The Best Friend

by K Larsen

  “Okay.” I nod. I look around and realize Mike’s been busy. There is a small metal grate over a shallow dug fire-pit. A pile of wood next to it. Two coolers off to the left of me. A tent to the right—all set up. My expression must give me away because Mike says, “You needed the sleep. I didn’t want to wake you.”

  Down at the shoreline, the plane bobs every so often in the water. I want to be in it—flying home. I lie back again and curl up on my side so I can see him. My eyelids feel like elephants are sitting on them. Mike has a fire started. I think I fell asleep again. It’s much darker now. He sees me awake but we don't speak. I am so grateful to see a friendly face that I’ve ignored my heart. Or rather let my feelings for him poison my heart. The body’s funny like that. Invisible chemical reactions combust and suddenly willpower, reason and sanity are replaced with carnal desire. Makes me think the brain has less control than the heart over the body. Mike’s biceps flex as he goes about heating up food for us. I could watch his movements all day long. But something feels off—like I’m on one side of a door—peeking through the keyhole at my own life.

  I lie back down, eyes heavy with the need for more rest. Vibrant colors float and shape-shift behind my eyelids. My senses feel as electric as a live wire instead of the dull ache they’ve been. The feel of the cotton shorts against my thighs arouses me. Are these normal feelings? My breathing speeds as I feel less in control of my body.

  Fingers graze my skin and my eyes snap open. Mike’s expression is fraught with concern as he looks me over. But all I can think about is how hungry I am.

  7

  Aubry

  The flicker of the fire illuminates my skin drawing my attention to my inner elbow. Angry ruddy marks polka dot my arm. They look like vampire fang bites. Puncture wounds of the worst kind. I shiver and pull my knees to my chest. I took a substance abuse class in college that covered heroin and the withdrawal symptoms. I wrack my brain trying to remember what I learned. I should have paid more attention even though it was only an elective for me. I recall something about the word paw. No, that’s not right, it was PAWS, a deceptively cute acronym for post-acute withdrawal syndrome, and the symptoms are similar to PTSD. Thanks to Nora, I’m acutely aware of those symptoms too. I shake off the feeling of dread building inside me.

  “So, what are we going to do?” I ask.

  Mike flips a burger, the juice drops into the fire, sending flames shooting upward.

  “I have to go back, Aubry. I have to play it cool and see what I can find out.”

  “You can’t leave me here.”

  “I can’t bring you anywhere else either. If there are people around, you could be in danger. Do you know what that would do to me? If I left you somewhere and you were gone when I got back?”

  I shake my head at him.

  “I’d go mad. At least here no one can find you. Until I know what I’m up against the best thing is for you to stay hidden.” He pulls one burger from the heat and plates it before flipping the other one. “There’s ketchup in the cooler.” He nods toward it.

  I get up and retrieve the few condiments in the cooler. Mike looks proud of himself as he hands me a plate with a charred burger on it.

  “Hopefully ketchup masks burnt meat,” I say.

  “Hey,” he feigns mock annoyance. “I tried.”

  I sigh and look at him. “You did. Thank you. I haven’t had a burger in too long. It will be good, no matter how badly burned. Anything but tuna.”

  While we eat, Mike tries to get bits and pieces of information from me about where I was and what was done to me. For the first time, I realize why Nora was so reserved when she finally came home. There are things that you just know some people shouldn’t hear. Some details are better carried only by the one burdened by them. He reaches over and touches my thigh, the weight of his hand a comfort. A mosquito lands on the backside of his hand. It’s prehistoric in size. I squeal. Mike chuckles and slaps it. His plate falling from his lap as he does so.

  “So, this plan,” I start. Mike nods. “What is it?”

  Mike looks up at the sky. “I radioed mechanical failure in and called Yuri. He was pissed, Aub.”

  “What does that mean though?” I ask. He drops his chin and his gaze from the stars to my face.

  “It means I have to go back and meet with him. It means you have to stay here.”

  I swallow past the building anger and knot in my throat. “For how long?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know.” He scoots closer to me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders. “I won’t leave you for long though. I’ll come back as soon as I can manage.”

  I shrug out of his embrace, angry.

  “No. That’s bullshit. Take me home Mike. The police can keep me safe. I don’t want to stay here. I want to go home. You can’t leave me here.” I try to sound as stern as possible but my energy is waning quickly. Withdrawals are no joke. I’m cold and hot, fatigued but revved up. I still don’t trust everything I see, and the hunger—the hunger is ferocious. Food is foremost on my mind. It seems to outweigh my anger which is new for me. Paralyzing pangs of fear pulse through me at the thought of Mike leaving here me alone. I’ve been alone. I want him to stay over anything and everything else. Even going home. I just want to keep the familiar face at my side but I’m not communicating any of this the right way.

  “Aubry, if I could figure out a better way I would! You’re making this impossible. It’s not just you in danger anymore.” My fist darts out at warp speed and connects with his shoulder, the force sending him off balance for a moment. He grunts and clutches his shoulder while shooting me a look of surprise.

  “So, what? Your life is more important than mine? You just elected yourself the leader in all this?” My bottom lip quivers with a surge of rage.

  He jams his fingers into his curls. He growls into the air. “That’s not at all what I said.”

  His eyes plead with me. Confusion between what is right and wrong, what is good and bad, what is true or false hangs heavy in the air between us. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know if his plan is a good one or if I should force him to bring me home regardless of the consequences. But, if I caused anything to happen to Mike by making him bring me back … the thought niggles my brain. I don’t want that. I need to be certain not rash. For long moments we don’t speak. I don’t know what to say and I have a feeling Mike doesn’t either but he still breaks the silence first. His sigh is defeated and I begin to feel guilty about making his life harder than it already is. My stubborn streak has always gotten me into trouble.

  “I’m going to the water to cool off. Come with?” he asks.

  I nod even though I’m not hot like he is. I could use a quick rinse though. My body feels sticky and gritty. He takes my hand and helps me to my feet. “I brought you some clothes. They’re in the tent.” The feeling of my hands inside his makes me relax a little more.

  Grinning at the prospect of clean clothes, I head to the tent. When I unzip the door and step in I suck in a deep breath. He’s made a bed that looks plush enough to be comfortable. There’s a lantern, a small stack of magazines and a pile of tank tops and shorts along the side wall. I grab a tank and a pair of shorts and join him outside.

  “Here,” he says, his hand outstretched. I take the washcloth he’s offering and give him a shy grin. “Come on.”

  I’m lifting handfuls of silty sand and letting it pour through my fingers. Sitting so close to him, alone in this remote place filled with so much beauty makes my heart swell. I’ll take this over a dank cell any day. I’m agonizingly infatuated with Mike. I realize that now. It makes sense that I dreamed of him so often. My hand, half-hidden in the sand, creeps toward him, next my knee starts on a cautious excursion toward his. I need to feel him. To feel I’m not alone.

  “Everything here is beautiful,” he says, his voice gritty from our silence. “But most of all you, Aub.” Our eyes meet; lock onto one another's. We sit on a desolate stretch of sand, and here, under the cobalt
shadow of nightfall, he pulls me to him. I wait with bated breath for Mike to make his move. My body in such a state of lust not even the cool river water my toes are submerged in brings relief.

  He only holds me. A pang of disappointment stabs my gut. The water's edge, the gentle sound of the river, Mike’s arm around me, it lulls me into a trance-like state that not even my ever-present tremors can break through. I bite my lip and angle my face toward his. His eyes hold mine a moment too long and I don’t miss the fire burning in them. I watch as Mike stands. He walks into the water unsteadily. He sinks from ankle to thigh deep in only three steps and lets out a deep sigh.

  “What are you doing?” I ask.

  He turns around and grins at me as he strips down to his boxers in the moonlight. His muscles highlighted by the shadows of night. He approaches slowly. I stand. “Raise your arms.”

  I do as I’m told but find I’ve lost my breath. He lifts his tee shirt up and over my head and tosses it in the sand. His thumbs hook the waist of his boxers that I’m wearing and he shimmies them off me.

  “Come on,” he says taking my hand. We both wade in up to our thighs and stop. Mike sighs again. “I’m sorry, Aubry. I don’t know what they’ll do to the others if this goes bad. I can’t have that on my conscience. Did they…” He squeezes my hand. I squeeze back. He looks ill with guilt.

  I shake my head. “No one touched me like that. But sometimes that seemed worse. I don’t understand why I was spared.” Tears begin to roll down my cheeks. Mike’s thumb brushes them away. “I know you’re just trying to keep me safe.” But I don’t know that. I’m smart enough to realize that anything I feel right now could be true or could be a withdrawal symptom masking the truth, but I desperately want to believe my words.

  He turns to me, the moonlight accentuating half of his face and grins. “I will figure this out. I swear.” I have never wanted to believe something so badly in my entire life.

  I half smile at him before narrowing my eyes playfully. “You have a week.”

  “What?” His expression of shock lightens my mood.

  “I don’t camp longer than a week. It’s not really my style,” I say in an attempt to be funny. I let his hand drop, turn to the water and dive in. It’s not as cold as I thought it would be. It’s almost warm. I pop up a good ten feet from where Mike stands. He’s laughing—his head thrown back like a little kid.

  “Don’t leave,” I say softly. “Stay with me.” His laughter stops. He dives under the black water, disappearing from sight. When he pops up, we are only inches from each other. His face lined with concern.

  He pushes a wet stand of hair from my face. The gesture makes me want to move just another inch closer. “I can’t. We can’t both be missing then magically appear.”

  I pout despite knowing he’s right. His logic is sound. I swim back to the shoreline and grab the washcloth so I can give myself a quick once over. I need it. Mike is walking out of the river, shaking the water from his hair. When I feel somewhat clean, I join him on the small beach. I pull on the tank top and shorts. Clean clothes feel heavenly. The sky illuminates. My head snaps up. Thunder cracks moments later. It’s too loud and startles me.

  “Let’s hurry,” he says. I nod just as the sky opens up, letting a flood of rain down. Fat drops come at a furious pace. It drips through my hair and down the ends of it, onto my tank top. I take Mike’s outstretched hand and we begin to run back to camp.

  I’m drenched when we make it back. The fire is almost out. A steaming pile of embers glows in its place. Water runs off Mike’s chin, between his pecs and down the ridges of his abdominals. My feet slip in the mud a bit.

  “Kiss me.” I don’t know why I say it. The corner of his mouth lifts. His dimple pops. He leans in. Two hands plant on either side of my face. Fingers tangle in my wet hair. His lips are warm when they touch mine. So warm, I feel as though I’m melting. I am for a moment, part of Mike. I am unscathed, untainted. One hand drops to the small of my back and pulls.

  We’re flush. Chest to chest. Mouth to mouth. Hip to hip. I moan. He fists my hair. The rain pelts us. He has a magic devilry that I can’t resist. We collide like stars burning across the sky. We consume every particle of each other’s soul and flesh under a cluster of black clouds. This kiss. It’s … witchcraft. Mike sucks me dry. I devour him whole. We are flawed and dangerous to each other. Or maybe, he’s risky to me; making me want things I’m not sure I can have. His free hand grazes down between us, to my stomach and pushes us apart. I gasp. The sudden absence of him strangles me.

  “Not like this, Aub.” He shakes his head sending little beads of water flying around us. A rush of humiliation hits me and I frown and look away. He grabs my hand and tugs, pulling me into the tent. Inside, like a petulant child I pout and cross my arms over my chest.

  “Aubry, the time’s not right. I want you. I do,” he says. He pulls my hand away from my chest and places it over his cock. Hard and straining against his shorts, there is no doubt that he is lust drunk too.

  “The timing will never be right. I need to feel you. I need to feel alive, Mike.” Why doesn’t he understand? The timing is perfect. I want to feel. I need the rush of being here and free.

  He lifts my arms and strips me down. He dries me off with a towel, tosses it in the corner of the tent and sits. He pats the makeshift bed. I bite my lip but oblige him. I lie on my side facing away from him. With a sigh he lies down too. He makes sure our bodies don’t touch. I ache with longing as we lay awkwardly side by side listening to the rain pepper the canvas of the tent. The silence between us is loud. It’s deafening. I have so many things I’ve yearned to say to him when I thought I’d never have the chance, yet now, in the moment, I can’t seem to get them out. I clear my throat, hopeful the right words or courage to say them, will appear.

  “I can sleep somewhere else.” His words are abrupt. He flips over to his knees and pushes himself to a standing position.

  “No!” I rush. “I don’t want that. I’m sorry. I’m …”

  I’m yanking him down, nestling his warm body against mine. I can’t resist his heat. His body remains rigid for a moment before he snuggles into my back. My emotions click into place. A sense of peace fills me up. “Please, just like this.”

  He nods against the nape of my neck. His arm over my waist pulls me in a little tighter. I grin so big I wonder if he can physically feel it behind me. Safety and comfort lull me. I close my eyes and drift.

  8

  Mike

  Salve’s boss, the chief of police is set to give a statement this morning. My ass is planted in a hard metal chair at the coffee shop across the street from the station. A herd of reporters stampede toward Salve and the chief, on foot, shouting for attention as he prepares to give a public statement about Aubry. I already know the details. They don’t know anything. Still, I want to hear it. Salve scans the crowd. His eyes wander as the Chief speaks. When they land on me, I give a quick nod and get a chin lift back. If anyone can figure out what happened to her, it will be him.

  I learned a long time ago, how life throws punches and you have to stiffen your backbone and fight, just as Aubry is. Thus, I’m here, listening, watching the crowd. Sometimes watching is crucial. Angela is off to the side of the crowd, her eyes scanning. She wraps her arms around her middle. Besides the reporters, vying for a hot story to pitch later, there aren’t many people. I’m stuck on Angela at the moment. Ragged and rail thin. She needs a break. She shouldn’t be here. Aimee needs her to be more present. Her eyes though, are locked across the street from me. I scan the small cluster of people on the opposite sidewalk from the cafe and stop short when I see a familiar bulbous nose and ruddy skin. Seeing him in the sunlight, outdoors during daylight hours is strange. I almost don’t recognize him. It’s as if I can’t place him in this context, but then … I can. Gregor leans against a lamp post and stares at Angela. She immediately whips around to face Salve. I don’t blame her, Gregor’s gaze is not a friendly one. What is he doing h
ere out in the open like this? Movement in my peripheral has me shifting my focus. Reporters have turned and crowded around Angela. Salve and a couple officers are trying to get them to give her space. I toss a twenty on my table and jog across the street. Salve sees me and nods. While he shouts at the reporters, I grab Angela’s elbow and tucking her under my arm, escort her away from the mob and into my car.

  She’s breathing hard, hands balled into fists in her lap. When I start the engine, I notice Gregor is gone.

  “Are you okay?” I ask as I pull away from the curb.

  Angela nods. I head toward Aubry’s house before I realize, that’s not where Angela lives.

  “You’re a good man, Mike.”

  “What?” I half turn my head toward her. Her eyes are two wells, filled to the brim just waiting to spill over. It makes me uneasy.

  “221 Baribeau, by the way.” She checks her watch and then, “Aimee will be home soon. I need to be there.”

  I nod and step on the gas.

  My house will never win a prize for decorating. It’s not homey, nor is it particularly cozy. If it has any aesthetic value at all, it would be “vaguely institutional”, at least that’s what Aubry said the first time she came over.

  It’s tidy—the dishes in the sink are rinsed and stacked—but it doesn’t contain much that makes it feel personal. The walls are the same bland white they were painted when I moved in. I added curtains over the windows, partly because the blinds let in too much light and partly because I don’t want anyone looking in. Not that they could see in from the street. The house sits back from the road a good four hundred feet. After a hard couple of days at work, the personal ways most people shape the places they live, with trinkets or pictures, I found I’d rather come home to a fairly neutral space where I can center myself again. It’s also easy and lazy.

  I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower, letting the water heat up while I remove my sweaty clothes. Standing in front of the mirror, I look over my naked body. Tight. Toned. I hop in the shower and scrub up. Wash my hair and body, then hop out to get ready. I miss sparkling eyes that could change from sky blue to a dark sapphire in moments, the way she would put her hands on her hips in a Superman pose any time she was trying to make a point. I’ve spent a lifetime feeling incomplete and just when I thought I’d met someone who might fill the void, she disappeared.