The Free

by K. Webster

  And Atticus.

  I don’t understand him.

  I don’t understand how I feel toward him.

  With my sister, I loved her. She was my everything. I needed her by me always. Esther was everything good in my horrible world. When she died, I lost a piece of me—a piece I didn’t realize was missing until recently.

  Sure, Atticus came to visit and brought me gifts. And, despite my not wanting it to, I liked the way my heart would tighten in my chest whenever he’d show up. Something about Atticus has always felt warm and safe. I like Reed and Devon, but even they do not evoke this sensation Atticus does.

  He’s gone, though.

  Left for supplies, so he says.

  I’m still not sure if he’s coming back.

  He has to come back. I need things like a knife and something warmer to wear. I need him to take me back to my home because this new place is far from what I’m familiar with and it makes me uneasy.

  Blind Bear whines and crawls closer to me. I hold out my hand for him. He scoots until he’s close and then licks it. I scrub behind his ears with my nails, which he seems to like.

  “How’d you lose your eyes?” I ask. “Big bear get you too?”

  He barks.

  I’ll take that as a yes.

  “Are you cold?”

  Another bark.

  I hate to admit it, but I am too. The idea of taking a hot shower is almost maddening. I’m irritated that Atticus has shown me something I thoroughly enjoy and will miss greatly once I go back home. I would’ve been better never being introduced to it.

  I may not be able to take showers, but I will brush my teeth. The cool sensation in my mouth is something I’ll never grow tired of. Not to mention, he says it keeps my teeth from falling out. All of my family lost their teeth except Esther and me. It made my brothers and father seem more frightening—not that they needed any help with that.

  “Come, Blind Bear. Time to warm up.”

  He barks in agreement. I kick out the fire with snow and then walk back to the cabin. Once inside, I shed my wet clothing. Blind Bear wags his tail as he sniffs around, checking things out. He flops down on the floor in the bedroom, panting.

  I strip off the rest of my clothes, frowning when I find the towel soaked with blood. I drop it in the pile of clothes before turning on the water. As soon as the hot water steams up the bathroom, I climb inside under the spray.

  If heaven was a feeling, it’d be this. I just know it. I could take ten showers a day for the rest of my life and be thrilled. For the longest time, I just stand under the hot spray, letting it run down my body. I don’t wash. Simply relax. Blood runs down my thigh and clouds the water at my feet. I’m reminded of how Atticus massaged me. Reaching down, I find the spot he touched. It throbs slightly beneath the pad of my finger. I never knew such a place existed on my body. A small place that if you rub it just right, it feels really good.

  I press my finger down, applying more pressure, and rub circles. It makes my muscles tighten and small whimpers escape me. The urge to go faster is overwhelming. Over and over I move my finger until the pleasure explodes through me. I nearly lose my balance as I cry out. My heart races wildly in my chest. Whatever that is, I love it. I want them all the time, but they’re exhausting to find.

  The water eventually turns cold, so I shut off the levers. After drying off, I choose more of Atticus’s clothes. I have to roll up another cloth to put into his underwear, but once I’m all put back together, I feel relaxed and almost happy.

  Almost.

  I’d be happy if he’d just come back.

  “Blind Bear, let’s go watch the noisy box. The people on there have shiny teeth and sometimes they talk about this thing called pizza that makes my stomach grumble. You will love it.”

  He barks in agreement.

  Good boy.

  * * *

  * * *

  It’s dark by the time I pull up to my cabin. I feel like a dick about that too. She’s probably scared out of her mind. And I don’t know that she would even remember how to make more oatmeal or coffee.

  Fuck.

  She’s probably starving.

  Guilt consumes me and I grab one of the bags in the cab before hopping out of the truck. The scent of fire makes my nostrils flare. I find remains of a recent fire near the cabin along with a bloody pile of bones.

  Goddammit.

  She was starving.

  I swallow down the self-loathing. While I was out there trying to get my dick sucked and then having a nice lunch with my family, she was here hunting down food in her weakened state. I’m a monster.

  The moment I push open the door, I hear growling. I pause. “Eve?”

  Silence.

  Did an animal get in? Is she hurt?

  The door swings open fully, giving me a good view of what I’m up against. Friends on television. Eve curled up under a blanket on the recliner. And a goddamn mangy dog at her feet growling at me.

  “Eve!”

  She jolts upright and turns toward me. Her eyes are wild until she sees me and then relief flashes in them. More guilt floods through me. I close the door behind me and point at the dog.

  “What is that?”

  “A dog.”

  “I know that. But why is it in my house?”

  “He was cold.”

  Only Eve could find some mangy Chow-Chow with no fucking eyes, befriend it, and move it into my house.

  “Dog,” I say lightly. “I live here.”

  His growling continues.

  “Blind Bear, that’s Atticus. It’s okay.” She scratches at his ears and his tail starts thumping.

  I kneel. “Blind Bear, huh? Seems fitting. Come here, boy.”

  He sniffs his way over to me and when he deems me safe—probably when he can smell the lingering scent of fried chicken on my hands—he licks me.

  “Good boy,” I croon. I lift my gaze to Eve. “A dog, huh?”

  She nods sharply. “I’m taking him with me when I go home.”

  Home.

  The thought of sending her away, even though I was ready to moments ago in my truck, makes my stomach clench.

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  I rise and approach the recliner. “I’m sorry.”

  Her plump lips press together and anger flashes in her brown eyes.

  “I shouldn’t have left you for so long. I lost track of time.”

  “The cans are broken,” she tells me, her words clipped with irritation.

  I frown in confusion and then it hits me. The fruit. They don’t have the pull tabs like the ones she’s used to.

  “Oh, shit,” I growl. “Eve, I’m sorry.”

  She turns back around to watch the television. Ross is rubbing white shit all over his legs trying to get back into his leather pants under the guidance of Joey over the phone. I let out a sigh and walk into my kitchen.

  What the fuck?

  There’s an empty pickle jar, an empty pudding cup, and an empty ketchup bottle neatly lined up on the counter. Droplets of what looks like mustard are everywhere. Did she seriously eat my condiments? Now I feel like the worst asshole on the planet.

  I’ll make it up to her.

  “I’ll be right back.”

  “Atticus,” she shrieks as she clambers out of the chair.

  Sad, pleading eyes. Trembling lip. Tears welling.

  Jesus.

  “Hey,” I say softly. “I have some gifts for you in the truck. Let me grab them. I’m not going anywhere else.”

  Her eyes narrow as though she doesn’t believe me. Gently, I stroke her cheek, pushing a wet strand of hair behind her ear. She flutters her eyes closed and leans into my touch. I stare at her dark lashes on her apple cheeks and her soft, pillow lips for a moment longer than I should before breaking away.

  Fifteen minutes later, I’ve brought in all of my haul. She paces the kitchen, her eyes wide with anticipation, and the dog wags his tail.

  “I got you a
knife,” I tell her, pulling it from my pocket.

  She flashes me a half smile. “Your knives are useless.”

  “You’re welcome,” I tease as I hand it over.

  “I went to my parents’ house and Ma made me stay for lunch. But then, my sister Judith and I, we went to the store. Bought all kinds of stuff. Judith made it her mission to make you a care package.”

  Eve blinks at me and cocks her head slightly as I hand her over one of the sacks. Tampons. Pads. Chocolate. Even some makeup as if Eve would know what to do with it. I didn’t stop my sister. Just let her do her thing. She pulls out a flashlight keychain. Eve pushes the button and exclaims with excitement. Another push of the button and it starts vibrating.

  No, she didn’t just give Eve a vibrator.

  Eve stares at it in wonder, the cranks inside her head working as she makes sense of the object.

  “Maybe you should give that to me—”

  “Mine!”

  I lift both my brows as she glowers at me, holding it to her chest. She mashes the button to turn it back off but doesn’t relinquish it. Whatever.

  “She sent a whole bag of her old clothes and picked you out some undergarments at the store. You should be all set in the clothing department.”

  “Food.”

  “Right. Your favorite.”

  I pull items out of the bag, secretly enjoying how she picks up each thing and curiously inspects them. She holds up a red package and sniffs it. Chewy Chips Ahoy. I peel back the top and offer her a cookie.

  “I like the smell,” she says, bringing it to her nose. Her pink tongue darts out to taste it. Brown eyes widen as she bites into it. Then, they flutter closed as she moans. My dick takes fucking note.

  “Yeah, Judith said you’d love those.”

  She devours six in a row before I close the flap, earning me an angry growl.

  “You can’t eat too many or you’ll make yourself sick. Especially since you haven’t had a proper meal today. Luckily, my mom sent me back with some leftovers.”

  She roots around in the bags while I reheat the chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans. By the time I finish microwaving it, both her and the dog are hovering. I toss him a piece of chicken and hand her the plate. Rather than bothering with a fork, she dives in, scooping it out with her fingers.

  “Fork,” I say gently. “In my house, we use silverware.”

  Her brows crash together and she makes a huffy sound before yanking open the drawer. She locates a fork inside. After stomping back over to the table with her plate, she sits and then loudly stabs at the green beans.

  Hormonal woman.

  Girl.

  She’s a girl, not a woman.

  I fixate on the way she licks her juicy lips. I wish I were fifteen or however old the fuck she is so I could suck away that grease from her bottom lip. My dick strains in my jeans, desperate to join the party.

  After she eats, I pull out the peach cobbler my mom made. Once it’s reheated, I set it on the table beside her plate.

  “Peach cobbler,” I explain.

  “Fresh peaches?”

  I smile. “The freshest. I also bought some peaches for you.” I dig around in a bag until I find them. When I show her, her head cocks to the side as she studies it. “See, it’s fuzzy.”

  Her fingers reach out to touch it. A smile curves her lips up as she strokes the peach. “Soft.”

  “And juicy.”

  “Sweet?”

  “Very.” My voice is rough and I clear my throat. “I’ll get this all put away. Then we can watch a movie or something together.”

  I busy myself with the groceries until she makes another moaning noise. I whip my head around to find her inhaling the cobbler. My mother’s peach cobbler has that effect on everyone.

  “Good?”

  “Mmm,” is all she says as she licks the container.

  One thing I will admit to myself is I enjoy watching her try new things. I don’t know what to make of my creepy fixation on Eve, but it’s been there for years. Ever since I saw her wide, distrusting eyes behind her dirty hair. I wanted to earn her trust and friendship. Now, years later, something inside me aches for more. It’s not fucking cool, but still there.

  She puts the plate down on the floor and the dog takes to licking it clean. Her brown eyes lift to mine and gleam with something I’ve never quite seen. Happiness.

  All I can do is stare.

  * * *

  * * *

  He hands me the sack filled with unfamiliar items. I’m careful to hide the light stick so he doesn’t take it. Earlier, he looked angry about me having it. And the way it buzzed gave me an idea. One that I don’t want him to know about.

  I carry the sack and the bag filled with garments to his room. After setting them on the bed, I rifle through the bag until I find smaller underwear. Black and soft. I instantly like the way the material feels in my fingers.

  “Do you, um, do you know what to do with that stuff?”

  His voice from the doorway behind me makes me jump. I don’t answer him. I just wait for him to explain what it is I’m supposed to do. With a resigned huff, he walks into the room and pulls out a box.

  “These are tampons. They, um…” He stalls and scratches his beard. “They go inside you. To soak up the bleeding.”

  It sounds painful.

  Like all the times my brothers and Papa were inside me.

  Shuddering, I swat it out of his hand. “No.”

  “Okay,” he agrees. “I wasn’t exactly keen on explaining how to do that anyway. The pads are easier. It’s like the towel, but you can throw them away.” Then he smirks at me. “Like you threw out my mustard. Why did you do that anyway?”

  “Yuck,” I growl.

  He laughs and it warms me to my core. “Point taken. Some of us like mustard. I put it back in the fridge. Keep it around for me, okay?”

  I nod, though I don’t understand how anyone could like such vile tasting things.

  “Anyway, uh, let me show you how this thing goes on the underwear.” He tears open the film on the pack and pulls out a yellow thing. “This is a pad. To open it, just pull back this tape.” It all unfolds brilliantly and then he tosses away the yellow film. He picks up the black underwear. “Then, you peel off this part so that you can stick it inside your panties, er, underwear.”

  “Panties?”

  “That’s what girls sometimes call these.”

  “Panties.” I smile. I like that word.

  He shakes his head, chuckling. “So, yeah. You then put them on and—Jesus, Eve, I meant when I go in the other room.” He quickly turns away from me.

  I kick out of his pants and take the panties from him. They fit snugly and the pad seems efficient and less messy. I like panties and pads. I locate some thin pants that are red and black. They’re soft like his bedding and it makes me want to wear them. I pull them on and am delighted to see they fit snugly without having them swallow me up like his pants do.

  He peeks over his shoulder. “Warn a guy before you take off your clothes.”

  “You have seen me naked.”

  His cheeks burn red. “I know and that was a mistake.”

  Shame ripples through me. “Why?”

  “Because you’re young. It’s not right.”

  I’m not sure why it makes me angry, but it does. I snatch the soiled clothes up and throw them in the clothes bin he has. Then, I grab my light stick and pocket it before heading to the bathroom.

  “Eve…”

  I stop in the threshold of the door.

  “I’m sorry I’m fucking everything up. I am so out of my element right now.” He approaches until he’s near. “Your hair is tangled. Did you not brush it after your shower?” A shiver ripples through me when he lightly tugs at my hair. “I could brush it for you if you want.”

  I like his touch, so I nod.

  “Where do you want me to brush it? In the living room again?”

  “The black box is loud,” I grumble.<
br />
  “Television.”

  “It’s loud.”

  “I’ll show you how to work it so you can turn it off or down. We can turn on some music instead.”

  Music.

  I have memories of my sister singing Bible songs and more recently I’ve heard Devon singing to her children. I like music.

  “Yes,” I agree.

  He grabs the brush and we head back into the living room. After mashing buttons on the thing he calls a remote, he turns it to a station that plays music. Rich, vibrant sounds come out and my heart races.

  “I like this,” I tell him.

  “Everyone likes Led Zeppelin.” He chuckles as he guides me to sit in his lap. “I figure if you’re going to listen to music, you may as well listen to what I like.”

  He runs the brush through my tangles. It feels good. Each little tug. My stomach is full, I’m warm, and I’m not afraid. Plus, Atticus is back and he’s touching me. This feels like happiness. Once my hair is all brushed out, he sets the brush on the table beside his chair and pats my thigh. Rather than getting up, I lean back against him. He’s stiff, but after a moment, he leans his head against mine. It feels nice. Warm and cozy.

  “How’s your wound?” His breathy words tickle the side of my face.

  “It doesn’t hurt.”

  “Liar.”

  “It doesn’t,” I argue.

  “You just don’t want more paste.”

  I turn to look at him. My nose brushes against his, but he doesn’t pull away. “Do you want to put more paste on?”

  His cock grows hard beneath me. The urge to rub against it is strong, but I refrain just barely.

  “I think you can manage on your own,” he whispers.

  “Then, no.”

  He scowls. “Anyone ever tell you you’re stubborn?”

  I reach up and smooth out the wrinkle between his brows. “I like it when you touch me.”