A young man, not much older than me, places a piece of wood on a log. His red flannel shirt is unbuttoned to reveal his tanned chest, and his brown hair falls over his brow.
He’s unaware of my presence as he wipes the glistening sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. I can’t look away from the bulging muscles in his arms or how he picks up the axe leaning against the trunk.
Brow furrowed with concentration, he raises it in the air and brings it down on the log to split it in half. A gasp leaves my lips, and he stills, as if the sound carried through the trees. His eyes fly up to mine, where I peer around the trunk, and he places the axe back down and takes a step toward me.
Panic floods my body.
Panic because I’ve been caught spying.
Without a second thought, I turn and run.
Branches scratch my skin and slap me in the face. I barely notice. All the while, the forest whispers all around me, whispers which soon turn into shouts and cackles.
Whispers that taunt and reach for me like limbs with claws, and gnarly, old fingers with torn, yellowed nails. They pull at my clothes and tangle in my hair.
It won’t stop itching. I’m slowly going insane. I dig my nails into the angry, red bite on my arm, and then, scratching almost furiously, I wince. Fuck, it won’t stop itching.
“Are you alright, sweetheart?” Mom asks as she places my plate full of steaming rice and butter chicken in front of me.
“I’m fine,” I reply, looking across the table at Dominic, who pulls out his chair and sits down.
Mom plates his food next before joining us with her own. Pouring herself a glass of water, she smiles encouragingly. “Who wants to tell me about their day? Camryn? Dominic? Did you make any friends?”
Dominic shovels food into his mouth, and images of seeing him around the college on our first day, surrounded by curious women, leave a sour taste in my mouth.
He just has to exist to be popular. Everything comes easy.
I thought that maybe, just maybe, it would be different once we left the city. But no.
I glare at him while scratching my arm. He smirks, but then his gaze falls to my arm, and he pauses with the loaded fork halfway to his mouth. I look down and stiffen when I see the smeared blood under my nails and between my fingers.
Mom is oblivious, cutting her chicken. “Did you make any friends, Camryn?”
Ignoring Dominic’s rage-filled gaze, I hide my arm beneath the table, wiping my bloodied nails on my jeans before reaching for my fork and stabbing a piece of chicken. “Gwen, who showed me around school, introduced me to her friends.”
Mom’s face lights up. “That’s fantastic news.”
I suppress the urge to wince, hating how defective her excitement makes me feel. I know she worried about me back home, hoping and wishing I’d make friends, and sometimes, that worry was worse than being alone.
I’m fine alone. I’m used to it. I’ve never felt like I belong.
The only times I struggle are when Dominic has his friends over, and I can hear them laughing through the walls, or when he throws a party, and I have to hide in my room. In those moments, I sometimes wish I felt a sense of belonging.
My arm stings, and my appetite is gone.
Oblivious to the tension in the room, Mom keeps talking, the sound of her cutlery scraping against the plate.
Dominic’s glare intensifies until I can’t take it anymore and meet his stare head-on, caught in those dark eyes that make my mouth go dry. I hate how my body responds to that glare. Hate how it makes me want to squirm beneath the heat in those voids. These feelings are wrong for so many reasons.
Sometimes, I can’t decide if he wants to skin me alive or devour me whole. Possibly both.
No one looks at me like Dominic. No one makes me feel so invisible yet seen all at once.
“How was your day, Dominic?” Mom asks him, breaking our stare-off or, more accurately, mine. Dominic still doesn’t look away, and my cheeks heat the longer he keeps his burning attention on me.
His response comes as an affirmative grunt, and Mom lets it go, offering us both a gentle smile.
After dinner, I help Mom wash up while listening to her talk about her day, but my thoughts are elsewhere as I stare out the window behind the sink.
