RECLUSE

by Andrew, Nikolai

  I put my fists on my hips and huff as I look up at the darkening sky then double over. “What the heck? Two flat tires? Really?”

  Looking back down the road, I see the rough dirt, a few potholes, some rocks and sticks strewn across the road. The rugged trek, along with my own lack of maintenance, has created another problem which my wallet is not prepared to handle.

  I pull out my phone and see the tiny ‘No Service’ words at the top, which doesn’t surprise me because when I got back to my car yesterday to call in with an update to work, there was no service then either.

  I could walk back down the mountainside until I pick up a signal, but that could be miles. It’s faster just to go on, finish up my paperwork and ask if I can borrow Vincent’s phone to call for a tow.

  He must have a phone, right? Everyone has a phone.

  I draw a deep breath, then return to the car and grab my bag and coat. There’s no mist today, but after the bright, sunny weather this morning the clouds have gathered overhead, dark and threatening, and I don’t want to be caught in a storm wearing nothing but a summer dress.

  4

  Melanie

  As I crest the rise in front of the massive house, I spot Bear lying by the front door. He opens one eye, looking lazy, and he gets to his feet with no particular hurry, then lumbers towards me, his tongue hanging out. I can’t help tensing, but when he gets to me, he whines once, then drops onto his side and rolls over, paws in the air.

  I draw a deep breath, still not confident. Crouching down, I reach out, then draw back when his huge jaws drop open. But he doesn’t growl or bark or try to snap at me.

  Instead, he yawns, pants and whines again.

  Trying to keep my breathing steady, I reach out and run my fingers along his tummy, laughing when he stretches himself out and drops his head back in utter bliss.

  “That’s what you wanted, huh? Good boy. Good dog.”

  “Knew you’d be back.”

  My back stiffens at the sound of his voice, and I look up to find Vincent towering over me, my face in perfect line with…

  Saliva gathers under my tongue and I have to swallow hard to keep it from seeping from my lips.

  The ridge of his cock is unmistakable, pressing out at the front of his jeans. And it looks bigger today, if that’s possible. I can even see the outline of the swollen head as I gulp, staring for a moment, held frozen by the sheer size of it.

  Then, I rip my gaze away, looking up into his face, finding him staring down, his eyes wide, his full lips slightly parted, that jagged scar that cuts across his cheek down to the corner of his lips silver in the summer sun.

  He’s wearing a light blue denim shirt today over a white tank top, and I can see how it pulls over the square planes of his chest, a hint of dark hair underneath.

  I pull my hand away from Bear and adjust the skirt over my legs where it’s ridden up, not sure if he can see underneath. “Unfortunately, it wasn’t up to me. I know you don’t need checking on any further, Mr. Weber.”

  “Vincent.”

  “Mr. Weber, there’s just a little more paperwork to fill out now that I’ve confirmed your identity with the system.”

  Bear whines beside me.

  “He wants you to pet him, give him a nice rub…” Vincent says, and to my horror, my eyes jump to his crotch as he watches me, snarling, blatantly reaching down to adjust himself with a dark laugh. “I meant the dog…but…”

  I feel the blush rise on my cheeks as I give Bear’s fur one last muss, then stand and smooth down the front of my dress, trying to pretend I didn’t hear or understand that last comment. A hard gust blows through the trees as the clouds gather tighter above and a few errant raindrops chill on my hot cheeks.

  “Can we go inside, Mr. Weber?”

  “Yes. If you call me Vincent.”

  I pause for a moment and meet his eyes. I have to be professional.

  “Fine. Vincent, can we please go inside?”

  I know full well we could finish the necessary forms out here. But, somehow, even with the swirling conflict inside of me, I want to be in his house, at least one more time.

  He runs his tongue along his lips as he looks me up and down, and I feel my heart starting to thunder along with the rumbles in the clouds.

  Will he do it? Will he grab me and pull me in, force his lips against mine as I feel his cock pressing hard at my stomach? I tense as I expect it, as I hope for it, then he turns away and starts walking toward the house.

  “Heel,” he throws back as he goes, and for a second I’m confused, wondering if he’s talking to me, expecting me to follow his commands like a dog.

  Then, Bear brushes past, his tail flicking back and forth and I hate it more than I can express that I just soaked my panties, thinking this giant of a man just told me to heel….

  I huff a breath through my nose and follow behind him and the dog, in through the front, where Bear goes straight to his bed as Vincent continues through to the grand living room where he called me a little girl and pushed me against the fireplace yesterday.

  As I watch him walking, I’m unable to keep my eyes from the narrow of his back, the thickness of his legs and arms. How old is he? Forty? He’s in better shape than men half his age. Probably all from lugging tree trunks around and tilling earth, probably wearing an antique wooden yoke made to be used by an ox.

  I still can’t believe a neanderthal like him reads, especially all the books he has in here. The walls are lined with them, leather-bound classics and neat paperbacks, all carefully arranged alphabetically by author. He barely uses words of more than one syllable, yet his house is better stocked than the library in Lewiston.

  He’s a contrast. There’s something different about him. Like he needs no one, and very few things either, and yet, this place is amazing in its own way and I want to soften his hard edges and show him how to have fun.

  He turns and I’m sure he caught me staring at his more than impressive butt, which makes me frown and stumble over my words.

  “S—so…” I clear my throat, “I need to get through a few more questions and we’ll be done for good.”

  He shoots me a hard look, then tips his head toward the table.

  “Take a seat. Tea? Coffee? I have wine. Made it myself.”

  Is he deliberately trying to make my job difficult? I consider turning around and heading back to my car. Then I remind myself that the tires are flat. And I’d lose my job for sure. And I’m parched. And anyway, it doesn’t hurt, does it, to be polite at least? It doesn’t mean anything. “I will have tea if you don’t mind. Thank you.”

  He turns and stomps through to the kitchen without another word, and a second later I hear the sound of running water followed by a kettle being placed on a heavy cast-iron burner. I note the slight scent of a wood fire and peek around the corner to see the enormous stove looking like it’s been plucked from an old English estate. It’s classic, antique and uses wood, not gas, no electricity, and the thought of him cooking a meal using it makes my belly flutter again.

  I draw a breath, looking around the room. It’s strange. Weirdo Weber. The name Lori used sounds like the taunting of schoolkids, a nickname for someone they don’t like. When she said it, I imagined an unkempt old man with a wooden hut, strung with dead wild animals he was planning to eat wearing their furry carcasses as hats.

  The timbers on the walls and ceiling are sanded to a smooth finish, the fireplace carefully built of cut stone. There are couches with throw cushions and a huge, thick rug, soft under my feet, but it’s simple. Minimal. Just enough.

  Vincent Weber is a study in contradictions, that’s for sure.

  I find myself wandering through to the kitchen, standing in the doorway and watching him as he cuts a lemon into two halves with a serrated knife, then crouches to grab a small glass juicer out of a low cupboard. I remember the way his thick, coarse fingers felt against my wrist yesterday, the way his body felt, pressed against mine.

  A little shive
r runs down my spine then centers itself between my legs and I feel like I’m losing my balance.

  He looks over at me, then goes back to his preparations.

  “Can I ask you something?”

  “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”

  “Yes but…”

  He stands up, looking my way as the kettle starts to come to the boil behind him. There’s no attempt to hide the way his eyes stray to my breasts, my stomach, my hips. I know how men see me, but with Vincent it’s different. More personal. Not so much like I’m an object to be possessed, more like it’s the whole package he’s appreciating.

  I like it.

  I hate that I like it, but it’s true.

  “Well, it’s more personal,” I say, meeting his eyes, watching for any sign of discomfort. I’m aware that I’m way beyond my professional boundaries here.

  “You can ask whatever you like, little girl.”

  Those words again. Little girl.

  They should grate on me but they don’t. Not this time. I feel…embraced by them, held gently and soothed. I shouldn’t like being treated like this but I do, it makes me feel whole. It gives me something I’ve missed my whole life.

  I step into the kitchen and lean my hands on the back of a hard chair, pulled up to the solid oak table. “Why do you choose to live like this?”

  He takes a step closer, and I have to turn my head up to hold his gaze. “Like what?”

  “Out here, away from people. Society. Modern things.”

  He averts his eyes for a moment, and I sense some pain. I wish I could take the words back. But Vincent answers. “Me and people, not a good mix and I don’t care that much for things.”

  “Did you do something? I know your brother is in prison. Sorry, it’s just…you said I could ask whatever...”

  He nods and steps around the table, and I don’t flinch as he reaches out and brushes a stray strand of hair from the side of my face. His fingers are so close, I can almost feel the warmth of them, yet he’s so careful, so gentle, as he plucks the hair behind my ear, that he doesn’t even touch me.

  “Don’t apologize. You can ask. Yes, Robert is in prison.” He presses in closer now, and I don’t back away. My heart thunders, my body tense, my breath fluttering. “I can’t tell you what he did. It’s not for me to say. I don’t gossip. I’ve never quite fit in. When I was ten, the school recommended I get tested. They said I had I guess some sort of conditions. My IQ was very high but my emotional IQ they said…not so much. Made me different.”

  “I understand. I’m sorry, I—”

  “I said don’t apologize. I’ll tell you whatever you want to know about me. And, my brother is a good man. I can’t tell you what he did, but I can tell you what it did to me.”

  He takes a deep breath of the air above me, then finally I feel his touch. His fingers grip my shoulders, run down my arms, making my skin tingle, and he leans in and kisses the top of my head. My body responds, damp spreading between my legs as I let out a little eep of excitement even as my brain is telling me to push him away, this is so inappropriate…

  But he’s gone in an instant, turning away, heading back to the mugs put out ready for the tea.

  “When it happened,” he says, facing away from me as I almost lose my balance, left bereft without his touch, “I lost faith. I looked around me and didn’t know what might happen next. My life had been ordered, now it was in chaos.”

  “S—so you just stopped taking part?”

  “Exactly. I stopped taking part. Other people are overrated. Out here, I only have to care about myself. And my dog…or dogs. I’ve had more than one since I’ve been here.”

  “But don’t you have friends and family that you miss? Or that miss you?”

  “I have Robert. That’s all. Our parents are no longer part of our lives.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be.” He turns and places the two mugs on the table, then points to the chair in front of me. “Earl Grey. It’s the only tea I drink. It calms…” He hesitates, then pushes one mug my way, and never finishes that thought. “My parents are alive. Beyond that, I don’t know or care.”

  I see the darkness in his eyes. The hurt. Taking the seat he offered, I wait for him to sit and then nod. “Parents can be difficult. I know mine are. Probably not quite the same but still.”

  “Tell me.”

  I sip the Earl Grey, savoring the fragrant blend. I haven’t really enjoyed tea since I left home. “Another time maybe. I’m supposed to be filling out paperwork, then I have to somehow get my car fixed…” I hesitate, annoyed that I let that last part slip out.

  “Your car has a problem?” His voice is flat, odd, as though this is not news to him.

  I hesitate, watching him for a moment wondering how he could know then deciding it’s just my imagination.

  “That was unprofessional, I’m sorry. Forget I said anything.” I put my mug back on the table, half finished, and stand, retreating, shaking my head. “Can we…?”

  I turn and head through the doorway, down the corridor to the living room, picking up the discarded stack of forms and my pen, trying to remember I’m here to do a job. Outside the wall of windows against the back wall, the sky is dark, thick clouds covering the last of the light.

  Vincent stops in the doorway. “I can get your car fixed.”

  “It’s just a couple of flat tires. I’ll call a tow truck.”

  And pay for it with what? Fresh air?

  “No. I told you before I’d look after you. I’ll get it fixed.”

  “And I told you I don’t need anyone to look after me,” I snap, a meanness in my words he doesn’t deserve as I grit my teeth, trying to deny the excitement, ignoring the way my nipples harden whenever he’s around. “What is your deal?”

  He steps close and this time I don’t back away. My mouth is dry as I anticipate the feel of him, the hardness of him, taking without asking. But before he touches me he draws back, turns and strides across to the window, staring out at the sky.

  “There’s a storm coming. You’re not leaving.”

  5

  Melanie

  Rain lashes against the window as we sit in silence at the heavy, worn wooden table in the kitchen. There was thunder in the distance earlier, but it’s exploded into a downpour.

  Beyond refusing to allow me to go out into the storm, Vincent has barely said a word to me outside answering my questions for the necessary welfare check forms.

  He was right, I couldn’t go out in this. I’d be all alone in the dark, with no phone signal until I’m halfway down the mountain and not even my car to keep me safe.

  Instead, I scratched Bear and busied myself with at the table while Vincent made dinner.

  It’s a stew of some sort, and it smells delicious, but all I see are chunks of vegetable: potatoes, carrots, corn, along with a crusty, rustic warm bread that looks and smells like sin itself.

  “No roadkill then?” I ask, smiling ruefully as I take a bite. It’s amazing, seasoned to perfection.

  He raises one dark eyebrow, which has the effect of pulling the long scar that I see now runs lightly from the corner of his temple, then deeper down his cheek to his lip. “Roadkill?”

  “Never mind. Just something my friend said to me.”

  “People think I eat roadkill?”

  “And sacrifice virgins on your unholy altar,” I add, taking another bite raising my eyebrows.

  He sticks his fork in his mouth and chews, then nods. “Well, that bit’s true. About the virgins. When I can get them anyway.” His gaze wanders down over my body, and I shiver at the tingle that runs through me. “I’m vegetarian though. So, no roadkill on the menu.”

  “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you, Vincent Weber?”

  He doesn’t answer, shrugging instead, and for a moment we eat in silence. I can’t help wondering how many vegetables he has to eat to maintain the bulk he’s carrying around.

  When he looks over, c
atching me watching, I nearly choke. “Will the power hold out?”

  He nods. “The batteries are nearly full. I don’t use much electricity.”

  “You live off grid completely? Totally self-sufficient?”

  “I don’t like relying on other people. Or companies. You were telling me about your parents. Earlier. Tell me more.”

  “There’s not that much to tell. My parents didn’t want me to become a social worker. My mom is…” I falter, wondering if I’m saying too much. Family loyalty is important to me. But his dark eyes are like still water, calming, centering. They draw more from me than I would otherwise give. “I love her. I don’t want you to think I don’t. It’s just she’s prouder of my looks than any other achievements. Beauty pageants, that was my life growing up. My mom thought I’d get a degree, marry rich and settle down comfortably, like she did. Not that she doesn’t love my dad—”

  “She just wants what she thinks is best for you, not what you want.”

  “Exactly.”

  “And your father? What does he think?”

  “He goes along with whatever Mom decides. He’s busy working all the time. He owns a mergers and acquisitions law firm. Fortune 500 companies mostly. But he…” I laugh, shaking my head. “It shouldn’t matter, I don’t even begrudge it, but they cut off my allowance when I moved out here. They were teaching me a lesson in their own way and it’s fine.”

  “I’ll take care of you. You need money?”

  I blush, shaking my head. “No. I barely know you.”

  “But I know you.”

  We stare at each other across the table, the food cooling in our bowls. He doesn’t know me, not really. How could he?

  We only met yesterday. And anyway, when it comes to money, I’m sure he can’t have much. He must have blown anything he does have on this place, or perhaps he inherited it because when I asked about an employer he just shook his head.

  I wonder about his upbringing. His less than modern sort of nature. Did he grown up in some sort of cult? Did they live in a commune? Is he Amish?