by Amber Burns
The jarring flood of recollection rocketed Nina upwards and threw her eyes wide open. Her heart beat rapidly, and she glanced left and right, trying to make sense of her surroundings. She noticed the fire crackling in the hearth. She smelt coffee sizzling somewhere. She discovered she was tucked carefully under quilted blankets, real feather pillows wedged beneath her back, and that was when the dark man’s face came into view, hovering a few inches away from her own. He wore a concerned expression, his eyebrows arching upwards, his forehead twisted with alarm. Nina breathed out and tried to focus on his coal colored eyes, everything else was spinning so quickly she felt she had to focus on something neutral or else risk being violently sick all over the brightly colored patches of material that lay across her legs.
“Well you’re alive,” Rowan was saying, but his voice sounded distant, very off. He stood to his full height and wiped his hands down his jeans. “That’s good. I was seriously worried for a second there.”
Nina blinked rapidly, trying to remember how it was she had come to be tucked into blankets in front of this man’s fire.
One second I had been staring at the cabin from the edge of the forest, the next… what? What had happened after that? She closed her eyes, trying to stop the spinning, trying to focus on the passing of events.
“There’s coffee,” Rowan’s voice called from some very distant plain. “And I’m cooking up some bacon right now. I hope you like bacon. Well, it doesn’t really matter if you like it or not, now does it, because you have gotta get some food and nutrients in you and this is what we have got right now, so.” She heard shuffling, lifting, the sound of fat sizzling over the open flames. “Mm,” Rowan grinned. “That smell. There is nothing in the world as comforting as the smell of fresh bacon frying, I tell ya. God, that brings me back to being just a little kid again.” He rotated the spit and settled a hand on his knee. “And there is nothing like some salt and fat to really put some life back into ya, that’s what I say,” he said gently, glancing over his shoulder at the red headed girl lying prone on the couch.
His gaze caught her delicate face, and he found himself unable to look away. Her skin looked as soft as petals and as smooth as polished stone. Her eyelashes were the color of lightning and they brushed across her cheeks like a whisper. And her hair, her mane of impossibly fiery hair fell over her shoulders, set loose by her endless tumble through the darkened woods, and cascaded over her cheeks, her chest, like an electric waterfall. The bacon burned and crackled to the fire place’s floor, and Rowan jumped.
“Shit,” he whispered, yanking the spit from the flames.
He frowned and swallowed, steadying himself. Easy now, he told himself. Easy.
He fitted another slab of thick, freshly butchered bacon onto the pointy end of the spit and eased the meat back into the heart of the fire. As the fire crackled and the meat spat thick droplets of fat into the flames, Nina kept her eyes squeezed shut, her mind racing through the events of the night before. Had she simply been so tired that she could not remember walking across the clearing and winding her way through the vegetable garden and into the house? Had she actually been half asleep for much of the walk, stumbling in a dream like state onwards, only kept upright by the aid of the walking stick? Or had something happened, something perhaps more sinister, something that had forcibly erased her ability to recall her journey into bed the night before? She squinted her eyes more tightly closed still, willing her brain to stop spinning, her brow furrowing and collecting beads of sweat as she tried desperately to latch onto some semblance of an understanding of how she had ended up here, on this couch.
“Mmm!” Rowan almost purred as he pulled the cooked bacon from the flames and waved it slowly through the air, cooling it down.
Then he reached an eager hand forward and plucked the meat from the roasting stick. He grinned as he set it down on a small plate, next to a slice of roughly chopped toast. He grabbed a mug of coffee and the plate of bacon and then stood carefully, gingerly balancing the full cup of coffee so as not to spill a single drop, as he crossed the room and stopped next to Nina. As he came near to her, Nina again opened her eyes. His dark face flashed into her view, and she was suddenly filled with a feeling of cold, sobering horror.
“Holy shit,” she breathed. She sat up very straight, her spine tingling. She pulled the blankets tightly to her breasts and stared straight ahead. “You gave me Rohypnol.”
The words landed so fiercely on Rowan’s ears that he nearly dropped the carefully balanced cup and plate. His eyebrows shot upwards and nearly scraped his hairline, and he staggered back in absolute shock.
“What?” He barked incredulously.
He stared at the redheaded girl yanking the quilted blankets more tightly around her skinny form. She turned her head and fixed him with a blank slate of a stare.
“You,” she said, her voice even and calm. “You gave me Rohypnol.”
Rowan jutted his head forward and squinted at her. Am I hearing her right? Is she hallucinating? He placed the coffee and the breakfast on the floor and put his hands on his hips.
“What are you talking about?”
Nina’s upper lip curled in a snarl and her eyes filled with disgust.
“I knew it,” she began, her voice hard and accusatory, dripping with hatred. “I knew only fucking asshole losers would be living like this out in the middle of fucking nowhere, all be themselves. Yea. That’s right. You found me, and you lead me on a wild mother fucking goose chase through the night to make me really fucking tired and unaware. And then you guided me back to your place. And that’s when you slipped me the fucking Rohypnol shit, and that’s why I can’t remember getting into the house, and into this shitty bed. Holy shit,” she spat, her voice raising to a higher, more dangerous pitch. “You’re a real piece of fucking scum.”
Rowan dropped his hands, and his eyes widened into deep pools of black.
“Hey,” he said. “Hey now there. Easy.”
Nina laughed violently; there was no humor in the outburst. She rocked herself onto her side so that she sat, bundled protectively in the blankets, facing him straight on.
“Easy?” she yelled. “Easy? You want me to be what, totally like, fucking calm or something now? Yea I don’t think so buddy. I don’t think so. Holy shit. I cannot, like, believe this. I cannot believe this. You fucking wipe my memory so you can what? Kidnap me and hold me hostage as your little fucking sex slave in the middle of the woods? Do you not seriously see how totally like fucked up that is?! And then you want me to calm down, take it easy? Okay, like, bullshit, dude. Total fucking bullshit. You’re… wow. Wow. Like wow.”
Nina’s shoulders heaved up and down, causing her long red hair to bounce slightly over her body. She shook her head and bit her lip.
Rowan stared, completely perplexed and taken aback by the situation. The words slowly made sense to him as the seconds passed. And then he relaxed. His shoulders dropped, and his eyebrows crept down his face and back into their usual position. His lips twisted into the whispers of a half smile.
“So, let me get this straight,” he began. “You think that I gave you that date rape drug?”
Nina stared daggers at him, her green eyes burning with hatred.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” Rowan continued. “And you think I did that, all because of some huge plan to make you into, what, my own personal hostage sex slave or something?”
Nina’s nostrils flared, and she puffed out angrily, blowing her hair away from her face.
“Not ‘or something’, dickhole,” she retorted. “Exactly that.”
Rowan stared back at her for several long seconds. Then he could no longer help it. He burst out laughing.
Nina watched him in absolute shock. He laughed heartily, his face cracking into comedy, tiny tears appearing in the corners of his eyes. Eventually, she felt her own anger ebbing away slightly, only because of the sheer ridiculousness of the picture before her. This big, muscular man, tattoos creeping down his
arms, dark hair rolling past his chin, choking and spluttering and crying because he was laughing so hard.
“Oh,” he heaved, finally gaining control of himself again. “I’m sorry.” He wiped a hand across his eyes, collecting the discarded tears. “I am sorry,” he repeated, more calmly now, fixing Nina with a look of naked sincerity. “I just… sorry, but don’t flatter yourself. That is not at all what is going on here. I did not give you any sort of memory altering drug, or any drug, for that matter.”
Nina stared at him, confusion beginning to work its way again up into her mind.
“No?” she said, her voice still hard, her arms still wrapped tightly around her body. “Then what happened?”
“What happened,” Rowan said, suddenly very serious. “Is that you passed right out and smacked your head on the side of a tree.”
Silence spread out between them and netted the words that had fallen from his lips. The truth hung there in the air as the night flooded back into Nina’s mind. She remembered the dawn cracking itself across the sky. She recalled rubbing her eyes. And then, the sudden dizziness, the rush of extreme and concentrated exhaustion, and the sensation of falling, the ground rushing up to meet her… then nothing, until waking up moments ago. She stared at Rowan, expressionless, and felt a deep crimson blush creep its way across her cheeks.
“And then I picked you up and carried you back here,” he said softly, looking at her with true concern. “You had some blood on your head, and I cleaned that up, no need for stitches, luckily, but I was pretty damn worried, girl.” He shook his head and blew air through his perfect lips. “I’m glad you’re awake now. I bet you’re feeling pretty damned dizzy and weird though, so I get why you thought… well, what you thought.”
Rowan stood again and crossed the room to stand by a large metal canteen. He grabbed a china glass from a shelf above and tipped the canteen forward. Clear, cool water spilled from the mouth of the canteen and splashed into the glass.
“Here,” he said as he crossed the room and squatted by Nina.
He held the glass out to her. She dropped the blankets and took the china cup in both her hands and brought it to her lips. She drank. The water felt like a cool, sweet kiss, pure and refreshing, it rushed down her throat and eased the throbbing of her head ever so slightly. She finished the glass in one breath and then dropped the china cup back into both her hands, stretching it forward for more. Rowan filled the glass and began to speak again as he crossed the room and back towards her side.
“It’s good that you rest and drink up and what not, because I would be betting from the way that you hit that tree, you are likely suffering from at least a stage two concussion right now, possibly even a stage three.” He returned the china cup to her hands and gently wrapped her fingers around it. She felt a subtle warmth spread itself out across the bottom of her belly as his inked, tan fingers pressed against her own. “And you need to be sitting here and sipping fluids, sure, but you have also really gotta put some food into you.”
He reached down and again collected the cup of coffee and the bacon and toast. He offered them towards her, and she dropped the empty cup onto the blankets and took the dishes from his large, calloused hands. She grabbed at the bread in her unsteady fingers and used it to pick up the thick slice of bacon. Carefully, focusing hard on steadiness, she brought the food to her lips. The flavors exploded across her palate, and her eyes rolled back in pleasure. The fat and grease soothed her head, and she felt some semblance of sanity returning to her mind. As she polished off the breakfast, her heart slowed its rapid pace, and she was able to sip at her coffee calmly, almost peacefully.
Rowan watched her as she ate, the way a doctor might watch his sick patient. When she had finished her breakfast, he took the plate gently from her hands and walked through the doorway and out of Nina’s sight, into another room. She heard the pleasant sound of rushing water and imagined his strong arms forcing soap suds across the greasy trails of bacon grease. Her eyes began to slide shut again, and she placed the cup of half finished coffee upon the floor, her body slipping down towards the warm hug of pillows and quilts once again. Just as sleep was about to wrap its comforting arms around her, Rowan returned to the room and stood by her side.
“Hey, lady?” he said softly. His voice was no longer as rough and harsh as it had been in the forest the night before. Now it sounded gentle, smooth, like dark marble.
“Huh?” Nina responded, her eyes fluttering closed.
“You asked me, so I was supposing it was only fair,” he began. He stuck his hands into the pockets of his well-worn jeans and looked down at the pale girl sliding away into sleep. “What’s your name?”
Nina pulled the blankets up to her chin and turned her mouth towards him.
“Nina,” she murmured.
He watched as her pink lips shaped the two syllables and he swore that they looked as if they were dancing the most beautiful dance.
“Nina,” he repeated, savoring the word, how it twinkled upon his tongue, his lips. He smiled and looked over the girl, now fast asleep.
“Well, Nina,” he whispered. “you get some rest. I’ll be here. I’ll keep you safe.”
***
Nina rolled over, pushing the blankets back from her form, pushing sleepiness away from her fluttering eyes. She yawned and reached her arms up towards the ceiling, her body enjoying the feeling of being pulled gently to and fro after a long and still slumber. She pushed herself upwards and found that morning light still spilled in through the glass windows. She pushed the blankets back and squinted out the window, her nose pressed to the glass. It was most certainly still morning, the sun hung low in the sky, just daring to peek its golden head above the the centers of the trees. She spied several horses rustling each other awake with playful whips of their tails. Nina shimmied forward, releasing herself from the warm folds of the blankets. She pressed her fingers against the iron latch that sat at the center of the glassy panes and pressed. The window sprung open easily, and the smell of fresh morning air seeped in towards her, washing her in wakefulness. It was most certainly morning. She felt rested; her head throbbed still, but now the pulsating pain was more of a background sound. More like a persisting annoyance than an all possessing sensation. She ran her fingers through her hair and discovered that a large lump crowned the right side of her head. She winced as she poked at it gingerly; still very tender to the touch. Nina pulled the window shut and placed her feet down onto the hardwood floor.
The fireplace sat empty, barren of flames, which she was instantly thankful for; it was hot and humid. Beads of sweat worked their way down her neck; rivulets of sweat snaked down her chest and dribbled between her breasts. She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face. She lifted her shirt and mopped at the sweat that had begun to pour over her body. She realized then that she was very warm indeed and, to her disgust, that she smelled rancid.
“Oh god,” she coughed, sniffing at herself. “Ohhhh my god. Holy shit. Ew.”
She desperately glanced side to side, looking for somewhere she could strip her clothes and scrub her body clean. Feeling awkward, she decided to stay put and instead seek Rowan’s help. She cleared her throat and stretched her voice.
“Rowan!” she called. She waited and listened. The house remained quiet except for the shifting of the floor boards and the soft brushing of tree branches against the window panes. She waited, then opened her mouth again. “Rowan!” she called again, a bit louder this time.
Her eyes narrowed as she concentrated on listening for his response. Still, no answer came. Nina sighed and walked out of the fireplace room and into the next. She found herself in a small sort of kitchen and dining area, home to impressive floor to ceiling windows. A huge gas cooking range sat against the wall, and an ice box rubbed shoulders with a sink. Nina found a collection of bright red, tiny tomatoes sitting in a hand-woven basket upon the smooth, stone countertop. She popped up onto her tip toes and reached a hand into the depths of t
he basket and plucked a single tiny tomato from the pile. She popped it into her mouth and chewed. An explosion of sweetness warmed her taste buds. She reached for another, popped it into her mouth, and wandered down a small, short hallway lined with framed polaroid pictures. She paused, sucking on the tomato, considering the pictures.
“So are you also a photographer, then?” She heard herself ask aloud as she ran her fingers over the framed images and shook her head. “Rowan, Rowan, Rowan.” She let the name sit upon her tongue, rolled it around in her mouth, tasting the way every syllable felt upon her lips, rubbing against her throat. “Who are you?”
One Polaroid featured the cabin, clad in the feathery magic of a dusty snowfall, a dog sitting proudly by its front door. Another framed photo starred a stranger laughing, her dark hair pulled away from her face in a messy bun, her dark eyes alight with life. Nina turned and found herself face to face with a photo of a horse, a close up of its face, its nostrils pressed against the lens. Its eyes were blinking long eyelashes at the camera, as if ready for its close up. She grinned and swallowed the tomato, then continued her walk down the short corridor. Then she turned and stopped.
