The Best Friend

by K Larsen

  “What?” I look up at him, eyes still watery to find his own wet with emotion. It’s got to be almost ninety degrees in the plane right now because Mike’s sweating but I have a chill that’s got my teeth chattering. He stares at me hard for long moments. A look that full of wonder, joy and dread simultaneously. His eyes dart from my face to my arms, then down to my legs before coming back up to my face. He’s thinking so hard I can practically see the proverbial wheels turning.

  “You’re sick. I can’t bring you home yet. I need you to get better first.” His lie immediately gnaws at my gut. I push away from him and scurry to the far side of the plane.

  “What the hell?” I whimper. “I want to go home.” He drags a hand through his hair and looks everywhere but me. I grit my teeth and tell myself to be strong, to keep the tears at bay just a moment longer, “I said, I want to go home!”

  He draws in a deep breath, holds it, then releases. “Just, calm down, Aub. Let me help you.”

  “Help me what?” I shriek. Why is he here? Why I am I with him if it’s not to save me. To bring me home? He can’t be a part of this, can he? There would have been signs before. I would have known somehow. I can’t control my emotions. A sob breaks out, leaving my lungs desperate for air. He lurches forward and grabs my arm. With a yank it’s extended palm up.

  “With this,” he says and looks at the inside of my elbow. My eyes follow his and land on … track marks. I pull my arm from him and run my index finger over the faint lines on my skin. How did I get these? Is this from Small Man?

  Shaking my head I try to make sense of everything.

  “I don’t. I didn’t. They did this to me,” I say. Suddenly demons are begging me to be let out.

  They are vigorous and angry. My heart races. I don't care what the consequences are, I have to get home. If I have to kill the Russians I will. I will do whatever necessary to protect my family, friends, and Mike. Murder seems like a small price to pay at this point. My thoughts race, unfiltered and unreliable. I try to stand but anxiety and fatigue rush me. I dig my nails into my scalp and pull at my hair.

  “Stop that,” he says pulling at my wrists. He puts my palm on his chest and places his on mine. “Breathe,” he says. “Just keep breathing.” Somewhere in the recesses of my brain I recall him telling me his mother used to do this very trick with him when he was a boy. I stare at him, letting my tears freely drip from my eyes and splat on my thighs for what seems like an eternity. He waits me out. Let’s me have my moment. Staring into his eyes, until my tears dry up, he breathes with me. In and out. Slow and steady.

  When I am calm, he draws me against him and holds me like he wants to never let me go and it feels so good. Tears prick my eyes. I do nothing to stop them from spilling over and running down my face. His heart thumps wildly in my ear. It lulls me into a relaxed state. I’m safe. His palm rubs the length of my arm, down and back up. That’s when I realize I’m in nothing but a negligee; red and obscene. I feel vile dressed like this. Questions I don’t have answers to, flit through my mind.

  “Why can’t we go home?” I’m beginning to think this is all a dream. An elaborate hoax played on me by my very own brain.

  Mike sighs and draws slow small circles on my skin. “There are two sides to every story, Aub.”

  Sniffling, I ask, “What does that mean?”

  “Let’s find a place to camp out. You need to rest. You’re shivering because you're in withdrawal. You’re only going to get worse before you get better.” His tone soft and gentle.

  “What’s your side of the story, Mike. I want to know—now.”

  He blows out a breath and glances at his watch. “I’ll tell you. But first I need to make sure no one can find us.”

  “No. Now,” I demand. I slap a hand on his thigh to drive my point home.

  “I can’t just box you back up and deliver you to God knows who. I can’t bring you home. Yuri and Gregor will know it was me. And the consequence for crossing them is death. Fuck. I have two rules; never ask what the cargo is and never look at the goods. But I’ve never transported something I thought was alive.” He scrubs his forehead, slick with sweat and leans back against the plane wall. I close my eyes and grit my teeth.

  “Transported?”

  “I have two choices, feign ignorance; start up the plane and continue to my drop spot or bring you home and endure a death sentence. What the fuck have I stepped in? How did you get mixed up in this babe?”

  Fear wraps its icy fingers around my belly. A mewl sounds. A pathetic sound. A painful one. A tortured noise. It comes from me.

  “Why’d you open the crate, Mike?”

  He punches the back of the pilot seat. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. We’re an hour out from the drop and I had to take a piss so, I landed the plane on what I thought was a serene stretch of river. I was watching my piss stream down and splash into the river and I heard a whimper. I couldn’t see anything though. I tucked in and zipped up and heard a groan. Distinctly human in tone.” His eyes plead with mine to understand. Understand what though? “Then a cry, one that sounded vaguely familiar to me. I crouched down next to the crate and pressed an ear to the box. Breathing. Someone was fucking breathing inside there.” He points at the offending wooden crate. “Or something. Then that goddamned cry again. I pried the lid off. Fuck. Aub. your arms are tiny, skin gray and loose. When your face came into view I stopped short.” He looks away as if the image of me is too much for him to bear.

  “You work for the Russians?” I breathe out, steeped in shock.

  Mike’s eyes bug out at me. “That’s your biggest question right now?”

  “Yes. It is. I saw your face and thought you saved me. I thought … I don’t know. I’m so tired. So foggy. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. And now you’re on the same team as the hell I just left? Just call Liam. Call Nora. They’ll know what to do.” I’m rattling off options like I’ve done this before and I know how idiotic it all must sound tumbling from my mouth.

  “Fuck no. Liam doesn’t know I smuggle.”

  “Smuggle?” My brain feels as if it’s on fire. Nothing makes sense. Mike doesn’t need to work. Why would he do this? Why would he risk freedom for something as stupid as smuggling for bad men? Dangerous men. The fact that Mike successfully hid this from everyone who loves him makes him a pretty good liar. I’m not sure what that says about me. That even I didn’t suspect a thing. I learned early that nothing is what it seems. Dads abandon families without warning. The nice man at the farmer’s market who gave us bones for our dog beat his kids. The valedictorian's big sister was really her mother. She’d had her in eighth grade. My very own popular, upstanding brother was a rapist. That’s the way life is. People are a menagerie of secrets.

  “Yes, smuggle.” My brain whirls. I squeeze my eyes shut in an effort to concentrate.

  “What about going home and hiding me there?” My bottom lip starts quivering. I bite it to make it stop. Mike reaches out for me but I dodge his hand.

  “Aubry, they know you were in that crate. They will know if you aren’t delivered to your destination. I’m the only person standing between them and wherever you were going. If we go back now, it’s a road paved with dead bodies. Bodies you’ll recognize. Are you ready for that?” he says. A bead of sweat drops from the lobe of his ear. I stare at him but don’t really see him. I don’t really see anything.

  “I don’t know. Deliver an empty crate. It buys us time.”

  He shakes his head. I watch him closely. Mike is strong jawed, with a straight nose, and eyes that are frosty. Those eyes hold a person tight in their line of sight. And if I’m honest, his is a man's body. He is as different from the men I was used to as the stars are from the ocean. But I thought that made him special, now I’m not certain.

  “We need a plan, Aub,” he says.

  I wipe at fresh tears with the back of my hand and nod. “Agreed.”

  6

  Aubry

  As soon as he throws ope
n the door humidity bitch slaps me, making it hard to breathe. We’re floating on a river, the banks flanked with heavy vegetation and trees. It appears to go on forever ahead of the plane. It’s wide and murky and I definitely don’t want to wade through it. Mike exits first and then helps me down. His arms are gentle but firm around my waist. His breath at my collarbone a distraction. The shock of the water against my skin makes me tremble more than I am. We wade to the river bank. I shade my eyes against the glare of the sun and stare at the jungle before me. I look around through the thick vegetation but see nothing. There is no is no sign of civilization anywhere near. My feet are soundless on the earth. The trees are leafy and thick around us. The heat of the sun warms me but still, I tremble. I don’t feel warm. The underbrush is deep green, with fat leaves that fan out surrounding us.

  “Where are we?” I ask rubbing my arms, trying to get warm.

  Mike looks around at the vast, thick vegetation surrounding us. “Central America.”

  Panic seizes me. We’re not in the country. I’m not near anything or anyone familiar. I let out a shaky breath and remind myself that I am okay. I am with Mike. I know him. He’s safe.

  “Where in Central America?”

  Mike keeps pushing forward, into the unfamiliar landscape. “Maybe Guatemala?”

  “Maybe? You don’t know?” My voice comes out a little too high pitched to sound calm.

  He turns and narrows his eyes but not in an irritated way, more a defeated manner. “Guatemala, Aub. We’re in Guatemala.”

  “Why’d you say maybe?” He shrugs but I don’t let it rest. “Why?” I push. Was that an intentional omission? It had to be. He’s a pilot. Of course he knows where we are.

  He shakes his head at me and hikes farther into the brush. He’s distracted and serious which are two things I’ve never witnessed from him before. Something is seriously wrong. I watch as he uses what little he pulled from the plane to make me a camp. He sets up a lean-to for us using big palm-like leaves and branches. While he works on that I change into the undershirt and boxers he laid out for me. The clearing is small but hidden and still near the water. I don’t know what might live out in the wild like this and the beasts my imagination conjures send a shiver up my spine. I watch him work in silence, my mind racing. My mind is still murky, but the drugs are wearing off.

  “Go make that drop,” I say. “An empty crate is better than no crate.”

  He stops what he’s doing to face me. He looks conflicted.

  “No. I need to pretend to have flight trouble. So we buy some time.”

  “Okay. Then what?” I ask. He resumes building a shelter. I’m sitting near the lean-to watching his muscles flex as he layers more leaves on it. Does he expect me to live in this hut for any particular length of time? Alarm sweeps through me. He’s given me a backpack with what little provisions he had in the plane. I haven’t even bothered to look at what’s in it yet. I’m not thinking clearly.

  “I have to leave you here, Aubry.” He stands at his full height looking down at me.

  Shock claws inside my chest. “What? No.”

  “Yes. I need to stage a crash or mechanical trouble. Radio it in, then get back home, or this whole thing is going to look really fucking suspicious.” He rakes a hand through his curls.

  “I can’t be out here alone. Stage the crash right here. Go. Go radio it in now,” I blubber. Tears well in my eyes at the thought of being out here by myself.

  “What if they come to check out the crash here? I can’t lead them right to you. Plus, I don’t have enough for us in the plane. I need to get to the nearest town and pick up supplies.”

  Swallowing thickly, I let his words sink in and take root.

  “Okay,” I say and huff. My mind is hazy still. “Okay, radio it in and go find food and stuff, but then come right back. Like … right back. I’m not sleeping here alone tonight.”

  His blue eyes stare into mine. They look stormy, like a war is waging. My bottom lip begins quivering. He pulls me to him and I cling like plastic wrap. I need to pull out of this embrace immediately. I’m wary of him yet part of me still trusts him. He’s familiar, safe. And he’s all I have at the moment. Instead, my head falls sideways like a rock onto his chest and my shoulders heave.

  “You, um, need to wipe your nose,” he says gently. Utter humiliation sweeps through me. I use my forearm because at this point, it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I’m still a prisoner, just in a new location. “Your idea isn’t so bad. I won’t be gone long. I’ll pick up supplies and be back before dark. Do not leave this spot, do you understand?” I don’t nod, or acknowledge him in any significant way because I can’t. “Fuck I don’t want to leave you like this.” He rests the back of his hand against my forehead like my mom used when checking for a fever. My mind is scattered, running in too many directions.

  He kisses the top of my head. It’s the most tender thing I’ve experienced in so long that part of me wants to ravish him right here and now, but the other, wants to punch him right in that prominent jaw. I could caress my fingers across that neatly shaven jawline, kiss those plump lips on that perfect mouth … and Lord is he perfectly tanned, with dark hair that curls at the collar of his tee shirt. I think the exact order I want to do things is clock him in the face followed by kissing him better. But I do nothing. I can’t stop trembling. I feel nauseous and dizzy. “You’ll stay right here?”

  I manage to nod as I pull away from him. He’s leaving me. Here.

  Alone.

  “How will you find this spot again?”

  “Don’t worry, Aub.”

  Don’t worry?

  I’m hoping it’s a better idea than it feels.

  I watch him walk down to the river and climb into the plane. A plane I was so eager to ride in and wowed by once. I still remember the first time he took me flying with him. It was sunset and clear as we climbed up, up, up over the ocean. Through the headset he’d narrated what geography we were flying over. And I’d thought, how lucky am I? How lucky am I?

  I snort as he waves at me before firing up the plane. Lucky is not an accurate description of my life. When the plane is out of sight I slowly make my way back to the makeshift campsite. I wipe my brow with the back of my hand and am surprised to feel sweat. I can’t warm up despite the heat here. I drop to the ground crossed legged on top of Mike’s windbreaker and pull the backpack into my lap. I’m exhausted and it takes much of my energy to simply unzip the pack and start digging through. I stop when my head feels as dense as the jungle surrounding me. There’s a pack of mints. I pop two into my mouth to quell the rancid, unclean feeling. I open a protein bar and nibble at it. My eyes are heavy and I can’t really focus on eating. It doesn’t matter because I don’t have much of an appetite. I drag the backpack behind me to use as a pillow so I can rest my eyes for a while. The sun’s bright against my eyelids. My body’s sore and I ache all over.

  I have the distinct feeling that someone is watching me. Close too, but when I reach out I can’t feel them. My limbs are dead weights. My fingers and toes—cold. It’s dark here in my dreams. I’ve never really been a dreamer. Well, before all this anyway. I never remembered them when I had them but I could sense that I’d dreamed. But now, my dreams are often and vivid. I don’t know if that’s normal. Life-like to the point I can smell and taste. Reality and dreams bleed together and I find it difficult to tell them apart.

  “I miss you.” It’s Aimee’s voice. I grin. I try to blink away the darkness but I can’t see her.

  “I’m right here,” I say. She squeezes my hand the way only Aimee can. A silly thing we made up when she was little. Two long squeezes followed by two short ones. Whenever she had a nightmare, she’d come to my room, not Mom’s. She’d crawl under the covers with me and snuggle herself up against me. I’d wrap an arm over her small ribcage and hold her hand. As she fell back to sleep—I’d give two long, then two short squeezes until she was out again.

  The squeezes set my soul at ease an
d I’m able to drift into the blackness without fear. My vision narrows in the dark.

  “Aubry, wake up. Come on babe, follow my voice. I need you to wake up.” A strong hand holds mine. I blink sleep away and slowly open my eyes. Everything is blurry. The sun, the clouds, Mike’s face. My neck is damp and cool. My forehead too. I reach up and palm the side of his face. He feels so real, but I feel like I’m on the edge. “Sit up, babe, you need some water.” I think I smile and let him sit me up. A washcloth falls from my face. Do I have a fever? How long was I out? He puts a bottle of water to my lips. The cool water feels sensational on my throat. I swallow big gulps greedily.

  “Slow down, babe.” Babe. It sounds so good rolling off his lips. I grin. “How’re you feeling?” He squeezes the cool cloth against the back of my neck and it sends a chill racing down my spine.

  “What time is it?” I ask, ignoring his question.

  “A little after seven.” He pushes the hair from my face. I lean into his palm. His eyes scan my features. Eyes. Lips. Neck, and lower. He licks his lips. I can't resist. I lean in until we’re only a whisper apart. I need to feel that he’s real.

  “Aub,” he says, voice cracking.

  “Kiss me.” The words just plop out of my mouth. I don’t feel ashamed though. I need to feel something.

  His lips, warm and soft, meet mine. Slow and tender at first. The longer we’re connected, the greedier he becomes. I don't mind. His kisses heal me, like medicine coursing through my veins. Hands explore. His body is hard and tight. I want to melt into him. Absorb his warmth and light. My body’s caving in when he pulls back abruptly.

  “What?” I ask, breathless.

  He narrows his eyes at me. “You’re shaking.”

  “Am I?” I take a moment to regroup. He nods at me.

  “We can’t do this, Aub. You need to rest. I think you’re in withdrawal. We need a better plan too.” My stomach growls. Mike laughs, his smile wide and easy. “Lemme make you some dinner.”