by Ashley Love
Ariel's fingers twitch a little in his hand, and he looks down, loosening his hold just slightly so see if they move again. They don't, and Zane sighs.
"Come on, you have to wake up," he pleads quietly. "You got a sister who needs you. And...I know we don't really know each other that well, but personally, I think the world would suck without you in it."
No movement.
Zane waits for a moment, and then sighs, dropping his chin to the edge of the bath, holding onto Ariel's hand tightly. And he sits there and waits. He's not sure what he's waiting for. Probably a miracle.
33
I'm dreaming of this old Finnish tradition I heard of once, where people sit in the heat of a scalding sauna until it becomes uncomfortable, and then they instantly go and jump in the snow. It shocks their bodies, and then they just do it all over again.
I've never been to Finland, don't know any Finnish people, but I'm dreaming of that sauna. Because I'm so warm. I feel like I just climbed out of a snow bank and walked right back into that sauna.
And my mind is thawing out. It almost hurts. But I'm not dreaming about pencils and merry-go-rounds and waterfalls anymore. The delirium is fading.
Of all the things to notice first, I become aware of my hands. They're both wonderfully, painfully warm, but one of them is caught in something, like a velvet grip. My hand is caught in something. I just lay there, wherever I am, wondering about it for a while. I'm not sure if I'm dreaming or awake, alive or dead.
Am I dead? Is this death? This sudden warmth after an eternity of cold? Maybe my hand feels like it's caught because I'm slowly dying, and this is what death feels like— compression. It's starting in my hand, and soon my whole body is going to feel like it's caught in something, and eventually I won't be able to move. Not that I can move now anyway.
I miss the deer. I can't feel that hot, wet, sandpaper tongue on my face anymore, can't feel the burn of the deer licking the blood and dirt away. Towards the end there, it felt like the deer was just licking my skin off, the drag and scrape of that tongue on my face. It was so painful, but everything else was so cold.
I hear a low rumble, like a growling dog, like a lawn mower in the distance. It sounds like someone's voice—an exceptionally deep voice, but a voice nonetheless—talking to me, starting and stopping. Maybe it's Nathan Hartley. Maybe Hartley's here to help me die. Maybe I'm still out in the woods, laying on the ground in the aftermath of the attack.
But if I'm still out in the woods, why am I so warm?
34
It's almost an hour later, after Zane has drained and refilled the bathtub a few times with hot water again, his mind racing with all the possibilities of how he can make this up to Ariel, when she begins to stir. A small groan breaks free from her throat as she shifts slightly, the bloody water rippling with her movement. Zane sits up straighter as she moves, and the first thing he feels is overwhelming relief. Ariel is alive, she's going to be okay.
Only, after that dims, he's met with a wave of panic again. How is he supposed to explain to her why she's in her bra and underwear in a bathtub at his house? How is he supposed to explain to her why he's holding her hand, and not feeling particularly inclined to let go any time soon?
He doesn't really have time to formulate a good answer in his head before Ariel is conscious enough to blink her eyes open. The black eye is swollen enough that she can only open it halfway, but Zane is still met with that brilliant blue. She blinks a few times, her eyes darting around lazily before she seems to grow more aware and turns her head, wincing at the strain of moving.
Zane remains frozen in place where he's seated next to the tub, holding her hand, staring at her as she looks back at him.
"Zane?" she asks, and her voice comes out a weak croak that surprises the both of them. She sounds awful, worse than she looks.
Zane doesn't know what to say, so he stays quiet, swallowing once, eyeing her. She blinks a few times, lifting her free hand and sitting up a little before seeming to realize that she's in water. She looks down, touching the water like she's never seen it before in her life. Zane licks his lips nervously as he watches her, shifting a little, and she looks back up at him.
Zane slowly pulls his hand out of the water, regretfully letting go of her hand. He stands up, feeling a bit weak in the knees, and walks over to the sink, yanking his and Liam's toothbrushes out of the plastic cup on the counter and filling the cup with cool water, carrying it back over to the bath. He should have thought of this before. Ariel must be dying of thirst.
Zane holds out the cup, but she doesn't even react. She's just staring at his face like if she blinks, he'll just disappear. Swallowing hard, suddenly so nervous he can barely breathe, Zane drops down on his knees on the rug and cups the back of her head gently in one hand, touching the glass to her dry lips.
"Here, drink," he says, his voice almost a whisper, and he tips the cup so water is just starting to trickle into her mouth.
Ariel drinks willingly, but after a few painful swallows, she chokes and coughs. Her hand comes up out of the water and wraps around Zane's wrist to pull the cup away from her lips, and it's so eerily similar to the way her hand grabbed his wrist yesterday in the woods that he shivers and nearly drops the cup.
He leaves his hand on the back of her head though, holding her upright, mostly because he likes the feeling of Ariel's soft hair between his fingers. He shouldn't be thinking like that right now, but he can't help it. This is scarily intimate, Ariel in his tub like this, in nothing but her bra and underwear, holding his wrist still while his hand is in her hair. And it's all so gentle, so unlike their usual interactions. Zane wants to kiss her. He does. But he can't. Because that would be the most fucked up thing he ever did, taking advantage of someone in Ariel's state like that.
"H-how are you feeling?" he asks, his voice weak and hesitant as he stammers embarrassingly.
Ariel looks more than confused. She looks just completely lost, her eyes glancing around the room, and then squinting at Zane like he's a flying pig. She seems to swallow a few times, her bruised throat rippling.
"There was a deer," she croaks, and then she erupts into a fit of coughs, doubling over and hugging her ribs. Zane instinctively moves and grabs onto her shoulders, dropping the half-full cup of water into the tub, supporting her so she doesn't go face-first into the water and choke. He's relieved to find that her skin is much warmer to the touch now than it had been before.
Ariel flinches violently when Zane grabs onto her, jerking away like she was burned, and he instantly pulls his hands back, regret and remorse sitting heavy in his chest. He watches as she pulls herself together, looking down at herself like it's the first time she's ever seen herself before. She blinks a few times, prodding her swollen eye with her fingertips, and then looks back up at Zane again.
"I was dead," she whispers, stifling a few more coughs. "The deer was there...and I-I was dead. Am I dead?"
Zane holds up his hands. "No, Ariel, no, you're not dead. You're gonna be okay, alright? I got you out of the woods."
Ariel looks even more confused. He wonders if maybe she has a head injury that's making her disoriented like this, and worry pinches at his gut. She stares at him, and then reaches one shaking, limp hand out, touching his cheek with her fingertips, as if he's just going to disappear like a mirage. She jerks her hand back almost instantly when she discovers how real Zane's skin feels.
His breathing picks up, and he pretends he doesn't see a tear running down Ariel's cheek. Shit. This is the worst feeling he has ever experienced, looking at her like this. Looking at what a weak, scared thing he has reduced her to.
All at once, Ariel is gripping the sides of the bathtub and pushing herself out of the water on shaking limbs. Zane wants to reach forward and help her, to make sure she doesn't fall over, but the last time he touched her, she had freaked out and pulled away. He jumps up from the rug as she gets her legs under her, and she looks at his feet first bef
ore raising her eyes to his face once more.
The look in her eyes this time isn't confusion so much as something broken. Zane feels something twist in his stomach and he wants to throw up again at the expression on Ariel's face. She looks so hurt, so betrayed, so broken. And she has every right to after what Zane did to her.
Zane takes a step back away from the tub as she climbs out and grabs her clothes. She fumbles with her pants a little, trying to pull them up over her wet legs and underwear, but she manages to do it before throwing her bloody and dirt-covered Seattle Seahawks shirt on too while stepping into her shoes. Hugging herself, she makes for the door, and Zane is frozen in place.
"Ariel," he says, but he doesn't really know what else to say. What is he supposed to say? How can he make this better?
She stops walking when he calls her name, looking back barely, not looking right at him. She's shaking and she seems disoriented, blinking with that horrible look in her eyes like Zane just ran over her dog.
When he says nothing more, Ariel grabs at the doorknob, fumbling with it before opening the bathroom door and limping out and down the hallway. Zane doesn't want her to go back out into the cold, but he knows he can't stop her. He doesn't want to hurt her anymore than he already has. He wants to help, but he's done enough. He broke this girl—he did that. He nearly killed her. And for what? Because he couldn't get his emotions under control? Because Slate decided to cum on his back? That was nothing compared to what he just put Ariel through.
He stands there in the bathroom, glancing between the bloody bathwater and the door where she disappeared for a few seconds, unsure what to do. He hears her shuffle down the hallway, and then the front door opens and closes softly.
Zane shakes himself and walks out of the bathroom, crossing to the living room and pulling back the curtain over the window, peering out. Ariel is making her way across the front lawn, hugging her wet body in the December cold, her shivering visible even from here.
He watches her glance once back at the house, and she looks like she's crying, although it could just be the water still clinging to her face from the bath. Zane is overwhelmed with self-loathing and helplessness, fighting the urge to go after her, as he watches her disappear down the street.
35
Of all the things I should be concerned about right now, I shouldn't be worried about my backpack. I know I had it while I was walking home from school when Zane and his friends jumped me. I remember someone tearing it off my back, and that's the last I saw of it. I have no idea how long it's been since I was attacked. I remember brief flashes of night, of the cold in the woods, of the deer licking my face, but I have no idea how long ago that happened.
I want to cry. I want to scream. I want my fucking backpack.
My whole body aches and throbs. I'd woken up in a bathtub—Zane's bathtub—feeling so warm I was almost uncomfortable. Now I'm freezing again, walking outside in my wet clothes, skin still damp from the bath, my underwear clinging to my thighs under my jeans.
I'm not really sure how much of this is real. Did I dream Zane just now? Did I dream all that? Did I dream the forest? Am I sleeping right now? My brain is disoriented and I'm starving, and I'm actually really thankful for that drink Zane gave me in the bathtub, if that indeed happened. If I wasn't just dreaming that.
I'm halfway convinced I'm just dead right now, and this is all the afterlife. But why is the afterlife so damn uncomfortable? Isn't it supposed to be all paradise and warmth?
My brain must be wired wrong, because as I limp down the street towards my house, away from that bathtub and the growling comfort of that deep voice, I desperately want either one of two people. The first, to my horror, is Zane. I want Zane. I want to wrap myself in his arms and sink into his warmth and just forget about everything that happened in the woods.
But why? Why do I want him? Zane is the one who caused what happened in the woods. Am I really that fucked up that I want comfort from the very person who caused me pain? Who nearly killed me?
So I'm going for the next best thing instead. The other person I want to see more than anyone else, is Bonnie. I want Bonnie. I want Bonnie to hold me like a mother holds their child. I want to pretend for a little while that she will always be there, and I wants to just sink into that motherly embrace and let her take care of me. I crave the warmth of her nutmeg house and the sight of the framed tarot cards and the rabbit's feet and the herbs and the dollhouse kitchen. I want quail egg casserole and German stollen and to just forget about everything that Zane did.
This, I can have. I can go see Bonnie. I want to see Zane too, even though I just left that place, even though he hurt me like this, but I can't see Zane. I can see Bonnie. And that's good enough.
It takes me longer than usual to get back home. It's only a couple blocks away, but I get lost a couple times, because my brain is everywhere at once, and I'm in pain from what I suspect is a broken rib. My head is pounding, and my throat is dry. I need water, and food, and sleep. I need to just forget about all this.
Hugging myself, my teeth chattering, I limp across Bonnie's lawn and climb the stairs slowly up to her front door. I knock a couple times, but they're weak, quiet knocks, so I try again, harder. I end up just knocking and knocking weakly until the door swings open. It's Sophia, and her face floods with relief when she sees me.
"Where were you?!" she cries, throwing her arms around me, instantly bursting into tears, and I wince as she puts pressure on my wounds. I wrap my arms weakly around her in return.
"I fell asleep at a friend's house rehearing for theater," I lie weakly. "I'm sorry I forgot to call." God, I sound like I'm breathing smoke. My voice is that of an old woman.
She pulls away and glares up at me, but it's a weak glare through her tears. My heart breaks a little seeing the look on her face. "Bullshit, Ariel!" she yells. "We tried calling you! We called you like three hundred times! Why didn't you answer?"
She buries her face in my stomach, sobbing, and I bite the inside of his cheek to keep from crying too. Sophia yells when she's scared—it's just something she does. I don't have a chance to feed her more excuses before Bonnie appears around the corner, and she looks just as stricken and worried as Sophia.
"Ariel Victoria Riley, where did you disappear to?" she demands, coming forward and wrapping her arms around my shoulders in a crushing hug, sandwiching Sophia between the two of us.
I have a really hard time holding back the tears as Bonnie hugs me. It's what I wanted most, this warm, soft embrace. She squeezes me tight, and I wind my arms around her and bury my face in her shoulder, just like I wanted to when Dad was here. I close my eyes and just breathes in the smell of sandalwood and nutmeg and candle wax, because it all smells like home, and it makes me feel exponentially better.
"I got held up," I reply finally when Bonnie pulls away too soon. "I left my phone at school, I'm sorry." My phone was in my backpack...I wonder if one of Zane's friends has it.
Bonnie eyes my wounded face, the smattering of bruises and my grossly swollen eye, and she shakes her head, her eyes watery with sympathy and anger. I don't think the anger is towards me though. "Come on, get inside. You're letting all the cold air in." She ushers me inside and closes the door.
I toss my shoes off at the front door, holding onto the wall as a wave of fatigue washes over me, and Bonnie studies me skeptically. She shoos Sophia off to the living room for a while to play with Ethan and brings me into the kitchen. I can't help it—I drop down in one of the chairs at the table exhaustively, and Bonnie brings me a tall glass of water.
"Drink this all," she says, and it's like she knows. I'm dehydrated, dangerously so. I'd gotten a few sips of water at Zane's house, but nothing like this.
I drink the water slowly, shivering at how cold it is, but relieved at the moisture it provides my cracked throat. I can taste old blood on my tongue as I swallow, metallic and bitter. I can feel a phantom tongue on my cheek, and I shiver, forcing myself not to c
ough again. Coughing only hurts my ribs.
Bonnie brings me a mug next, filled with what smells like hot apple cider, and she sets a plate of bread with butter on it in front of me. I fight the tickle in the back of my throat that means I'm about to start crying. I don't like to cry in front of people, and I don't even know what I'm crying about. Yes, I was attacked and spent the night in the woods, but I'm alive. I'm fine. So why do I want to cry?
I keep my eyes down, eating all the bread, my stomach cramping with how empty it is, and sipping the apple cider slowly, letting it warm me up. Bonnie sits down at the table next to me, watching me.
"Ariel," she says, and her voice is gentle but stern. "Are you going to tell me what happened to you? Your face isn't something that happens at theater practice." She eyes my bruises. I haven't seen my face yet—I'm a little scared to. How much damage was done? Nothing feels broken, just bent and swollen at all the wrong angles.
I swallow my last bite of bread, fighting the urge to vomit it back up, and I raise my eyes to Bonnie's face. She looks concerned, and not at all angry, but I still don't want to tell her what happened. I don't even know what to say. I got jumped? I saw a deer? I took a bath with Zane? What am I supposed to say? Where do I even begin?
I remember dreaming of pencils and deserts and whistles and lawn mowers, and all of that seemed to make so much sense at the time, but it's now clear that I was delirious. I think it may have been dehydration combined with being outside in the cold for so long. I just remember being so cold. So cold it hurt deep in my bones, numbed my organs. So cold that it was painful when the deer's tongue was touching my cheek because the tongue was too hot.
I swallow hard and stare at Bonnie, and then drop my eyes, gritting my teeth, my chin quivering a little. "May I use the restroom?" I ask quietly, my voice cracking.