by Frankie Love
Me.
I’ve been a fucking asshole for two solid weeks, not giving her anything because I fucking hold it all against her.
And now she’s gone, who knows where.
But then it hits me.
No.
No.
No.
It can’t be.
But I know it is. The distant cry, that whisper of a scream.
I ignored it.
Just like I ignored her.
And now I’m scared I’m gonna be too fucking late.
12
It’s cold. Like really cold. And something is broken. Maybe a lot of things are broken. And this time I’m not talking about my heart.
Maybe my ass. Which isn’t gonna be a problem. I have hated that thing since it took on a life of its own when I hit puberty.
But I don’t think a broken ass is a thing.
I may be bruised, and I certainly did something screwy to my wrist. As in, the bones are fucked. I remember the sound of it snapping as I tumbled down the mile-long clay slide.
And my ribs. Something is definitely wrong there. Because the whole breathing thing is impossible. I close my eyes again, having lost consciousness a handful of times already.
I blink. Keep your eyes open, Nova. Don’t fall asleep. Keep calling for help.
But I’m no fool. Well, maybe I am a fool. Because this stream of consciousness stuff is seriously depressing.
Why am I even thinking about my booty when I’m most likely gonna die here? My final breaths cannot be spent thinking about something so superficial as my body.
My broken body. I wonder if anyone will ever find it? Will I be a skeleton then? Will those damn bats I keep hearing pick at my flesh?
Dammit, Nova, you’re getting seriously fucking weird down here.
I need to get my shit together. I’m not going to die.
Not now.
Not yet.
On my hand—the good one—and knees, I crawl to the water again. You’d think I would have died on impact, but I slid most of the way down, and then when I fell maybe seven feet through the clay—— I didn’t fall on rocks, I fell into water. Deep water.
I scoop up a handful and drink, parched, thinking that maybe if I drink water I won’t be so likely to pass out again.
I’ve been down here for hours, and I can’t reach the hole I fell through to climb back out—not that I could with this throbbing wrist.
It isn’t pitch dark down here, and that’s because of the luminescent water in the pool. It’s beautiful down here and that helps with the whole this-is-going-to-be-my-grave situation.
I lie down beside the water, freezing cold, and rest my wrist—the broken one—in the water, thinking that maybe if it goes completely numb I won’t feel the pain.
That’s when I start crying.
There is no way to numb this sort of break... no way to erase my choices.
Being here on Vitaie—lonely as it is—is still very much the place I want to be. If only I were here with someone who wanted me.
My tears fall freely, and I try not to sob because it hurts too bad. My ribs—maybe they aren’t broken—but they certainly are bruised, and my voice is gone, I spent the day shouting for help, but no one came. No one knows I’m here.
My one silent hope is that when Nick gets home and sees that I’m gone, he will come looking for me. Find my dusty footprints in the path leading to the mine. That he will call and that I will answer.
If he doesn’t, then I will surely die.
If he does, I’m going to slap him hard across the face and tell him to play nice. Because I spent my entire life letting my family walk all over me, make choices for me—ones I never wanted. When they got locked up for their crimes, I finally stood up for myself—went after what I wanted; this crazy chance at life on another planet.
But what have I let happen after just two weeks here? I let myself be walked all over once again. I haven’t pushed back on Nick—so desperately wanting him to accept me. But in doing so, I forfeited my own voice—, my own opinions, my own desires.
No more.
My wrist doesn’t throb anymore, and maybe I’ve lost my mind, but I pull it from the water and press my fingers to the bone I swore was broken. It isn’t. It is whole.
Maybe I haven’t been broken either. Maybe I am a heck of a lot stronger than I give myself credit for. Maybe my past hasn’t made me weak. Maybe my past is the reason I am so strong.
I stand, looking around, breathing easier too, and taking in large gulps of air, feeling better as I do.
Then I get to work.
This isn’t going to be my glittery coffin. No. This cave is the place in which I will be reborn.
13
I hear a distant cry and I know it’s Nova. Shame courses through me, and I swear to God never again. Never again.
I’m standing at the entrance of the mine, and when I arrive I know just where things went wrong for my wife.
I always head right—any other direction is a death trap.
Nova went left.
We should have put up some fucking red tape or a yellow warning sign to tell people: do not pass go. The guys who work here know the rules, and no one else is stupid enough to send their wives to wander around the planet without their protection.
I made it pretty damn clear to Nova not to show up here at the mine, that it’s dangerous, and I wasn’t saying that because I didn’t want her around—okay, I was saying that because I didn’t want her around—but I said it for a real reason, too.
It’s really dangerous here. The clay is soft, especially after we’ve just made it through the winter months where snow and rain pounded down the mountain, saturating the red clay.
I call out, “I’m coming, I’m here.” When she doesn’t answer I scream as loud as I can, hoping my voice echoes through the massive tunnel and reaches Nova.
“Niiii...” I only hear a portion of my name, but I know that Nova hears me. She knows I’m here.
She knows I’m coming.
Though she has every right to wish I’d stay away. I’ve been no good to her, she deserves more.
“I’m climbing up,” she shouts. This time I hear her distinctly. “Rope! Throw me a rope!” she screams.
I run to the tent outside, grab a massive line of rope and sprint back inside the cave. I fling it down, holding one end of the rope with my two hands and bracing myself in the clay, my feet sinking into the soft ground.
“I got it! Pull!” she screams. “Pull!”
I marvel at her strength as I grip the rope tightly, and pull. It’s a long ass rope, and if she survived this far—she must be okay. The fact that she is holding on to this rope and climbing up the slippery tunnel amazes me.
It seems an eternity. I’m pulling and pulling, sweat dripping down my chest as I work at pulling Nova from the depths of the mine.
She shouldn’t even be alive. She shouldn’t have survived that fall.
I don’t know how she made it.
But she did. She is alive. She’s shouting and her bones can’t be broken if she’s gripping this rope and pulling. Pulling. Coming closer.
“Nova,” I shout, just wanting to hear her voice again.
“I’m coming,” she manages. And eventually, she does come. Eventually, she’s holding the end of the rope, looking at me, her eyes sparkling.
As she summits the slope, she runs, —she runs to me.
“Careful,” I say, scared she’ll lose her balance and fall back down, but she doesn’t. I wrap my arms around her, so fucking grateful she’s alive. Breathing. Moving. Here.
Mine.
I don’t deserve her.
My arms wrap around her waist and she sobs against my chest, relief flooding her face; flooding mine too.
“Are you crying?” she asks. “You’re crying over me?”
I shake my head, but it’s true. I’m crying over this woman I swore I’d never get attached to.
But that was before I almost
lost her.
Now I need to fight for her.
“I was so scared,” she cries. “I thought I’d never survive. I thought I’d die alone down there.”
I pull Nova to my chest, cradling the back of her head with my hand, never wanting her to feel alone again.
—
I carry Nova in my arms. The fact that she’s whole and in my arms at all is a fucking miracle. I swear to God this girl’s been through the ringer, and somehow made it out alive.
I’m also carrying her for practical reasons.
She doesn’t have on any shoes.
I need to understand what happened. None of this makes sense. I don’t understand how she’s living and breathing.
“How are you not...”
“Dead?” she asks. “I don’t know, for a second there I thought I was going to die.”
“At the end of that tunnel is only rocks. How did you manage to fall and get stuck down there for hours without so much as a scrape?” I set her in the seat of the rover, and climb in on the other side.
Thank God I only live a few miles away, I want to get her back to the cabin and in some dry clothes.
“I didn’t fall to the end of the tunnel. At some point the ground beneath me broke, the clay cracked, and I fell through.”
“Fell where?” I ask. I know this mine better than anybody else in the galaxy.
“I fell into a pool of water. Crazy right? But it must be at the bottom of the mine, deep within the belly of this mountain. There was a pool of water and I swam, in one direction, until I hit what I can only describe as a shore. I was able to get my bearings because it wasn’t pitch dark down there. I don’t know exactly why, but for a second there I felt like I was really going insane. I think I was coming in and out of consciousness, every time I came to, I thought that my ribs or wrists were broken, but I guess that isn’t possible. I’m not hurt at all.”
“How far did you fall?”
“The drop into the water was maybe five or six feet, and the pool was deep. So I didn’t get hurt when I slammed into the water. And then when I got to shore and realized that I wasn’t dead, I swear I passed out. But when I came to, I drank some water and felt better. That's when I knew if I wanted to survive, I needed to climb out of the hole. I made a massive pile of rocks, and was able to climb up the hole that I fell through, and then back into the cave.”
“You must be exhausted.”
“Weirdly, I’m not. Maybe it’s the adrenaline. Nothing was going to stop me from getting out of there.”
“You’re lucky you didn’t fall again.” I park at the cabin and carry her inside. I set her down on the futon, before tending to the fire as quickly as possible. We need heat, but then I plan on tending to her.
On the futon, she takes off her wet, clay-covered coat, and lets her head fall back on the hard cushion.
“I was scared of slipping back down too,” she tells me. “That’s why I took off my shoes and socks because I realized I couldn’t get a very good grip with them on.” She smiles, holding up her dirty hands. “And I know you think my long fingernails are ridiculous, but I’m glad I kept them this way, I was able to literally claw my way into the clay as I climbed before you dropped the rope.”
“That sounds insane, you know that, right?” I say, kneeling next to her with a damp towel so I can wash her feet.
“Insane, but also pretty smart.” She smirks as if she’s one-upped me. But damn, she’s done a helluva lot more than that. “I know you don’t think I’m cut out for this life,” she says. “But today I climbed out of a tunnel made of clay. I survived. I’m badass.” She grins, and how she’s grinning after a day like this I don’t know.
But it’s infectious, and I shake my head, incredulous at the star before me.
“Kinda sucks, though,” she laughs. “Those boots were the best things I brought with me.”
“I can go back and get you those boots, and now I’m actually curious to see what’s down there.”
“It’s beautiful,” she says dreamily. “It’s like sparkling sand, beautiful, and prettier than the Bahamas. Which is saying something because I fucking love the Caribbean.”
“Sparkling? What kind of sparkling?” I can’t help but ask. The geologist in me is curious about things like this.
“Like, diamonds. But not big rocks. It was like sand, dust, luminescent sand dust. Is that helpful?” She unfurls the braid in her hair, then sinks deeper into the seat. She looks exhausted.
“Sure, it’s helpful. And now I wanna see it.” I stand, looking down at her. “You hungry?”
“I was going to make beans. Black beans. But then I got so lonely, that I went looking for you... Looking for anyone...” Her sentence peters off and I know I’ve hit rocky ground.
Ground that I need and deserve to tread.
I did this. I hurt her. I nearly killed her.
I run a hand over my beard feeling like such a fucking asshole. Not knowing how I can make it up to her.
“I can boil us this noodle and veggie dish,” I tell her.
She nods, “That sounds good.”
She looks at her hands, covered in the red clay, and I realized that more than food, this girl needs a bath.
“Maybe I could boil some warm water so you can clean up?”
“That sounds great,” she says, her face brightening. “I’m disgusting and I don’t really want to take an ice-cold shower outside. In the dark.”
“I’ll get the water warm and then let’s check to make sure there are no injuries.”
“I really thought I broke my wrist or bruised my ribs or something, but I don’t think I have anything,” she says as she pulls off her top.
I turn away from her as she begins to strip off her clothes. The water warms quickly and I pull the pan off, grabbing a second pot to boil more water for her.
As I do, I see her shimmy out of her jeans, her panties, and bra coated in red clay too. Damn, that shit is everywhere.
I blink, knowing I don’t have any right to look at her body like this. Before I turn away, she takes off her bra and steps out of her panties, reaching for the towel she’s hung by the door.
“You know, when I was at the bottom of the mine,” she tells me., “I made a plan for what I was going to do when I got back here.” The towel is tucked under her arms and she walks toward me with a washcloth in hand. She swishes it in the hot water, then squeezes it out, and begins rubbing it over her hands to wipe away the clay.
It is sensual, the way she runs the cloth over her hands, then up her arms, meticulously washing away all the grime. My cock twitches in my jeans.
“What were you going to do?” I ask, my voice gravelly, trying hard not to reveal how badly I want her. To carry her to the pallet in our bedroom and cover her with my body, promising to protect her from everything the world might throw her way.
“Are you back to the questions?” she asks. She licks her lips, though, a slight, almost playful tug on the corner of her mouth.
“I think I deserve for you to rip me a new one, after the last few weeks.”
She nods. “That’s about right.” She sighs, running the wet washcloth over her arms. The water on it so hot, her skin turns red. She runs the washcloth over her neck, and as she does the towel falls from her, leaving her standing before me, naked and beautiful.
She wrings out the washcloth and runs it over her breasts, washing herself, keeping her gaze locked on my eyes, teasing me. My cock is so fucking hard I don’t know what to do with it.
Not true, I know exactly what I want to do with it.
But she hasn’t offered anything to me, and I’m no place to take what I want.
“Ask me something,” she says, stepping toward me.
“If I explain to you why I’ve been such an ass, will you ever forgive me?”
Her eyes go wide, sincere. “Maybe.”
“I can start explaining now—”
She holds up her hand. “Shhh,” she says. “Not tonight. I
t’s been a long day. I’m not up for anymore soul searching. I had enough of it in the cave. Let’s save the conversation for tomorrow.”
“What do you want to do tonight?” I ask, closing the divide between our two bodies, already knowing what is going to happen next. Us. Together. In our marriage bed.
She drops the washcloth, takes my hand and places it on her breast, giving me permission. I won’t ask twice.
14
Nick runs his hands over my breasts, my skin warm from his touch. I close my eyes, knowing what I’ve been craving the last two weeks.
One night with him was not enough. Another night won’t be either. As he rests his hand on the small of my back, cupping my ass with his other, I lean into him, knowing I’ll need a lifetime with him.
He kisses me, and I sink into that kiss. His beard has gotten longer in the two weeks since he last kissed me, and his scruff rubs against my cheeks, against my chin, tickling me.
I breathe him in, his sweat and the soil and the promise of another night together.
My mouth parts; I didn’t expect to go from wanting to slap him, to wanting to have him—especially so quickly. But then he pulled me from the mine and carried me to the rover. He brought me back to our home, delicately washing my feet while looking up at my eyes with worry.
I don’t want to be alone tonight. I don’t want to be alone at all.
What’s the point of fighting if you still don’t get what you want?
And right now, what I want is him. This. Us.
“I’ve wanted you so badly,” he whispers in my ear, his hands running through my long hair, my face nestled against his chest. The sensation of being held by him is so right, it leaves me breathless.
I want to ask why, if he’s wanted me so badly, why didn’t he take me? Why was he so mean every day since I’d arrived?
But I told him the conversation can wait for tomorrow, so I push it from my mind, and instead hold on to what is true.
We have this. The right now.
I didn’t die today. I’m all right. I’m well and my core is aching for his touch.
