Chapter 7 - A Clearing
Leaves sway and dance above. A breeze so slight and perfect touches her cheek. She has fallen asleep on the porch many times before at home. After school, or an early Saturday, Bella has heard the motions of the invisible presence cloak itself around the trees. It's the most calming feeling she could ever surround herself in, perfect for sleeping and clearing her brain.
It's dark. Not the familiar setting she's accustomed to waking up in. The sky has turned a light blue.
Dawn has broken ... but Bella isn't on her porch.
The trees bend and bow over a quiet clearing, right in the middle of the woods. It's always hot and sticky inside the cabins, but here, trees provide a natural circulation making it cool.
She blinks. Her heart is calm for the very few seconds it takes for her to realize this isn't familiar. Then, it speeds. She turns her eyes this way, then that. Nothing is in sight, just the vast expanse of the sky. She feels small. She feels it weighing down on her.
Moving her head is next, but she shouldn't have. Pain shoots up and she whimpers. She reaches and feels fabric there. She looks at her fingers. Dry blood smears down to her wrist.
She gasps. The sound travels like an echo. Then her screams follow right after.
Why would she feel fear now, after days of searching for him? She can't explain it. But his form is tall, dark, and intimidating above her.
His arms spread in panic. He covers his ears, then covers her mouth with trembling hands.
No, no. This will ruin everything he's built for himself.
"Shh, shhh," he soothes. Her eyes wide with terror, just like his. Then, she bats him away. All the women's defense moves from the internet spin behind her lids, yet she's doing them all wrong.
He forces her to sit. He grabs her flailing arms and pulls. He sits, too. Face to face they pant their terrors away.
"Shh. Please," he says one last time. His throat bobs. The motion of speech is foreign to him. He cannot remember the last time his vocal cords vibrated, went through the motions it does when a person speaks. He hasn't done that in years.
Except—he thinks—just a few days ago, when he said, "Hello." The person the greeting was directed toward is now sitting on his quilt.
This is why he has rules. No connections.
He wasn't sure what came over him. He needed to stretch his legs. The day was cool and perfect for scavenging the big kitchen in that campsite he lives by. It's routine. Summer came, and his starving stomach and muscles made the trek back to a habited camp that has been empty all winter.
He shakingly hiked to the closest place to keep his strength, never stopping to take even one bite of food he found until he was back in his tent. He stuffed his backpack with Styrofoam and plastic covered meats, never exposed ones. Peanut butter; chunky, never the creamy kind. Chips, beer, and condiments to go with the pack of hotdogs he also found. This summer he's out of ketchup.
His backpack was full when he crossed paths with the young girl shouting at the top of her lungs.
He reads. It's his passing time. That one book he found by a bedside about hustlers in streets never came alive like that moment he saw her yelling profanities so fluidly to the skies. It was like a high definition TV turned on in the middle of the woods. She was red in the face. The jugular vein on her neck erect. He guessed her blood pressure was a few points too high right then. He sleeps on that textbook now under his bed; the human biology one. It keeps the cold ground from seeping through the tarp and mattress he managed to find and get in here. The sheets are Ralph Lauren from a house a few years back. He doesn't know they're 500-thread count, and he's sleeping like a king in the woods. It means nothing to him but comfort.
He thinks back, and she looked so alive. He guesses he felt shame for her when she realized she wasn't alone. Empathy oozed from his pores. The next thing he knew, he was opening his mouth and letting it out—
"Hello."
He regrets. He shouldn't have. That is why he sets rules for himself: Never cross paths with anyone along a trail. Never break into a cabin more than three times in a year. Never keep the canoes he uses to transport the necessities across the lake, always take them back. Never take the food offered from doorknobs with notes attached, no contact. Always lock the doors back up and keep them intact.
Now they stare at one another, or she does. He turns his eyes just enough to look at something else.
Bella tries to calm. Her hands are in both of his. They sit, bent knees almost touching, and hand in hand. He's fiercely holding on. He pleads for her to keep quiet.
So, she does. She bites on her trembling lip to force herself. She looks down at the coupling of hands. He slowly lets go.
Quickly, he stands and helps her up. Her joints crack and pop, the scratches begin to burn. She whimpers and holds on to his arm. One leg after the other and she's standing up, close enough to see those blue eyes roam around but never settling on her.
He gingerly walks her to the edge of the woods.
Wait. Why? She thinks. She looks around. Tarps are up with ties. Trash barrels are multi-functional. Some are tied to trees, others hold a gas stove and gas tanks. Objects hang from clothing lines, even clothes.
She staggers. He tugs on her arm and curls his other one around her back. This is her exit. He's introducing her back to the world where she belongs.
He pushes just gently once they've found a path. He steps back. His hands, palms up, wave her away without a word.
"What? No. Wait," she says. He steps back when she steps close. "You leave me here like this?"
He turns his back on her and does just what she says.
"Who are you? What's your name?" she shouts. She knows it's futile. He won't answer, not with words, not without.
She runs through the last few things she remembers when she fell, when she woke, what she saw.
She checks her head, it's not so bad, but his shirt was ripped and used to hold the blood. She's dumbfounded. How could he leave her like this; alone, bleeding? She looks around, and she doesn't even know where she is.
"Hey! I'll stay right here. I'll stay right here all damned night!" she shouts. "You hear me?"
She goes after him, wherever he went. This way or that. A bolder stands tall down dense areas. Is that where they walked through? She's not sure, but she will find out.
The crack between the boulders is wide enough. She goes through, and it gets narrower. She has to turn her body flat like a pancake to make it to the other side.
Then she does.
"Wow." A murmur through her lips.
Instantly she finds herself on flat land. Trees are cleared out naturally. The space is cozy. It hugs her. That breeze she felt when she woke flows continuously. She takes a deep breath and takes it all in.
But not for long.
The leaves rustle furiously close by. Before she knows it, he's coming out from behind another path they didn't take. He's visibly shaking. His arm comes up, and he points behind her. A thrust that way. His eyes to the ground or her legs, she can't tell.
He points and points again.
"Go," he pushes out. "Go away."
These are too many emotions. Too many for him to manage. It's been years of quiet. It's been years of nothing but the sound of trees moving, the turn of a page from a book, or nothing. Just nothing. So much today. Too much. Adrenaline courses through him and it's too much of a feeling for him to take. Maybe he'll just die.
Bella is speechless for once. She watches this guy crumble to pieces, watching his lips pale. She's sure he'll combust. When she doesn't move, his hands rise up to his head, and he's devastated.
"Go!" he shouts as he points again. This time he gets close, too close. His eyes look to hers for the first time. This fear grips her. Something, her heart or her soul, it tells her to listen.
This guy will self-destruct if she doesn't.
She lifts a hand and says, "All right. I'm … sorry." She steps back and turns away.
When she turns back to look, he's watching, arm still pointing.
Problem now is she knows the way. Well, his problem—her conquest.
…...
A/N: Oh, HAPPY NEW YEAR!