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He places me on the soft grass and yanks open the shack door. I wait for him to bring out two dark green fishing chairs, the kind that fold up to near umbrella size.
I watch him adjust them at the water edge for a moment before peeking into the shack to see what’s inside.
Tools, a couple of fishing rods, a net, buckets. Typical tools that you’d find in a shack in the forest by the river.
“Why are we here?” I ask softly, not wanting to ruin the moment.
He pats the seat. “Originally I was going to kill you and bury you out here but then I saw your face and figured I probably deserve worse than what you did in retaliation.” When I sit, he relaxes into his seat and I follow suit. This is nice, it’s so quiet in a peaceful way.
“You’re not a good liar, Nok. Why did you bring me out here?”
I follow the line of his soft, full lips with my eyes. He notices and raises a brow. It’s so obvious when somebody is staring at your lips.
“I didn’t go after you on Friday night. Regardless of what you did, you were my guest in a location you don’t know.”
I laugh lightly. “Since when do you care?”
“I don’t, but my father and Nash do. I’ve disappointed them enough over the years.”
Now that is something I can definitely relate to.
“They told me to make amends.”
I laugh louder this time. “Of course. And that’s why you haven’t apologized, because you’re not sorry.”
He shrugs his broad shoulders. “I feel bad for hurting you, but I’m not sorry for getting us the hell out of there.” His eyes cloud over with sorrow and confliction, and then pain. I see it all roll through him and I want to prompt but I don’t want him to close down.
But then he admits it himself and my lips part.
His tone is soft and quiet when he says, “I just… I couldn’t be there anymore.”
“Okay,” I whisper, placing my hand on his because I understand him in this moment and understand that there’s more to this that he’s not saying. “You know, every time I try to find a reason to hate you, you just… pull me deeper.”
“Why would you want a reason to hate me?”
I wet my lips and look up at the sky. The sun is shining today, a rare occurrence for this area at this time of year. “I have to hate you. I have to hate someone.”
We share a lapse of silence until he utters, “You really are crazy.”
“Oh… you have no idea.”
“Why do you go to mainstream when all of your res buddies go to school on the res?” I ask as he gently dips a hook into the water. He’s caught three fish already with his dilapidated-looking fishing rod that is more duct tape than wood at this point. Still, he caught three fish.
I look at them swimming in circles in the bucket. They’re steelheads, or rainbow trout, I’m not sure the exact name. They have a rainbow sheen over their scales. It’s beautiful really. It’s a shame he’s going to kill them and cook them later.
“Because I don’t know any good white people.”
My lips part. “Seriously?”
He doesn’t elaborate, he looks uncomfortable with the conversation.
“And then the first white chick you decided to befriend was me?” I start to snigger. “Oh, you poor thing.”
“Exactly. I thought you’re new, you might be different to the sheeple at Lakeside.”
“And?”
He pushes his hair out of his face. “And you are definitely different.”
I stand and move behind him, being careful not to kick the bucket of fish over.
He tenses when I stand behind him and lift a lock of his silky, dark hair. “What are you doing?”
I thread my fingers through his hair, surprised by how soft it is. He shivers when I gently tease the snags free, and groans when I scrape my fingertips over his scalp.
“I’ve wanted to do this all day,” I admit, continuously brushing to the ends with my fingers. “I love playing with hair.”
“I love having my hair played with… as of this moment. But that stays between us.” He leans his head back and reaches up to remove my glasses. When he sees my bruised face, he frowns. “I hate that I did that. I’m not a violent person.”
I crook a skeptical brow.
He grins, still leaning back to look at me as I gently rub his scalp with my fingers and thumbs. “Okay, I’m not a violent person when it comes to women.”
“You slammed me up against a locker.”
“You liked it.” He stands, letting my hands fall from his hair, and drops the fishing rod. “You’re as fucked up as I am. So I know you definitely liked it.”
“I admit nothing.”
He stalks towards me and I walk backwards, careful not to trip and fall. “Right this second, your heart is racing, wondering if I’m finally going to kiss you, or make you come all over my hand like you did Friday night.”
