Paradise Forbidden

by Natalie E. Wrye

  One twenty-four hour period - two arguments with Kat. Is everything going to be a fight with this girl? Neither of us needs this shit. Chris might’ve been wrong about her…

  She falls silent, her face twisting into a scowl.

  I look downward at her leg.

  “—Matter of fact,” I state absently. “Let me get a look at that ankle.”

  She hops awkwardly backward, pushing her sunglasses into her brown mane.

  “It’s fine,” she snaps. “Look, I appreciate your concern, Trevor… but I don’t need your help. I can walk well enough. Let’s just get the hell out of here so we can cut down on all of these days that you think it will take to reach a phone.”

  ***

  After both glaring silently at the map, we head off in the general direction from whence we came (we think) trying to make it back to some semblance of a road.

  We barely speak to one another, letting the pulse of our little spat reverberate between us as we walk. Our anger from this morning’s fight is still warm beneath the surface, still simmering like a tempestuous stew.

  We circumvent the lake, trudging down the “road” on which we crashed. In our weakened state, it takes us hours to make the trip, and when we do, disappointment greets us with a smile.

  We find nothing at the end of the road. Just more mud and less hope. Where the driver came from is still a mystery, and the storm we just endured the day before has wiped out any memory of a trail that has ever existed.

  What happens next is total chaos.

  The tension that smoldered between Kat and I is now a bubbling turmoil, and we explode against one another with all of the steam of our suppressed frustration.

  Kat wipes impatiently at the sweat on her brow, nearly knocking the sunglasses off of her face. She looks down at the muddy land on which we stand with contempt.

  “Where the hell are we?” she huffs in exasperation.

  “Shit if I know,” I grumble.

  “I wasn’t actually asking you.” She turns on me. “I’m just trying to wrap my head around this. You don’t need to respond to everything, you know. You’re not ‘Father Knows Best,’ even if you think you are.”

  I place a hand on my hip, giving a flippant shrug… but the gesture is more hostile than it is casual, and my right shoulder burns with more unresolved tension than it does from the actual strain it’s endured.

  My voice is chockfull of disdain: the sarcasm thick enough to cut, when I respond. “Well, let’s see, Kat. I tend to think I know best because… well, I do: at least in our little group. And you… you seem to make a habit out of flying off of the handle and not thinking things through, so yeah… pardon the hell out of me for making some rational decisions and judgment calls.”

  Her hair is wind-swept, her bright eyes blazing as she speaks.

  “Yeah, well, this judgment call you just made sucked. You were the one who pointed us in this direction. And will you look at that? There’s. Nothing. Here. Good job, Captain.”

  “Hey!” I bellow. “If you think you can do any better, then feel free to take the reins, princess.”

  “Ok, then I will,” she retorts, folding her arms together.

  “Fantastic.”

  “Great!”

  “Go right ahead.”

  “I will.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine!” she says lastly: her beautiful face furrowed in outrage. Her cheeks are flushed, and her arms are crossed tightly at the chest. She looks like she’s going to stomp her foot in anger at any moment. It diffuses my temper by ten notches. The thought of it is nearly comical, and I almost can’t take her seriously right now.

  A waft whips her long hair, and once again I am reminded of how gorgeous she is. I consider making a concession. I exhale, dropping my gaze from her lovely face. I pause for several long seconds.

  “I’m serious, Kat. Do you really think you can take lead on this? Get us back in one piece?”

  She slowly drops her arms to her side: seemingly surprised at my acquiescence. She doesn’t hesitate.

  “Yes, I’m sure that I can. I may not be an avid camper or hiker – at least not since childhood - but I’ve had my share of experiences with these woods, and my sense of direction is spot-on… regardless of what you may think.”

  “Oh, I know,” I nod. “You seem to have very little issue with steering the vitriol that you direct my way.” I give a small smile to break the ice.

  She smirks at me. It is a shy expression, one that dances reluctantly on her lips. She rolls her eyes exaggeratingly, sucking her teeth in a way that makes her pretty lips smack.

  “Oh, eat me,” she banters.

  My smile widens. “Just say when and where.”

  It’s a wildly inappropriate joke, but luckily, instead of hauling off and slapping me, she winds up guffawing at my quick reply, snorting softly on the last breath. I can’t help but laugh, too. This is the first time I’ve heard her laugh. I’m surprised at how much I enjoy the sound.

  With our anger now deflated, we call a temporary truce, and I let Kat call the next shot.

  She poured over the map of Tennessee from the moment she awakened this morning. I stood beside her as she talked animatedly about where we should travel, the route we should take.

  She seems so confident all of a sudden. She told me that she’s quite positive that she has a bead on which direction we should hike, that she’s very sure of the way we need to head.

  Besides… she knows Tennessee way better than I do… This is really her domain, and I’m just a stranger who happens to know a little bit about trekking.

  What I had planned for our “Escape from ‘Nowhere’” was really no better: just a shot in the dark at making it out of the wilderness. I need to place some faith in Kat. I think she’s entitled to it.

  We start out traveling northeast, moving in a direction that we hope is closer to the state border. At her insistence, we move towards Cherokee National Forest on the map. We’re moving closer and closer to the national parks.

  Greater chance of encountering other people… or so we hope. For the first time since we crashed, I catch a whiff of optimism in the air. Things are finally looking up.

  The air thickens from the humidity, and when the sun is high, we stop for lunch: Trail Mix and crème pies.

  After testing the water, we set up shop near a small running creek, and when we settle in beside it, we are sweaty, sticky and probably stinking. (Or at least, I am).

  After polishing off my pie allotment, I turn and stand up, removing the white (Yeah, right. Not now) t-shirt that I’ve been wearing all day and tossing it on top of my bag.

  Next to go are my shoes, and then I unzip my blue jeans, tugging each leg off separately so that I can fold them in half and throw them right with the shirt.

  My arm and shoulder throb with every movement, and I can barely register Kat’s voice above the shrieks of pain that resonate from my right side.

  “What are you doing?” she asks from behind me.

  I wince, barely glancing over my shoulder. “Getting ready to wash.”

  Two beats pass by before she responds.

  “You’re washing here?” she says… and that makes me stop.

  I rotate on my heel slowly, looking down at my grey boxer briefs and back up to her face.

  The look on her face shows indignation, but the heat in her eyes reveals something else.

  Her voice cracked on the final syllable, the last word squeaking out by surprise. It’s fascinating to me, actually.

  Some hidden emotion snuck its way in there.

  Edginess, anxiety… expectancy.

  I never intended to fully undress in front of Kat, and I certainly would never disrespect her space, but to know that I’ve unsettled her tough exterior... flustered her sharp tongue… is… I don’t know…

  Exciting. Hm. I like making her nervous.

  I smile at her fretful face before offering a reply.

  “No, Kat. I’m going f
urther into the creek, where the water is waist-deep. I’ve got my bag of toiletries with soap. Don’t worry. I won’t offend your… blushing eyes.”

  I reach in my duffle’s side pocket, retrieving the small, clear bag of soap before splashing my way into deeper waters.

  About forty yards out, I stop in my step.

  And then, I remove my briefs.

  ***

  Kat

  My eyes flicker up to Blonde Zeus’s face as he washes.

  His eyes are unfocused, blanked: staring absently into space. He doesn’t notice me, anymore. I stare harder at his face than I did before, now that I can look openly at him.

  Similar to the way he looked at me yesterday morning. When he grinned in my direction. In that moment, I swear I forgot to breathe.

  Trevor is beautiful.

  I am smacked with the certainty of it every time he glances my way. He’s got one of those faces you know you won’t forget.

  But you will forget because come on, let’s be honest here. Time will go by and the vision will get fuzzy, but… that’s not what I mean.

  What do I mean…?

  Ahhh… I know what it is. It isn’t the face that you remember. It’s the feeling. You never forget the way you feel when someone like him crosses your path.

  It’s the sensation of suddenly falling: this shortness of breath that immediately overcomes you.

  A slight dizziness develops, as the rest of your body tries to catch up with what your eyes and mind are reeling from.

  My body could’ve been hyperventilating (and it practically was), but my face never changed. I’ve worked for years on fixing my face. Keeping it stoic when everything around me is going to shit.

  And I’ve gotten pretty damn good at it too, if I do say so myself.

  But not around him. Have I lost my touch? I used to smile when I wanted to smile… laugh, cry and frown on cue.

  Around Trevor, I lose control of my faculties. My cheeks flush; my lips curve. I’ve even brought back some old nervous habits –like biting my lip.

  It’s the look in his brown eyes. He’s not seeing me. He’s reading me.

  Instead of a person, I feel like a sonnet… or an essay for him to study: a deconstructed dissertation in which he picks the prose apart, analyzing the sloppy script...

  …A piece of me secretly craves it.

  I watch him bathe in the distance, my thoughts dismissing his eyes and focusing on his… everything else.

  As if Trevor’s face wasn’t enough, his body is perfection… and I have to fight with myself to keep my eyes from roaming lower. Even Zeus himself didn’t look this good. Trevor makes a deity look like a peon.

  His shoulders are broad and defined on his tall frame, the muscles lean and corded on his arms and back. His pecs are strong and solid above a diamond-cut abdomen.

  The rest lies below the water-line, and I thank God that it does. Any lower than that, and I’d be speaking in tongues like he were a real divine being.

  I remind myself…

  You don’t even like him. He’s a constant smart-ass. And he clearly thinks he’s the leader of this little duo.

  He snapped on you in the first conversation you’ve ever had with him. He abandoned the poor bus driver!

  I harden my stare, but on the other hand…

  He gave you his bedroll. He shared his belongings. He saved you.

  ARGH.

  I get up abruptly from the ground, dusting myself off.

  You have to focus, Kat. Remember the mission. You’ve got to get to safety, and then… you’re going to find this place.

  ***

  Trevor

  You have to find this place… I say to myself as I painfully wash.

  It’s why you came here: the only reason you came here. You have to forget Kat.

  But I can’t forget Kat. She’s the reason behind all of this. She’s the answer.

  I need her. And it’s because I need her that I can’t think about her, can’t let myself get too carried away. I place my soap back in the bag, shaking my head at myself.

  Kat. I stared at her cherry mouth this afternoon. All afternoon. Wondering why I was so turned on by it.

  It’s her lips. The color.

  She doesn’t bite her lip. She almost chews it. She tucks her bottom lip inside of her mouth, rolling it between her teeth. She’s not really gnashing the lip. More like playing with it. It turns her lips a bright red. They’re constantly flushed.

  I want them.

  In my mouth, on my tongue. On my dick.

  The funny thing is… more than I want her to put her lips on me, I am suddenly craving to put my mouth on her. She’s got this porcelain skin that begs to be touched.

  It’s smooth and milky. Just like porcelain, it’s difficult to handle: hard on the outside, but fragile. So deceivingly fragile. What I would give right now for just a touch… maybe a taste.

  Christ. Fuck is wrong with me?

  We’re out here in the middle of no-fucking-where, and I can’t stop thinking with my dick-head.

  A clank from our temporary campsite echoes loudly. Kat tries to rearrange the items, but she drops them in the process, reaching clumsily to reposition them.

  She’s trying to convince me that she can handle everything herself, but I don’t buy it.

  She doesn’t want me to know. Know how fragile she really is.

  The way she talked, the way she acted in the beginning… A cover. She doesn’t want anyone to see how vulnerable she is. Especially me.

  She doesn’t trust me.

  Can’t say I blame her. I haven’t said two honest words since the moment we met.

  Kat

  He puts his boxer briefs on before returning from the creek, and I can’t lie: I feel disappointed.

  He walks not to me, but to his large duffle, placing his shirt over his wet head and shaking roughly back into his jeans.

  I act busy, rummaging through my black backpack, as he turns around and heads my way. He extends the clear bag toward me.

  “Soap. If you’d like to wash up.”

  I look up into his serious face, scanning my eyes through his damp hair. I accept the bag and thank him before placing it beside me.

  My “bath” won’t be an easy task. Like Trevor, I’ve got a worsening injury, and trying to reach all of my limbs won’t be simple. I watched him suffer from afar as he tried to twist awkwardly to scrub his back. I know I’ll endure a similar fate.

  My only saving grace is that the water is lukewarm. Before I strip, I turn to warn Trevor, but his back is already facing me, granting me proper privacy.

  I slink out of my clothes as quietly as I can, taking care not to disturb my aching ankle. I ease sideways into the water, keeping my eye on Trevor’s back.

  I lather up when I’m deep enough, and still, he takes no note of me. Packing up our things is his priority one, and he treats each item with the utmost care.

  My bath is a slow one, and the more Trevor moves, the lengthier it becomes. His t-shirt is clinging to his wet body, and even from this distance, I can make out each muscle.

  His back ripples with each movement, his core twisting from the task. Water drips down his triceps when he brings an arm to his forehead and wipes.

  Looking at him while I touch myself is a bad idea, but somehow… I cannot stop. I’m watching him to ensure that he doesn’t see me, but also because I simply can’t look away.

  My fingers slow in their descent and take a life of their own. They spread silently across my stomach and rub gently across my hips; unknowingly knead across my rear and slide against my sex.

  Suddenly, my hands are not my own; they are his… and soon I am caught in a daylight fantasy that would rival my most vivid night dreams. Palms are on my body, skin is on my skin, and fingertips tease a trail of ecstasy.

  Under water, the slick caress of the soap sends me higher, and soon I am climbing, climbing… climbing. The soap slides like a tongue; my body is the tasting platter.

/>   And just when I start to scratch the tip of a climax… the slimy slap of scales against my leg makes me jump almost out of my skin.

  I yelp, grabbing my items just enough to haul ass away from the large fish that has decided to befriend me. I clamber ashore, barely holding onto my toiletries.

  Trevor turns around at the splashing, and I nearly break my neck trying to wave away his curious eyes. I crouch low beside my bag, attempting to scramble into my underwear without catching his eye again. The musical sound of his laughter drifts over to my side, and my stomach does a delicate little dance.

  I realize just how much trouble I’m actually in.

  ***

  Trevor

  I pop one of the few pain relievers we have as we head out after Kat’s bath. Twisting and turning to wash did a number on my body; I think my arm and shoulder might be worse than ever.

  We split off from the muddy road, still traveling north. We make our way through dusty clearings as we search for anything paved.

  Our journey is gradual and choppy as Kat struggles to hike small hills. Her gait is worse than before, and it bothers me to notice.

  She still won’t let me touch her, waving me off anytime I look too closely. If it’s possible, she’s even edgier than previously. Her stance is rigid. Her arms stay folded.

  Our trail turns wooded and we are back among the trees. We traverse the land with few exchanges, but at least we agree on the direction. And Kat… she turns out to be an amazing conductor of our train (more like train wreck, but I digress).

  For the first hour after I concede the charge as point person, I worry, reconsidering the decision I’d made about seven times, before something surprising happens.

  In an astonishing flip of irony, Kat somehow morphs into a sort of tour guide of the mountains, undergoing a simultaneous transformation into both director and instructor that nearly takes my breath away.

  She identifies different trees and ferns; she points out various birds and mammals. She seems almost shocked by the breadth of her own memory.

  She’s talking more to herself than to me, remembering things from her childhood that she’d thought were long past. I’m enjoying the show.