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Always letting my temper go and ruin things. I was right to tell her about Chris. The girl deserved to finally start hearing the truth. Even if that’s only the tip of the iceberg.
But me and my damn mouth. Why did I have to go and get so angry with her? I’m trying to convince the girl tostay. Not to run off back to Denver, afraid to come within a hundred miles of me.
As we pull up to the cabin, I’m still trying to find the right words to say to make her trust me, to make her see I’m not the crazed lunatic she must think I am, but I can’t do it. At least when I’m not saying anything, I’m not upsetting her any further.
‘I’ll go inside and fix us some lunch,’ says Addison, holding the paper bag of groceries tight to her chest. ‘Once my tire is on, I’m off.’
Her green eyes look so tired, so sad — the color of leaves ripped from trees too early, before the Fall. I wish I knew how to breathe some life back in them.
‘I left the front door unlocked so just let yourself in,’ I tell her, then I add, in as friendly a voice as possible: ‘Can’t wait to eat. Grilled cheese sounds like just the ticket.’
Just the ticket?What am I, Mary-fucking-Poppins or something? Next thing I know I’ll be sayingYou’re the bee’s kneesandBibbety-bobbity-booto her.
As Addison walks up to the cabin, Eric starts barking.
‘Put some food out for the dog, would you, sweetheart?’ I call after. ‘Sounds like the mutt is still hankering.’
Addison turns toward me and nods forlornly. I hate seeing her like this. There must be something I can do. I want to grab her, to pull her close, stroke her face, tell her that everything will be alright if she just stays with me. But I don’t.
I take the spare tire out the trunk, and carry it over to her vehicle, removing the tarpaulin, and trying not to become momentarily blinded by the horrific block of bright pink that appears in front of my eyes. Addison was right to be suspicious about my reasons for covering up this monstrosity. Of course, there’s an element of truth to the fact that this bubblegum-mobile is hardly helpful for encouraging nature to the area, but my reasons for keeping it under cover are far more sinister than that. It’s important that nobody comes poking around these parts. This thing sticks out like a sore thumb. Anyone takes a walk in the woods on the lookout for anything unusual, this thing may as well be a flashing neon sign saying: THIS WAY TO THE SECRET HIDEOUT!
Suddenly, I hear a crash, followed by a scream.
What the fuck?
I run up to the cabin door, and find Addison standing inside, her bag of groceries lying on the floor, a broken beer bottle spilling frothy beer all over the boards, shards of glass around her feet.
And in front of her: a severed head.
‘I thought it was Eric,’ Addison says, voice high-pitched and trembling. The poor girl’s face is as pale as the bark of the Aspen trees all around us. ‘I bent down to stroke it. I wasn’t thinking straight. Itouchedit. There’s so much blood.’
Eric is standing in the living room, eying the head with big, guard-dog eyes.
My heart is racing, but not because of the severed head. I just can’t bear seeing Addison like this. She’s meant to feel safe in my home. What a fucking moron I am. Leaving the cabin unlocked when there’s all kinds of unsavory folk looking to do unsavory things to us.
I put this wonderful woman in even more peril than she's already in. What kind of fool am I?
‘Let’s get you cleaned up,’ I tell Addison. ‘We’ll wash that blood off your hands, okay? But I need you to listen to me. There’s broken glass on this floor, so I’m going to carry you over to the sink, to make sure you don’t tread on anything, alright?’ I’m in Daddy mode. I can’t help it. It’s like I’ve locked on, and can’t shake it off.
Addison is too shocked to do anything but nod.
I put my arms around her waist, trying not to think about how good her body feels in my palms. I lift her off the floor, so easily it’s as though she weighs nothing at all, and then slide one arm under her back, and the other under her knees, and carry her over to the sink. She looks up at me, her lip quivering.
‘The blood still felt warm,’ she whispers, holding out her hands. There’s red all over her fingers — clearly she tried to pick the damn thing up. ‘I’m glad Eric’s not hurt.’
‘I’m glad you’re not hurt, either,’ I say. I hang on to her just a moment longer than I need to, enjoying the feeling of our bodies pressed up close like this. Now’s not the time, not at all, to get turned on by a situation, but she’s so sweet, so trusting right now. And she smells so damn good. It’s not perfume or anything. Just the natural smell ofher. Salt. Cinnamon. Sandalwood. Trying to name it is like trying to describe a dream to someone. It’s just…her. That’s the only way to describe it. She smells of Addison. And it’s damn sexy.
For a moment, I allow myself the thought that I’m holding her in my arms like a groom carries a bride over the threshold of their first home together. Hell. I’m no romantic. Or at least, I neverthoughtI was. But something about this thought makes me feel warm and fuzzy inside. I guess Iammarried to this woman, so it’s only natural I should think about that, one way or another. Even if the marriage is a complete sham.
I gently lower her to the floor in front of the sink.
‘You wash your hands,’ I say, pouring her a glass of water. ‘Then drink some water and go and sit with Eric. I’ll clean up this… mess.’ It feels so natural to tell her what to do, to help her process what’s going on. And she seems to be responding well, poor thing.
I take a dustpan and brush out the cupboard under the sink and start sweeping up the glass. Of course, the decapitated head is crying out to be cleaned up, but I’ve got to prioritize here. Broken glass is the number one hazard for the sweet Little Girl in my home.
‘Eric, you poor little dog,’ says Addison, over on the couch now. ‘What did you see, Eric? Did you see who did this, Eric? I’m so relieved they didn’t hurt you!’
Dammit, that woman is so friendly with my dog. Breaks my heart seeing them like this, and seeing how much Eric likes her. Can’t bear the thought of her leaving after lunch, but now that she’s seenthis mess, I’m not sure she’ll even want to stay for lunch.
