by K Larsen
“Break time,” she says, with a smile. I drop my pack to the grass and eye the river longingly. It looks cool and clear and refreshing. All things I don’t feel at the moment.
I watch Charlotte follow suit with her backpack. She extends her hand to me, palm up, and presents me with small wild blueberries.
“Have some.” I take them from her hand and pop them into my mouth. They’re slightly bitter but sweet too with a little crunch to them.
“I think I’ll have some of that,” I say, pointing to the river. “It’s hot as balls out.”
She wrinkles her nose at me.
“It will be hard to hike in wet clothes and we need to get there.” She points up. I follow her finger above the tree line to a jagged rock poking out from a ridge. My insides die a little at the sight. There’s no way we can get that far today. I’m sore from yesterday and soaked with sweat already from our trek today. If I distract her, maybe she will relent. City settles in the grass, back against a thick tree trunk and looks up at me. Her dense black lashes daring me to do things to her that I know she’s never done before, things I can’t bring myself to push no matter how sexy she looks, or how fiercely my hormones rage because her innocence somehow still bubbles to the surface and screams, Look at me! Look at me! I’m so pure I can’t be tarnished. And the weird villainous Disney-like character in me wants to laugh in a French accent and jab out my grabby hands and say, oh, yes you can. But I don’t, because it would be weird, but moreover because that might be my favorite thing about her in the first place.
“Why are you staring like that? What’s going on in there?” She points to my head.
“You don’t want to know,” I say.
“You shouldn't presume to know what I want to know.” The expression on her face is playful yet serious. She’s a coy little conundrum that makes my heart palpitate on a regular basis with her antics.
“Dallas.” Her tone is chock full of playful warning.
I direct my mischievous grin at her.
“No. You’ll regret it, I swear! Wet clothes and hiking don’t mix well.”
“Who said anything about clothes, City?” Her eyes bug out of her head making me laugh.
Bending at the waist I tug off my boots and cast them aside. I strip off my tee shirt and toss it to the ground. City’s eyes never leave mine as she stands, arms crossed over her chest. I undo my cargo shorts and let them slide down, pooling around my ankles before stepping out of them. I hook my thumbs in the waistband of my boxers.
“What are you doing?!” Charlotte squeaks.
“Making sure I don’t have to hike in wet anything,” I tell her with a laugh.
Charlotte’s face morphs into a bright pink, and she turns her back to me. Shaking my head I push my boxers down and throw them at her. They hit her back and flop, limply to the ground at her heels. She glances down at them and mutters something I can’t make out.
“You should really join me,” is the last thing I say before sprinting the short distance to the river, while holding my junk in one hand—flopping junk hurts—and half lunge, half belly-flop my way into the water.
The crisp water feels so good on my skin that I don’t want to break the surface for air, so I stay under for as long as I can hold my breath. Which isn’t all that long. When I pop up, Charlotte screams, and my heart leaps out of my chest. With a palm, I wipe the water from my face and am already in motion toward the sound of her voice, before my eyes see her and my ears register what she’s saying.
“Don’t look!” So I look. It was too late to stop anyhow.
Charlotte is knee-deep, wading in, buck naked. It is glorious. Maybe the most magnificent thing I’ve ever witnessed. She’s not the first woman I’ve seen naked, but she is the first I’ve witnessed that not only makes my dick instantly stand at attention and my heart start beating so hard that I’m sure my ribcage looks like it’s actually throbbing.
“Dallas!” she squeals, with slight irritation, while trying to cover her breasts. Those breasts. And sink low enough into the water to cover her groin. She’s orphic. I can’t believe I retained one of her word lessons but if there were ever a word for this moment… it’s that. She dips under the water and swims toward me.
“It’s rude to stare,” she quips, still pink-cheeked.
“I’m mesmerized—paralyzed by the sight of you, sorry.”
She flicks the water, splashing me. “There’s a word for that.”
I roll my eyes playfully at her. “Of course there is.”
“Gorgonize.”
“That one sounds ridiculous when you say it out loud.” I say, splashing her back.
She squeezes her eyes shut and squeals. “Hey!”
“Truth. It does. Come here. Stop swimming around me.”
“No can do,” she says, before dipping under the water and swimming away. I want to feel her skin, wet and slippery on mine. I want to hold her in my arms so badly it almost leaves a taste in my mouth so I swim after her.
I grab her ankle kicking under the surface and yank her toward me. Her head pops up and she sputters for air as I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her to me. Her legs wrap around my waist, her touch warm upon mine. I’m struck with the oddest sensation as her arms come around my neck; that I’d let myself drown in this river before ever letting her go under. My cock is rigid and wedged just below her ass as her eyes lock onto mine and devour my soul in the process. It takes all my willpower not to move her down mere inches and slide inside of her.
“Stop swimming away and let me hold you.”
“Why?” she whispers.
“I don’t know. I feel like I have too.”
“There’s a word for that,” she says. Her breath leaves her in strangled chuffs as we bob in the slight current, clinging to each other.
“Tell me.”
“Cingulomania,” she says.
“I fucking love you, City.” The words feel like the only thing right to say in the moment.
“I love you too.” She leans in, pressing her lips to mine. One hand moves from her ass, up her slick back until my fingers are tangled in her hair. The feel of her breasts, her pebbled nipples grazing my chest is too much to take. My insides feel like they’re going to explode. Bending my knees, I drop us a little lower into the water. She playfully bites my bottom lip, her fingers massage my scalp, I nip back at her and her eyes turn stormy. With a ferocity I didn’t know she possessed, she deepens the kiss. Fuck. I abandon her hair in order to explore her. One hand sliding down her silky arm to her hip. She tightens her legs around me and the heat from her center blows my mind. I work my hand between us and slide it down until I feel her clit.
The sound of Charlotte gasping is like a symphony to my ears. She relaxes her thighs, giving me more room to play. As I rub circles gently, occasionally pushing a finger inside her, she clutches my shoulders and leans backward, exposing her pert breasts. I can’t help but take advantage. I dip my head and suck her nipple into my mouth. A guttural groan vibrates out of her. I move to the other and finger her faster. Her head snaps up, eyes latch onto mine. She’s tinged pink all over, panting and biting her lower lip. Her muscles tremble as I move my fingers faster still. With a shudder, she lets out a rush of air and goes limp around me. Grinning, I cradle her against me.
“I want to...” she breathes in my ear, head resting on my shoulder, as her hand slips over my chest, downward.
“Say it, City.” My voice cracks on her nickname. She shakes her head in the crook of my neck. Her legs unwrap from my waist. “There’s nothing to be embarrassed about. Say it,” I urge. Jesus, please say it.
“I want to touch you. Like you touched me.” Her hand finds my cock and wraps around it, and I can’t stop the groan that erupts from me. She squeezes gently and slides her hand the length of my dick to the tip and back again. “Like this?”
Fuck, so innocent.
I place my hand over hers under the water and begin guiding her. She’s biting that lip, a deter
mined expression settles on her face as I get her stroking harder—faster. With my free hand I massage her breast and when I look at her I’m surprised to find her watching...us. Her eyes dart from my hand on her breast down to where her hand strokes my shaft, her pupils dilate in desire, riddled with frenzy. My whole body reacts, watching her watch us. Ribbons of cum spurt out in slow motion, suspended by the water momentarily as I grunt my release. Charlotte watches, wonderment—and by the looks of it—a smidge of pride etched in her face. Her head snaps up, eyes lock on mine.
“Was it...”
“It was fucking fantastic,” I say, pulling her to me.
We walk out of the water hand in hand. Little beads of water roll down Charlotte’s body with each step. I can’t tear my eyes from them. From the path they take, I’m jealous of those drops of water, of the places they get to touch and explore. I want every inch of her body for myself.
“Did you know you have a little scar right here?” I say, and drag my finger along the spot near the small of her back.
“Yeah.”
“How’d you get it?”
“Here in the woods.” She grabs her underwear and pulls them on. “I was walking on a fallen tree, using it like a bridge, and fell.” I tug on my boxers and watch as she slides into her bra. “I caught a broken branch on the way down. It left a mark,” she says. “After getting a nasty infection.”
“What, Monster Dude didn’t have Neosporin?”
City’s face drops and she pales. My stomach plummets.
“What? Did I say something wrong?”
She shakes her head and drops down into the grass cross-legged. “No, he didn’t, but he was good at scars and treating cuts. I never told him I fell or that I got cut. I didn’t want him touching me.” She swallows thickly.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to dredge up old demons.”
She shakes her head again as I sit down next to her. “They can’t be avoided up here.”
“Tell me what you’re thinking,” I say. She lays down resting her head on my lap.
“It’s pretty rough. I don’t think you need to hear it.”
“You promised.”
She gazes up at me and draws in a long, deep breath.
“I’ve told you before, Holden did things to Nora. Cut her. Left so many scars. But he didn’t like the morning after. He didn’t want to deal with that part. He made me.” She shivers despite the heat wrapping itself around us.
“Tell me, babe.”
City squeezes her eyes shut and when they pop open I swear she’s gone somewhere else—somewhere dark.
“I used to curl up in a tight ball when Holden woke in the morning. I didn’t want him to see me. The morning after cutting, he was always grumpy. ‘Get up,’ he commanded. ‘I need your help.’ So slowly, I would do as I was told. I was too scared not too. Holden would hand me a bowl of water, a small bottle of iodine mixed with tea tree oil and a washcloth. I got good at schooling my emotions so that he didn’t sense my unease. ‘You have to make sure you get them all. A drop for each,’ he’d say, and I’d nod and turn away from him. But the first time with Nora was the worst. I entered their room quietly. Nora lied face down. I pulled the blankets from her back and cringed. He called it his art. He sliced her. Drew lines between her freckles deep enough to scar. He was turning her into a constellation map.
“‘What is that?’ Nora asked, as I used the dropper to dispense the mixture of liquid on her back. To each horrible slice in her skin. I swallowed thickly as Nora’s skin contracted under each drop to stop myself from throwing up. It probably stung so badly.
“‘Iodine and tea tree oil. To keep them clean.’ I remember saying the words but noting that my voice was flat. Far away—like my mind felt. I did exactly what Holden instructed me to do and when I was done, I left without a word. If I spoke, I would have sobbed and emotion like that didn’t lead to anything good,” she finishes.
I swallow thickly, knowing she’s upset, but I don’t know the right words to say. I push her hair back, lean down and kiss her forehead instead.
“It’s okay to have no words, Dallas,” she says. “Sometimes the silence between us is stronger than the wrong comforting words.”
29
Charlotte
I’m surprisingly unembarrassed about what transpired in the river an hour ago. Dallas hikes behind me, grumbling every so often as we march up the steep terrain. There’s not a trail per se, but I know the markers to look for as we climb. Despite the trek, Dallas and I laugh and joke as we go. A loud smacking sound resounds behind me, making me grin.
“Is there a word for—if one more mosquito bites me I’m quitting life?” He asks.
“No,” I call over my shoulder. “There are only pretty words for pretty sentiments.”
“I call bullshit, you’re holding out on me.” He slaps his skin again. The bugs are pretty terrible right now, but I’m laser-focused on our next landmark. We’re close. So close, I can taste it. I can practically feel the ghost of Holden roaming the woods around us. It’s eerie yet comforting. I laugh at him and march on.
“I promise I’m not. Just keep killing them.”
“I swear to God, they’re only attacking me,” he complains.
“I’ve been bit, I’m just not allergic to them, so I don’t get itchy welts.”
“Is that a thing?” he asks.
“Yup. Do you want me to spray you again?”
Rather petulantly, Dallas grumbles, “No.”
The sky is growing dark as cloud cover rolls in, and I swear I can smell impending rain on the air.
“We should hurry, it’s going to rain.”
“What? How do you know? Those clouds could blow away.”
“I can smell it,” I tell him.
“Oh, okay, Daniel Boone.” His tone is flippant but I don’t get the reference.
“Huh?”
“Nothing. It’s an old show my mom used to love to watch reruns of, about an outdoorsman and his family. You know, a joke’s not funny when you have to explain it,” he grumbles.
I snort and keep walking. Another fifty feet, and we arrive at the summit of a cliff. A treeless bald spot on the mountain. A place I’m too familiar with. Slay Rock: the crest of a beautiful vista, marked by an enormous boulder. A place I visited many times. A place where I grieved for Eve… and once for Laura. From the edge, I can see the river we were just sitting at far downstream, and just barely through the canopy of trees, the place where the cabin hides on the opposite side farther upstream. A memory hits so vividly it feels like whiplash and I take a step back from the edge to catch my balance.
Dallas seems to sense my distress; his hand creeps into mine. A tiny flash of the heat and desire from earlier courses through me at his touch but is quickly swallowed up by old demons. I know he’s staring at me but I can’t focus on him. Only the forgotten exhumed graves and his boot dangerously close to one of them.
“Move,” I say.
“What?”
“Dallas, move your foot.” My voice is urgent, nearly pleading.
Dallas looks down and back up at me, a confused expression furrowing his brow, before stepping a stride toward me.
“Get it out,” he says, encouragingly.
“Wanna see Slay Rock?” I offered.
“What’s Slay rock?” Nora asked.
“I’ll show you, if you want,” I said. “Holden took me there after Eve left.”
Nora looked sick as she took my outstretched hand and stood.
“Lead the way.”
Once there, I tugged Nora’s hand to get her attention. I bit my bottom lip and pointed. Three humps of loose dirt.
I point them out to Dallas too, where they used to be, now they’re simply excavated graves.
“Marked with small piles of rocks. Three stones, largest on the bottom, smallest on top, each resting on top of the next. They had been here since Holden brought me after Eve left. I started crying but Nora only stared at the graves. I looked up at h
er, tugged on her arm and said. “I think one of them is Eve.”
“Who are the others, then?” she asked.
I looked at the graves and wondered which one held which person. “Laura and I don’t know who the third is. Or she didn’t know.”
‘Who’s Laura?” Nora asked. I wanted to tell her the whole truth. To prove to her that all her thoughts were based on illusions. To scream and shout and thrash and kick until she understood the truth.
But I looked up at Nora knowing that I had to choose my answer carefully. “She used to live with us.”
Nora wrinkled her face in confusion. “When?”
“When Eve was here. Until Eve left.”
She shuddered and wrapped her arms around me. I clung to her as if my life depended on her body. “Lotte, who put them here?” She whispered, while stroking my long hair.
“Holden,” I breathed. The monster himself. Didn’t she see it? Could she see it now? The man she loved was no man at all.
When I finish relaying the memory Dallas says nothing, he simply squeezes my hand. Somewhere inside a tiny voice of self-preservation tries to make itself heard. I let go of Dallas’s hand and take a step away from Slay Rock into the trees, knowing the route back to the cabin as surely as I know that my hair is blonde. The path is wide and downhill. Room enough for us to walk side by side, but Dallas does not walk beside me, which is good because I’m not sure I have anything of myself to spare at the moment. With every step I leave pieces of myself behind, like a trail of breadcrumbs. I will not be lost to this place again.
We walk along the trail which is no longer beaten down from use, me on the verge of jogging. Dallas begs me to slow down. The big crooked tree just ahead makes me smile. I run my fingers over my and Nora’s initials carved in the knot of a trunk and I know that the next bend will show the cabin.
