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I can see the smoke from the fire she must have going, but I can't work out where it's coming from, so I just keep trudging straight. By the time I can see the cabin, my fingers are about to fall off, my toes will definitely be left in my boots when I remove them, and my dick has retreated so far up inside myself right now that I could pass for an actual girl.
The closer I get, the slower I walk. It's not because I don’t want to see her; I'm now panicking that she’s not gonna want to see me. As I get closer and closer, the cabin is small and basic. It has logs stacked at the side of the door with an axe next to it. She’s clearly strong enough now to cut the wood for herself, so that's something.
After seeing her in the hospital, it was heartbreaking how frail she looked. But if she’s chopping her own wood, that’s a good thing, right? Or what if she’s not chopping her own wood? What if she’s not alone? What if she’s met someone else? Fuck, I hadn’t even though of that till right this minute. What if I’ve been replaced? I hang back behind a tree in knee-deep snow and wait, and wait a little longer before convincing myself if she’s in there fucking someone, they’re not gonna come out, so I just need to go in.
I decide not to take any chances. I have my gun in the back of my jeans, which are now wet to the thigh and frozen to the knee. I can see every shaky breath I'm taking in the air in front of me, lingering and taunting me like the pussy I am. I don’t want to take my gun out if I don’t have to, basically, because it's too fucking cold to grab it, so I sneak my way closer to the cabin and grab the axe.
Resting my hand on the door handle, I push my way slowly inside, holding the axe in a death grip. To the left, the fire’s roaring, and there’s a small two-seater couch with a coffee table. Straight in front of me is the bed, and there’s a small room on the back right wall, which must be the bathroom. I shut the door behind me. I’m in the middle of the cabin, which has the kitchen-type area.
There's no one here, the bed’s made, the place is clean, the fire’s roaring and the bathroom door is slightly open. I step one step in the direction of the bathroom as she shouts, “You best have taken your fucking boots off, arsehole!”
“Fuck.” I mutter. My pounding heart is now slamming against my ribcage.
I let out a shaky breath and take a step back, removing my boots, then looking down at myself and my sodden jeans, so I remove them too, then the wet blanket and my leather jacket. Fuck it, my T-shirt is piss wet, too, so I take that off, leaving it all in a pile in front of the door. I’m in my boxers, and even they’re wet. I step towards the bathroom again.
“Don’t just leave the fucking wet stuff on the floor, dick. There’s an airer behind the door. Put the stuff in front of the fire to dry, fuck’s sake,” she grumbles.
Well, we're off to a good start. She hasn't shot me yet, although I then realise I haven't spoken. Does she know it’s me, or is she waiting for the new boyfriend that I'm pretty sure is a total figment of my imagination. Anything’s possible. I place everything on the airer in front of the fire and tentatively step towards the bathroom,
I knock on the door. “Ray, baby, it’s Steel. Can I come in?”
I hear her sigh a disappointed sigh before answering with, “Sure.”
Now my mind's racing. She sounds disappointed, like maybe she was expecting someone else, and if she was, then how long do I have before he returns? “Well, are you fucking coming in, or are we carrying on this scintillating conversation through. The. Fucking. Door?”
I take a deep breath and step inside, clicking the door shut behind me. “Hey.”
“You came all this way to say hey?”
“No!” I snap.
“Good conversation,” she mumbles.
She’s in the bath, submerged in bubbles, and the heat in here is stifling. The back of her head is resting on the tub, and her hair is wet, but hanging out of the tub and down to the floor, the top of her head is to me, and she hasn’t moved to look at me or see if I’m alone. She has her left leg on the side of the tub, and I can see a lot of red, angry scars all over it. Fuck, Roach really did a number on her.
Stepping further in, I make my way to the toilet, the lids down so I sit on it and rest my elbows on my knees. “Are you ok?”
“Fucking peachy! What do you want, Steel?”
“I want my wife to come home.”
“We're not fucking married anymore, dickhead,” she spits.
This causes a smile from me, the first I think I’ve smiled in weeks. “Yeah, about that…”
“Don’t…! Don’t you dare fucking say we’re still married!” She sits up in the tub, and I can see even now, she still has faint bruising, and the scar down her face is raised and angry. Her left arm is gripping the tub, and it's a fucking mess. There are scars all over it, and there are a few along her collarbones and chest, too.
“Yeah, we're still married!” I smile again.
“What the fuck did you do?”
“They didn't tell you…? Not my finest moment, but let's just say I did what I had to!”
“Ah, so you fucked someone… great.” She lazes back into the tub, resting her head on the back and closing her eyes. “What do you want, Steel? I thought you would have snatched my hand off at being out of this shit show.” She gestures back and forth between us. “I gave you an out. Why the fuck would you want to stay married? You clearly didn’t want to be married, or you wouldn’t have stuck your dick in that doctor. I’m exhausted, Steel. Just say what you came for, then fuck off!”
“Ray.” Great, I came here on a wing and a prayer with a plan to track her to the ends of the earth to find her or die trying, to dedicate my life to seeking her out, and after a few weeks, I find her, she’s here right in front of me, and I got nothing, no grand gestures, no life-altering declarations, zip. Nada. I got zilch!
After what seems like an hour, she stands from the tub, and I get to see the full extent of her injuries. I mean, the skin she removed where her Reapers tattoo and the tattoo of my name are pink and uneven, angry and raised. Her left arm is sliced in neat lines all along her forearm. There must be hundreds, and her left underarm has raised round lumps from the burns from the screwdriver, but they’re all in neat rows; they really took their time. Her right leg is the same, almost like tally marks in straight, neat rows.
