by Lilly Wilder
I see her hand is up to her ear, her thumb and pinkie finger outstretched, the other three folded downward. She’s pretending that she’s holding a phone.
“You wanna call someone?” I ask.
She nods again quickly. Her eyes light up and I see that underneath all that dirt and messy hair, she must be even more gorgeous than I thought she was. She probably cleans up pretty good.
“Mom….” she speaks a little and it sounds more like wow, but I understand her.
“Of course, you can call your mother,” I tell her. “But I doubt it’s advisable for you to talk long enough to explain what happened to you.”
Her hand quickly flies up to her cheek. The bandages are tight. Theron hasn’t told me the extent of her injuries, but if she can’t talk properly, they hurt her good. Rage fills me up again, just thinking of that guy being so rough with her. I regret taking it so easy on him. I should have fucking roughed him up so that the other guy would pick him up in pieces. Oh well. There’s always a chance of a rematch.
Her eyes fill up with tears, but she’s trying to resist crying. Women cry so easily. Too easily. When they do, I’m not around. All that unnecessary drama pisses me off. Men shout, we say things in the heat of the moment, even if it’s true, then that makes women cry even more. Nasty shit. Wouldn’t it be better without drama that we ourselves create and then wallow in it?
For a moment, I consider leaving and just letting Theron deal with the crying. I’m far better at bringing out other aspects of the female personality. Drama isn’t my thing. Theron has always been the one who picks up broken pieces and puts them back together. He’s got a knack for that.
And yet, I stay.
“Listen,” I start, trying to come up with a way to help her, “I can talk to her for you.” She gives me a confused look. “I can tell her where you are and that you’re OK. I suggest not telling her the whole truth though.” Another puzzled expression on that beautiful face that was now bandaged up, hiding half of it from me. “Maybe it’d be a better idea to tell them you had an accident and now you’re at some hospital in the middle of nowhere. They’ll probably want to come see you, but I’m afraid that’s not possible.” She raises her palms upward, voicing a silent question. “I’ll explain that later on. Just, trust me, OK? You want to let them know you’re fine, getting better I mean and as soon as you heal up, we can drive you back to the city, wherever you want to go. I just can’t have any outsiders wandering around here. It’s not safe.”
A shadow forms on her forehead and I know fear is creeping up on her again. I keep forgetting she’s paper thin right now. Like the flicker of a candle. One blow and she’ll be out. Her smiles are all on the inside now and yet, I saw her smile with Theron. But, this girl before me is bleeding emotionally, her invisible tears and blood spilling right onto the floor before me. I hesitate. I’m not used to dealing with broken things, broken people. I like things as a whole. Broken things agitate me too easily.
She tries to swallow, but it’s difficult. She then points at me and nods.
“Halk,” she whispers, the remnants of her voice echoing all around.
“Talk?” I ask, trying a smile. She nods, but no smile.
I look around and find a little notebook and a pen next to it. I get it and then place it before her.
“Right down your full name, your mother’s name and anything you’d like me to say.”
She doesn’t need to be told twice. She acts immediately. A flicker of a smile rests in the corner of my lips. It’s joy at seeing others do what I say. Most of the time what I say is necessary and I hate having to explain that to someone. At other times, what I say is simply… pleasurable. I watch as her pen jolts up and down on the paper, her left hand working quickly, leaning slightly to the right. Looking at it upside down, I notice it’s in cursive. Crap. Will I even be able to read it?
She finishes quickly and slides the notebook back to me, but doesn’t give me the pen. She keeps it in her left hand. She uses it to tap at her name. Isabel McCormick. Her mother’s name is Rosa. She points at a few other things. Mention Vanessa. Sister. Tone down the injury. Emphasize everything is OK.
“Got it,” I nod.
I take out a small phone from my pocket. It’s an old Nokia, not one of those fancy smartphones they’ve got nowadays. Only Zarael wanted one and after a huge discussion, we all agreed to let him have it. It doesn't serve him much, though. There’s barely any reception here. Most of the time you can only get it from a nearby hill. Sometimes, from our shacks, too. Internet is non-existent. Not like we’d be using it for much anyway. That’s just not how we roll. Shifter bikers aren’t nerds. We don’t have our noses buried in phones, or books for that matter, despite what Theron or Zarael will have you believe. It’s the wind in your hair, the sound of the revving machine, the smell of the burning highway underneath your tires.
“Do you know the number?” I ask her, wondering what she’d look like on the back of my motorcycle, her luscious brown curls flying in the wind, her palms pressing against my six pack, maybe even lower if the moment overtakes us.
She extends her hand and I put the phone in it. Her hand is small, but her fingers long. There are a few scratches on her skin. It is almost translucent, with occasional patches of redness. Her fingers are elongated, elegant and there is no jewelry decorating them. I wonder if those guys took it from her, or she just doesn’t like to wear it. For a moment, I imagine her moon-like skin covered in our clan’s warpaint, as she chants around the fire at night. The sight makes me hard, my cock jumping in my pants and I adjust myself a little, trying to hide it. There couldn’t be a more wrong moment for me to get a hard on. But I can’t help it. I never could.
She uses her trembling finger to type in a number and then hands me back the phone.
“I’ll call and say what we agreed, OK?” I tell her. “I’ll put it on speakerphone, so you can hear her, too.”
I immediately dial the number and watch as her eyes follow closely what’s happening on the screen. It rings twice and a female voice answers.
“Yes?” the voice says.
“Is this Rosa McCormick?” I speak slowly, making sure to speak closely to the phone.
“Yes?”
“Good day, ma’am, my name is Dexis Reynolds and I’m calling in regards to your daughter, Isabel.”
“Isabel?” A mother’s voice is unmistakable. For a moment, I try to remember my mother’s voice, but it is only a faint memory. “What happened to her? Where is she!?”
“She is fine,” I speak calmly and I can tell how heartbroken Isabel is that she can’t talk to her mother. “She’s had a bit of an accident and - “
“Accident!?” the woman screams and I have to pull away a little. “I need to talk to her now!”
“That’s what I’m trying to tell you, she can’t really talk right now, but I’m - “
“Why can’t she talk!?” she interrupts me again and I have to take a deep breath, not to shout back. I’m trying to explain what happened and she keeps preventing me.
“Mom… I’m… hine…” I hear Isabel trying to say she’s fine, but I doubt her mother heard much.
“Is that her!?” the lady screams even louder.
“She hurt her jaw,” I explain, realizing that I need to talk to her like I’d talk to a child. Short sentences, to the point. “So, she can’t talk properly. We’re taking good care of her.”
“Is she in a hospital?”
I glance over at Isabel, waiting for instructions. I don’t want to lie, unless she tells me to. I know exactly how badly it can backfire. It takes her only a second to nod.
“Yes,” I say quickly. “And well taken care of.”
“Where is this hospital? Can we come see her?” She doesn’t sound upset any longer. She is worried, she is hopeful. She is a loving mother.
“Unfortunately, we’re up in the mountains and I’m afraid you can’t get up here by car. And, I don�
�t recommend walking through these woods without a guide who knows the place.”
“The mountains?” she replies, in shock. “What was she doing there!?”
“You’ll have to ask your daughter that later on.”
“I really don’t understand…”
“You can save this number and feel free to call at any point to ask about Isabel. I’ll be happy to tell you how she’s doing. And, when she feels well enough to talk, she’ll give you a call.”
“Alright. Are you the doctor?”
“I run this place,” I grin at the word play.
“I see. Well, thank you for calling.”
She sounds calmer than before, even though I’m sure this must be the strangest thing that’s ever happened to her. And, the scariest. Imagine a stranger calling to tell you that your child was in an accident and she can’t speak for herself. Scary stuff.
“Oh and Isabel asked if you’d kindly call Vanessa and tell her about this? We’re sure she’s also worried sick.”
“Of course.”
“Well, we need to put her to rest now.”
“I’ll call tomorrow,” she reminded me.
“I expect you to,” I reply cordially. “Good day.”
“Good bye,” she replies and I hang up the phone.
‘Well, it’s a good thing that we had signal, otherwise we’d have to - “
When I lift my eyes, I see large tears rolling down her face, getting soaked up by the bandages. She cries silently, her eyes closed. There is no sobbing, no wailing, not even sniffling. She cries like a dignified princess. Hell, she even takes a beating like one, too. I quickly look around, but there’s nothing to dry her tears with.
“Hey,” I lean over the table. “You’ll feel better after you take a nice shower. I promise.”
She looks up. Her eyes are gleaming, but not in a way when you see a bride. Hers would sparkle with happiness. Isabel’s eyes are closed windows and I can’t see through them. She’s barred any entrance. She is keeping her pain inside, but her gentleness shines through, no matter how hard she is trying to hide it. I can see the betrayed poet in her, the artful dreamer who still believes, despite everything that just happened. As she looks at me, her tears dry out. She glances down at herself and the realization of her dirty, torn self seems to hit her now like a ton of bricks.
“Come on,” I stand up first, offer her my hand. “I’ll take you to the showers and Theron will get you some towels and a fresh set of clothes. You’ll feel like a whole new person after it.”
She doesn’t say anything, but her eyes can never be silent. They sing a song of freedom, of never being caged, no matter what. Noiselessly, I hear the song and I recognize the words. I’d just add some Billy Idol background music and we’d be good to go.
Chapter 10
I feel the hot water run down my body in thin strips, taking away all the dirt, all the pain, all the hurt of the previous several days. I want to lift my head up to the makeshift shower head and the sun that shines behind it right at me, but I can’t move my neck and face in that direction. So, I just stare forward, my eyes closed, making sure not to moisten the bandages. Occasionally, I glance around me. I’m hidden from plain view by four large wooden boards, one serving as a door that is simply pushed open. There is no key. Therefore, there is no complete privacy, either. But I believed Dex when he told me that I could stay here as long as I wanted and be sure that no one would interrupt me.
The last few days have questioned my notions of trust. I don’t know any of these men. And, that’s the worst, the scariest part. They’re all men. I haven’t seen a single girl here and it freaks me out. From the explanation I got, I understand this is some kind of a fly by station. These guys are a biker gang and they occasionally stop here, for a few weeks, to rest, unwind, whatever. Then, they continue. But, continue what? Do they have jobs? I doubt it. Bikers just ride. Right? It’s a one-sided conversation I’m having with myself, but it calms me down. At least, I can trust myself, with my limited understanding of the world I found myself in.
So far, these guys have proven to be on my side. I’ve only had contact with two of them. Theron is the kind of guy my mom would love to see me with. He almost made me smile a few times, if that was possible with this thing on my face. And Dex… well, that guy would be Vanessa’s choice. She always liked them a bit rough around the edges.
Not wanting to use up all the hot water, I switch it off. I look down and see several bruises on my elbows, knees and to the side of my hip. They’re still fresh and bright purple. They don’t really hurt. It’s on the inside that’s painful. These outside bruises will heal fast enough. I push the door open and peer outside. There’s no one there. Then, to the right, I see a chair and on it, there’s a big green towel, folded neatly. Underneath it, I see some clothes, but I can’t recognize exactly what they are, as they’re folded as well.
I grab the towel and quickly close the door. I wipe my body slowly, every tap and rub against my skin reminding me of the ordeal I just passed and the fate that could have befallen me, if I weren’t this lucky. I try not to cry, because now, there is no reason to anymore. I’m saved. I’ll be going home soon and I can start forgetting all about this.
I peer out again and grab the clothes. It’s a red, checkered shirt which looks one size too big, but it doesn’t look half bad. There’s also a pair of pants there and surprisingly, they fit like a charm. I braid my wet hair and just leave it like that. Now, it’s time to open the door again and go back to that shack. Dex brought me here and showed me the way back. I was sure I’d memorized it.
I get out of the makeshift shower stall and find myself outside. The sun is shining brightly, oblivious to my pain. I welcome its warm rays and somehow, for a brief moment, I can forget where I am. But the harsh pinecone fragrance reminds me I’m far away from the city. Far, far away. I look to my left and see a familiar path. About two minutes later, I find myself in the same shack I woke up in and I see a face that I will never forget.
Theron is sitting on a chair and the moment I enter, his eyes focus on me. He looks like a lost soul and I know exactly how that feels. When I look around, I feel like a sailor who’s lost sight of land ages ago. Home is so far away that it’s almost forgotten. I take a few steps towards him and he doesn’t say anything. I walk on trembling legs, even though the shower really refreshed me. It helped wash away all the shame, all the hurt and now, I can start rebuilding myself on the little that is left. Silently, I walk over to the bookshelf and I skim through the titles. I’m trying to find something I thought I saw, but I’m not sure I can trust my memories anymore. It could have been just a dream. I use my finger to read the vertically aligned titles, tilting my head a little. I hear him getting up, but I don’t turn around.
A moment later, he is behind me. I still don’t see him. I don’t smell him. I don’t see his shadow. There is no indication of his presence behind me other than my own inner feeling. I don’t move. My heart starts beating faster, but it’s not out of fear.
“Are you looking for anything in particular?” he asks, his voice reaching me from behind, like winds to a sail.
I turn to him and I write out Alice’s name in the air, slowly. He immediately gets it.
“That’s here,” he tells me, stretching his arm right past my shoulder. His skin brushes against the thin fabric of my shirt and I shudder with the promise of a pregnant silence that follows.
I take the book from his hand. It’s been much loved by someone. I wonder if it’s him. The dusty, worn out coat feels flimsy underneath my fingers and I can’t wait to read it again. I walk back to the bed and glance at the window. It’s only starting to get dark and I feel like it’s past midnight. Still, I feel far from Cinderella. If there was ever a time to feel like a book character, this was it. I feel just like Alice, stumbling down the rabbit hole, with no idea what waits for me at the bottom. Will hitting it hurt or will I just float down, like I’m on an invisib
le cloud? There is no wisdom in my soul now, no great knowledge in the form of foreboding or some kind of a sixth sense that women often boast of. I’m left with humbleness, in a soul whose empty pages wait to be filled with meaningful content.
“There’s a little lamp by the bed you can use, if you want to read at night,” he tells me, pointing at a nightstand and a small, dark blue lamp. “Also, if you get cold, there’s another blanket in the closet.”
I sit on the bed, laying the book next to me. I look around. There is only one bed here and I’m occupying it. I point my index finger at him, then put my palms together and lower my head to the left, on them, gesturing at sleep. He knows what I’m asking him. I wonder if I’m supposed to ask that. It sounds too intimate somehow and a part of me feels like a scorned lover who’s forcing her partner out of their home, or at least making him sleep on the couch.
“It’s fine,” he replies, his voice casual, assuring me it’s no big deal. “I’ll sleep in one of the other shacks. I’m sure none of my brothers will mind.”
