Warmth spreads from my toes to my scalp. I love the praise in his tone, but I wish it was missing the slur he delivered it with. He has the same garbled voice my daddy used in the minutes leading to him crashing onto the floorboards of our living room. I didn’t think it was possible to get drunk from pouring whiskey on open wounds. Now I’m not so sure.
Dexter’s teeth grit when he twists his torso to face me. Although his eyes are pained, his face remains deadpan. “We’ll rest here for a few hours before moving on to the next stage.”
I smile, pleased he’s including me in his plans. The way he sent me into the forest hours ago had me worried I was going it alone. I was truly terrified. I’ve been seeking freedom for years, but every step I took toward the exit door of Meadow Fields was extremely frightening. Just the idea of conquering this giant, scary world alone daunts the living shit out of me. I don’t know what state we’re in, much less which direction I need to travel to find Nick.
My eyes snap to Dexter when he gripes, “It’s fucking freezing. Did you start the fire?”
When his eyes shift to the side, I follow the direction of his gaze. There’s an open fireplace on the back wall. The ash in the bottom shows it has been used recently, but it isn’t dispersing any heat. With the only light from the occasional flash of lightning, I could use poor visibility as an excuse for my ignorance, but then how would I explain Dexter’s perfectly crafted stitches?
After a quick swallow, I return my eyes to Dexter. He growls when I shake my head, but the faint tug of his lips gives away his true response. He thinks I’m funny. I don’t know why. Nothing happening is humorous.
“There’s wood outside. It’s under a tarp.” When he attempts to stand, a painful groan emits from his lips. “Argh! What the fuck?”
He bends awkwardly in his quest to identify the source of his pain. With no way of showing him his wound without breaking his neck, I gesture for him to sit before scampering to the door he was heading for.
“Bring in enough to get us through the night.” The roughness of his voice prickles my skin with excitement.
My body shakes more with every step I take. It isn’t from fear. It’s from losing the heat of Dexter’s gaze as he gawks at my drenched body.
Is that why he smiled? Is he laughing at me?
No one has ever seen me this disheveled. I learned vanity from my mother—nice clothes, pretty hair, and just a touch of makeup so I don’t look like a whore. That’s the motto I practice daily.
Right now, I’m a mess. My hair hangs in tangled chaos halfway down my back. The torrential rain washed away my makeup, and my clothes are stuck to my body so profoundly, I might as well not be wearing any.
I stop, frozen for a beat. That’s the second time tonight the voices in my head were right.They said I was practically naked, so why not use my body heat to warm Dexter?
Pretending it’s perfectly sane to talk about myself in third person, I return to my mission of gathering firewood.
I find the pile of wood Dexter mentioned approximately three minutes later. The tarp that used to cover the wood pile no longer exists.
“Goddammit!” Dexter roars when I enter the cabin with two chunks of drenched wood in my hands. He’s sitting up, but the dangerous slump of his shoulders reveals he is feeling the pain he refuses to acknowledge. “They won’t light without a gallon of gasoline.”
With a shrug of agreement, I dump the wood into the fireplace before cleaning the gunk off my hands with my dress. It won’t help anyone now, but if I keep the wood out of the rain for a few hours, we can use it later.
I stop dragging my hands down my stomach when a strange sensation zooms through the middle of my legs. It’s a hard feeling to describe, but it’s similar to when I’m busting to use the bathroom, but my bladder is empty. It’s a nice tingle but very much foreign.
When my eyes survey the area the sensation is coming from, I discover the cause for the pleasing zap. Dexter is staring at me. His eyes are hooded, and he looks extremely hungry.
Did he not eat supper before calling it a night?
After licking his dry lips, he says, “There’s a way we can keep warm until the wood dries...” His words trail off when I take a step back, then he smiles as if pleased by the challenge. “You’re soaking wet, Claudia. If you sleep like that, you’ll get sick.” His tone doesn’t relay worry and neither does his wolfish grin.
I shrug like it’s no big deal. It isn’t. I’ve grown accustomed to the cold. I wear summer dresses rain, hail, or shine. They were the only items hanging in my mother’s wardrobe when she died. Since I outgrew my childhood clothes within three years of her death, I either walked around naked or wore her dresses. I chose the latter.
The blue tinge my toes get in winter reminds me of her. Her eyes weren’t blue, but her lips were for a very long time.
“Claudia...” Dexter’s growl has my heart rate picking up. Not once the past six weeks has he spoken to me in such a way. His words were gentle purrs and nurturing rumbles. He never raised his voice. I’m not saying I don’t like his rough tone. I just need to get used to it.
I point to the window seat, advising Dexter I plan to sleep there.
“Whatever. Freeze. See if I care.” His grumbled comment proves he understands me even without any verbalization.
This is only the second time in my life I’ve communicated without words.
First Nick. Now Dexter.
I like that.
