Cold rushes in. He's stepping away and his face—
Horror. Not at me. At himself.
"Keer—"
He won't look at me. Hand dragging down his face, jaw so tight the muscle jumps, and I'm still against the tree with bark in my hair and his taste in my mouth.
"Keer, wait—"
"Don't go out alone again."
He turns. Starts walking.
"Keer!"
Doesn't turn. Doesn't slow. Naked and blood-covered, disappearing into the trees.
"KEER!"
Chapter 12
Nothing.
I feel nothing.
I feel everything.
Birds in the canopy. Breeze through the leaves. My own ragged breathing. My hand wet and my body still pulsing and the shirt—his shirt, still on me, still smelling like him.
I slide down the trunk until I'm sitting in the dirt.
His fingers curling. How he said fuck. The horror in his eye. His hands on my hips. Cedar and copper and his forehead on my shoulder and then nothing.
I wipe my hand on the grass. My hands need to be doing something or I'm going to scream, and screaming in an empty forest is only going to make things worse, so.
I pick up flowers.
Keep dropping petals. Three tries before I can grip anything.
"Oh, come ON."
The petals don't care. Blue ones. Purple. Yellow—I pile them in the basket anyway, stems bent and crushed, and my fingers won't close right.
Hands are for working.
I stand up. Legs unsteady but holding. One foot, then the other.
They give out halfway back. Not a choice. Just—stop working, and I'm in the grass with the basket against my chest.
His hands under the shirt. The growl in his throat. The horror after. The attack. The scream cutting off wet and short. My cheek throbbing. My fingers on the knife. His fingers inside me. Those men almost—he saved me. He kissed me.
And then he left.
The tears come.
I don't cry. Crying doesn't fix anything.
Crying is stupid and my chest is heaving anyway, wet heat down my cheeks, can't make it stop—
