AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He doesn't say anything at all afterward. He might have fallen asleep, so I try to move.
"Can you stay here for a little while?" he asks.
"Sure."
"Thanks."
After a while he falls asleep, and the nightmares don't return. How horrible it must be to face those terrifying images every night and still go through every day. A new wave of admiration swells up in me. It's been a long time since I felt this way toward someone.
I can't fall asleep, hard as I try. Returning to my seat would help, but it's out of the question. Tristan has me trapped, holding my wrist and resting his head on my chest. His other arm is around me in a very tight embrace, as if his life depended on it. Perhaps it does, and he takes strength from this just as I do when I seek strength and comfort from him when something in the forest scares the living daylights out of me. I need him to survive the horrors outside. He needs me to overcome those in his mind.
It's a good thing we can offer each other exactly the type of strength we need.
Sometimes things happen and there is no going back. I should know, I’ve experienced plenty of those life-changing moments. They all threw me into darkness, sending me deeper and deeper into a pit.
For once, something is happening that will pull me out of that pit—it already does.
Someone.
And now that I’ve found her, I can’t give her up.
The first thing I do next morning is take a shower. I usually make the signal fire first and then shower, but I feel so sticky I can't stand myself anymore. Tristan is still sleeping when I get out of the plane. It has rained. The forest attains a magic hue after a rain, more so if it occurs in the morning. Mist coils through the foliage, mantling the trees and hiding the soaked floor. The sun paints rainbows almost every day. I know that because I climb to the top of a tall tree as often as I can after a rain. In the beginning I did it because I hoped to see a plane or a helicopter, but now I do it because I need to see the sun. For someone who grew up under the California sun, the few pale rays we get below the thick canopy aren't enough.
I enter our makeshift shower cabin, trying to imagine it's an exotic shower in an expensive resort, not a cubicle made out of a bunch of wood poles covered with leaves. The shower has three poles bound together on top to hold the woven water basket. If I pull at the braided rope hanging from it, water will flow from the hollow bamboo-like tube Tristan stuck in the front. But right now I need more to refresh myself than that thin stream of water. I want to overturn the basket, indulging in all of the water in one huge splash. I will replace the basket with a full one afterward. We have plenty since it rained during the night. I usually hang my clothes and towel inside the shower, but since I'm planning to unleash a cascade, I leave them outside so I don't soak them. The shower is my second favorite space after the plane. The basket is high up, so I have to jump a few times before I get a grip strong enough to overturn it. I feel like I stepped on clouds when the water pours on my hair, my face, my body, washing away the stickiness. It's warm, as always, except for a cold touch on my back… a shiver?
Or something.
I look once at the jet black snake curled at my feet before jumping out of the shower, screaming. I slide a few times on the muddy ground in my haste to run as far away from the shower as I can. I reach the airstairs just as Tristan descends it, and I start blabbing, shaking uncontrollably. His arms around my waist, he says something in a soothing voice, but I can't hear him over the deafening thumping in my ears.
When my pulse calms down, I manage to say, "Snake. In the shower."
"Did it bite you?"
"No, no. I just… just… kill it, please."
"Relax, Aimee. Breathe."
"I don't want to breathe," I yell, clinging to him, fisting his shirt. "I want that thing gone from there."
"I'll take care of it. I'll just bring your towel first."
That's when I realize I'm stark naked. My boobs are pressing against his chest. My nipples have turned to pebbles. Horrified, I leap away from him, which makes everything worse because now he can see me better. But he's already seen me in all my naked glory whe
n I was running around like a mad woman. The more I think of it, the more embarrassed I become. My cheeks burn. Scratch that. My entire body burns with shame. I cover my lady parts and my boobs until Tristan brings me the towel and the clothes, then I wrap the towel around myself. Why the hell are my nipples hard?
"The snake is not in the shower; I'll see if I can find it in the vicinity. Go inside the plane and try to calm yourself."
"Okay."
I hide inside the plane longer than calming down and changing into fresh clothes would take. Deep and utter shame keeps me rooted on my seat. I wonder if there's a way not to go out and see Tristan ever again. It's not just that he saw me, it's… how my body reacted. My hard nipples, the tingle on my skin. That wasn't because I felt ashamed.
Why then?
I play with the engagement ring on my finger, guilt drowning my feelings of shame and confusion. I remember all the other times I felt guilty, those times when it was Tristan’s body that reacted inappropriately—a frantic breath, a touch that prompted him to bite his lip. I didn’t understand why I felt guilty then. But I think my subconscious did. I curse loudly. An engaged woman shouldn't feel like this. Not even if she hadn’t seen her fiancé in more than two months. I would have been his wife right now if this bullshit hadn't happened. I rest my head between my knees, trying very hard to picture Chris waiting for me at the altar, which is ironic since I've tried so hard to wipe that image from my mind for two months. But that image doesn’t come, or any other image of him, which makes me feel even guiltier.
When I get the nerve to go outside again, Tristan has started the signal fire, as well as a regular fire next to it and is roasting something that looks delicious. I guess he's done the daily hunt already. Excellent, because I'm starving.
"Did you fall asleep?" he asks.
