair is loose, hanging around his face and shielding it. He is holding something small in one hand and a knife in the other and I wonder if he’s carving something. He seems so concentrated in what he’s doing and I want to go beside him and see what it is.

  As soon as I finish eating and I’m deliciously full, I start pushing myself up to clean my plate. I don’t see a sink but maybe there’s something outside I can use to wash it up? I’m not prepared for the sharp pain I feel on my ankle when I try to put some weight on it and I let out a startled yelp of pain. His head snaps around and he’s beside me in a flash.

  “Don’t,” he growls again and – oh, yep! There it is. The dangerous lilt in his voice that had me nearly panting before. Nearly? Did I say nearly? I’m pretty sure I’m panting right now. But I’ll blame it on the pain for argument’s sake.

  He grabs the plate from my hands and whirls around, headed outside. I hear a clanking sound and then he’s coming back inside and closing the door behind him. Did he just throw the plate on the porch?

  “Who are you?” I ask softly. “Where are we? What happened to the pilot?”

  He sighs and leans back on his chair. His fingers come up and slide through his hair as he sighs a second time. “Your plane crashed,” he responds with his deep voice. “The pilot didn’t make it. He was dead when I found you. I managed to get you out along with whatever bag I could grab before the plane was covered in flames.”

  I suck in a sharp breath. “Oh my God. He… he died because of me. Because I was in a hurry to go.”

  “He died because the plane crashed. That’s it. You weren’t the one to cause the crash. Now sleep.”

  “I… I…” I swallow. “I can’t sleep. I think I’ve slept pretty much all day.”

  He huffs in frustration and drops on the floor, pushing the chair further from the fireplace. He lies on the floor on his side, with his back to me. Is he… going to sleep there? Oh, fuck, I’m sitting on the only bed.

  “Please,” I start softly. “Don’t sleep on the floor. I can sit on the chair and you can sleep in your bed. I don’t want to put you out of your way.”

  He doesn’t respond. He’s just lying there on the floor, using his arm bent under his cheek as a pillow. Oh, hell no. I’m not so shocked by my situation that I’m about to let him sleep on the floor while I’ll be lying awake on his bed.

  I push to my feet and stumble towards him. I reach the chair and turn to sit on it. I never make it. Once again, I’m being picked up and deposited on the bed.

  “Stay,” he growls.

  “No,” I retort firmly, trying to ignore the shivers his voice brings me. “I’m not going to sleep. You are. Ergo you take the bed.”

  “I am not asking,” he growls again and – oh my freaking God! – I think I’m getting wet as he leans forward. He’s trying to scare me but all he manages is to turn me on yet again. What the fuck is wrong with me?

  “And I’m not a dog,” I insist stubbornly.

  Is that…? Did his lips just twitch? Fuck the beard for not letting me see that. “You stay on that bed if you want your leg to heal.” His voice now comes out a little calmer.

  “It will heal. Please, take the bed.”

  Our eyes stay connected for a long moment. I have to suppress the urge to lean forward just to get closer to him. Why am I so drawn to him?

  He finally breaks the connection and pulls back, putting more distance between us. “You take the bed or don’t. Do as you please.” And then he just lies back on the floor in front of the fireplace and that’s it. I’m dismissed and I feel like a brat having just been scolded when he is the one acting like one. Why can’t he just take the freaking bed?

  I lie on my side with my back turned to him. It’s not a comfortable position since my hurt leg is on top and it feels rather heavy but now I am feeling like a brat. I’ve just been in a plane crash, barely making it out alive and I’m in a cabin in the middle of some forest in Alaska with a sexy, stubborn, nameless caveman. And I’m pretty sure my obsession on Damon Sawyers just caused the life of another man. How did things get so bad? Why couldn’t I have just kept photographing cheating spouses?

  I curl to my side as much as my splinted leg will let me and let out the silent tears that are begging to fall.

  Chapter Five

  I wake up once again to the silence of the cabin. It took me quite some time to fall asleep last night and I think it’s late morning now. The fire is burning low, which is odd. It was burning strong all day yesterday and I thought my caveman never let it go out.

  I manage to push to my feet and realize in relief that it hurts much less today. In fact, I think the swelling might have subsided so much that the splint and bandages have come a little loose. I sit back down and carefully un-wrap the cloths and remove the splint. My ankle is a little red but I was right. It’s not swollen anymore. When I stand back up, it doesn’t hurt more than it did with the splint on and I decide to leave it like that.

  Outside the day is like the previous one. Bright blue sky above and green trees as far as the eye can see. There is no other sound than the birds singing and the sound of nature in general. No wood chopping or any other indication that my caveman is around. I open my mouth to call out to him but I close it back again. How do I call him? He hasn’t told me his name, even though I’ve asked.

  Finally I open my mouth and call out, “Hello?”

  Nothing. I call out again, louder but get no response. Where is he? I take the steps and follow the route I took yesterday to where he was chopping logs but he’s not here either. His axe is here and, for a moment, I consider taking it to defend myself against a wild animal but then dismiss the idea almost immediately. It’s not like I know how to wield it.

  I walk back to the cabin and search its small space. I remember him saying he saved as many bags as he could from the plane but I don’t see any. I would have liked to find my phone and call for help. But then again, I doubt it would still have any battery left. If it even survived the crash.

  My leg is starting to throb again so I lie down and try to retie the splint. When I’m done I know it’s a pretty lame job but it will have to do for now. Where is my caveman?

  It’s nighttime and my caveman hasn’t come back. Did something happen to him? Did he just leave me? Maybe he decided he didn’t want to help me and left to build another cabin somewhere? And why do I find the idea of not seeing him again worse than being left out here all alone?

  I found some meat in one of the cabinets earlier and some herbs and tried grilling it over the fire, after throwing a few more logs in. Now I’m thinking of where I will find something to eat tomorrow if he doesn’t come back. I don’t know if there are any animals around here but I’d probably get eaten first before finding something to hunt and kill. How would I manage that anyway? With my deadly claws and fangs?

  I’ve searched the area around the cabin several times in hopes he returned and didn’t come in the cabin but I’m too scared of the dark to go out now. I guess I should go to sleep and pray that he’s okay and hasn’t abandoned me.

  I wake up to find I’m still alone. Where is he? Please, don’t let him have been eaten by something.

  I stink. I wonder where he gets his showers. There is no running water as far as I’ve walked and there definitely isn’t a shower stall or a bathtub in the cabin. I’d give anything in that moment for a tub full of hot water and bubble bath. Or even a showerhead attached to a freaking wall. I’m thinking I should look around to find some water and get cleaned up.

  It takes me a while to find the river. It’s not too wide but its current looks strong. Not too deep so I may be able to get in without fearing being carried away. I don’t have anything to dry myself off with so I’m just going to have to run back to the cabin and
hope that the fire will be enough to save me from hypothermia. It’s not too cold around but it’s not hot either and I doubt the water will be warm.

  I take off my clothes, leaving my underwear on because like hell I’m going to get completely naked out here. I walk to the edge of the water and sink my toes inside. Fuck! That’s cold. I lay my entire right foot in the water and hiss in a breath. Fucking freezing. Oh my God, maybe dying of filth is better than diving in that water, right?

  I put my other foot in and have to breathe in quick, gasping breaths to keep from crying out. Another step in and now I feel the cold everywhere, whether the water is touching me or not. As I lift my leg to walk a step further inside, I hear a low growl and too hands clasp around my waist and pull me back. I’m in the air for a moment and then I’m being put back on the ground, out of the water and spun around to meet a set of enraged grayish-green eyes.

  “Are you out of your fucking mind? What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

  My body is shaking with the cold but my face is hot enough to grill bacon. Of all the embarrassing moments. “I was j-just trying to c-clean up,” I stutter while trying to keep my teeth from chattering.

  “Oh, for fuck’s…” he trails off and then I’m in his arms again, cradled against his chest.

  “P-Put me down,” I protest weakly. His warmth feels too good to make it any stronger. “I can walk.”

  “Your ankle is hurt,” he grumbles while speed-walking towards the cabin.

  But I’m naked, I want to say but I don’t. He doesn’t seem to care and he’s determined and stronger than me. I guess I should be glad that he hasn’t abandoned me and not whine about being denied my cold bath.

  It takes me a while to realize he’s not walking us back to the cabin after all. He is actually following some kind of path over rocks and boulders that I think lead further into the forest.

  “Where are you taking me?” I ask in confusion.