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“Making my bed,” I counter blankly, intending the double meaning behind the phrase.
He inhales slowly. I’m clearly testing his patience. “You know what I mean.”
“No, actually, I don’t.” I come to a stand, using this opportunity to my advantage. “You won’t talk to me. I don’t know what you’re thinking. So if sleeping in cow manure gets you talking, then so be it.”
He shakes his head angrily. “You’re doing this to prove a point?”
“No,” I exclaim, leaving crescent dents in my palms from digging my fingernails in deep to keep from reaching out and touching him. “I’m doing this because I love you!”
He hisses and takes a step back, but I won’t allow his retreat to stop me this time.
“I don’t care if you, if you don’t love me anymore”—I swallow down the emptiness that statement holds while he averts his gaze—“but I’m staying. I won’t ask you what happened.”
Saint interlaces his hands behind his neck as he lifts his chin to the ceiling. “You already know,” he says with a measured pace.
There is so much pain behind his reply that I don’t bother correcting him because I can only guess. For him to heal, he needs to talk about his pain; otherwise, it will fester, and Oscar will have won.
“I can only imagine, and I’m sorry, I really am, but please don’t shut me out.” Sorry seems like such a cop-out because it can never encompass what I’m trying to say.
I want to say so much more, but Saint’s walls are watertight. He won’t let me in, and that’s okay. I’ll give him time, but he needs to know I’m not going anywhere.
“I’m going to sleep.” I turn my back to him so he can’t see my tears.
The bales of hay provide no comfort, but I try my best to arrange them so they surround me and block out the cold. I yank out a few handfuls of hay and toss them onto the ground. Not the most luxurious mattress lining, but I doubt I’ll be able to sleep anyway.
Digging around in my backpack, I find another sweater and put it on. I decide to use a spare T-shirt as a pillow. With everything set, I lower my stiff body to the ground, ignoring the pins and needles shooting straight through me thanks to the subzero temperature. There wasn’t any wood to light a fire, so here’s hoping I don’t freeze to death.
The T-shirt is a pathetic substitute for a pillow, but I fold it and position it under my head. I may as well be using a pancake, but I’ve slept in worse conditions. With that thought in mind, I curl myself into a ball and squeeze my eyes shut.
Thanks to the howling wind, the entire barn rattles, and images of being stuck in Oz come to mind. They say counting sheep when one can’t sleep helps with insomnia, and I wonder if literally counting them, seeing as I’m surrounded by them, works the same way.
My teeth chatter because no matter how hard I try to keep warm, a constant chill envelops me. I shuffle closer toward the bales, hoping they’ll provide some warmth, but the only thing that will do that is a blanket or…the warmth of another body.
And when that is presented to me, I can’t stop the contented sigh which slips past my lips.
I am incased in his warmth, his smell, and everything that is Saint. He lies behind me, ensuring not to touch, but he’s close enough that I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. Instantly, the chill thaws, and I melt into our almost union because it’s progress.
Memories of when we lay this way on the yacht before we were shipwrecked assault me, reminding me that no matter what we’ve been through, we’ve always drifted to the surface. I can only hope it’s the same this time.
His steady breathing lulls me into a tranquil bubble, and I allow sleep to invade me. As I’m hanging onto the last thread of my consciousness, I hear something which breaks and mends my heart all in the same inhale.
“Don’t give up on me,” Saint whispers, shuffling closer so we’re pressed back to front.
He should know by now that surrendering isn’t in my nature, and when it comes to him…I will never give up.
On him.
Or on us.
Although my body is screaming at me, I wake after what feels like a few solid hours of sleep. The warmth which sang me into oblivion has gone, hinting Saint has already risen.
Opening my eyes, I rub them and slowly come to a sit. The daylight streaming in from the cracks in the wooden walls hint that another day has passed. I’ve lost count of how many days I’ve been here, but honestly, it feels like years.
I stand and stretch my arms over my head. The beautiful cow with the shiny black coat moos at me.
“Hello to you too.” I smile because being here reminds me of growing up on the farm. Memories of my father have me wishing he was here. On instinct, I reach up to touch the cross around my neck, but it’s gone. I have no idea where it is, seeing as Saint doesn’t seem to have it either.
Just another thing lost to this fucking country.
