Warnings: This chapter is SOOO Rated M. Oh come on, you know what I mean! :P
Chapter Eleven
The next two days are awkward for many reasons, but mostly because of the severe heat that moves in making almost any activity outside completely unbearable in minutes.
It's so sweltering Bryn only works in the barn in the very early hours of the morning or just after sun down and even then when he comes back in his shirts cling to his skin and his hair is wet enough to hang around his face in uneven sweat darkened spikes he continually pushes back from his forehead and face in obvious agitation. I offer to help each time he leaves but after my near fall in the barn Bryn only offers a clipped 'no' and leaves alone. All this solitude without his company or Libby's has left me with little to do but wash the meager dishes, since heat apparently does nothing good to one's appetite; fold and re-fold the few clothing items in my room; and read.
Which is not a complete loss I suppose since it requires very little physical movement to preform and under different circumstances I would enjoy it a great deal. I have long since finished the first book I had selected and begun a second. This one is nothing like the others I have previously read. The plot is not very good and I almost put it down and selected another except for the main characters; something about the man in the story reminds me a little of Bryn. I find his interactions with the woman in the story to be engrossing and fascinating.
By the end of the second night when Bryn comes in, smelling of sweat and dirt with his white shirt streaked with grime I have to quickly set it down, cheeks heating furiously worried that somehow he'll know what's happening on the page I just abandoned.
Bryn pauses in passing, previously on his way to his room—probably to change. "Look, I'm sorry about what happened in the barn the other night." He still won't meet my gaze, not since the other night. We've barely spoken two words to each other in as many days. "It won't happen again." He stares at the floor.
I feel like I've been kicked in the gut. I shake my head, quickly snapping the book shut even though it means losing my page. "I don't want to talk about it." I mumble, my chest feels like it might explode just thinking about it.
He gives me an odd look for a brief moment but doesn't attempt to stop me from getting up and racing up the stairs to my room. Once there I fling myself onto my bed, sift through the pages until I find the part I previously read. I read the section all over again, blushing bright red. Suddenly things make a lot more sense.
When Bryn knocks on my door a while later asking me if I am going to eat I tell him no through the closed door, it's too hot to eat even indoors. And I am much too busy skipping through pages of the book skimming over the words looking for more intriguing things I have yet to learn.
I sleep naked that night, as I have the previous nights though now it is more out of necessity then habit.
Despite the sun having set hours ago; the sky deepening to a rich concave bowl of inky black smattered with a dusting of little white stars the heat is still sweltering. It sits unpleasantly against every inch of my skin, slicking my lower back with a damp sweat the makes the cotton sheets cling uncomfortably every time I try to shift. I listen to the sounds of Bryn moving downstairs, eventually falling silent and close my eyes actively slowing my breathing hoping desperately to fall asleep to escape this heat.
I don't specifically remember falling asleep, but at some point I must have because when I open my eyes again the air has changed. A hard shiver rolls down my spine breaking the skin across my arms into pimpled gooseflesh and raising the little hairs on the back of my neck. An ominous rumble of sound fills my ears, seems to reverberate in the darkness of my room.
I lay very still watching the wind lift and flutter the thin white lace over the window I left open when I went to bed in hopes of coaxing in a non-existent breeze. A breeze that's now back; and apparently making up for lost time. The curtains ruffle and flutter upwards with a sharp snap, almost vertical for a moment reaching blindly towards the center of the room like probing fingers in the darkness before drifting back into place only to be lifted again twisted and tangled almost violently by angry invisible hands. The air rumbles again, the world outside growling like an empty belly waiting to be filled. My sleep fogged brain focuses on the sound, pulls it in turning it over and over in my head trying to recall its importance.
The dresser mirror fills with a crystal clear reflection of light, shows me in a brief instant Libby's drawing tucked under its frame, and a flash of white light over the crown of the little green bird posed near its edge. I twist onto my side staring at it until it shows me once again my room through the glass, a smooth expanse of wall in its oval frame, a window half obscured from view marked by a jagged line of white before going dark. The crack that follows is loud enough to hurt my ears, makes my heart jump. Lightening. Thunder. I remember.
I pull myself from bed crossing to the window nearly slipping on the rain puddle quickly forming beneath the frame. Over my head the sound of drops pattering against the roof increase in tempo until there's no more discerning individual drops in the constant roar. Another gust of wind snaps the curtains against my bare middle sending a cascade of shiver-cold drops sliding down my skin. I extend my hand catching the drenched lace in my fist before it can slap me again hard enough to turn my skin angry red. I tuck it behind the hook at the windows edge trapping it there. Then I lean my palms against the window's faded wooden frame, barely noticing the tickle of drops sliding down my leg with my nose pressed to the droplet speckled glass.
There are bodies moving in the yard.
My heart leaps into my throat for a moment watching them in the darkness—expecting to see the dark forms in the next moment turn as one and converge in crouched tactical positions towards the house. My breath clams up in the back of my throat; freezes half-way out of my lungs in a panicked wheeze that physically hurts. My pulse races unsteady and frantic in my throat. I count the flashes of light waiting for the dark shadows to conform with the nightmare soldiers in my head…but they do not.
I sag against the cold wood still ignorant of the cold drops splattering against my bare feet and skin. The next violent flash of light showing me tattered and torn clothes on the closest one, his upturned face tracking the wall of light high overhead washes his expression in a new light. Pale grey skin, yellowed eyes, sagging lips pulled back from black rot teeth.
A terror in his own right. But not the one I fear.
My heart seems to start up a normal rhythm again. Another biting gust of wet wind reminding me suddenly that the rest of the house is open as well, only thin brief screens separating Bryn downstairs from a sticky awful death.
I press my palms to the warped wooden frame grit my teeth over a grunt trying to keep the stubborn window and myself quiet as I lower it in its frame. I turn quickly moving across my room to the door and out down the hall, cautious for the first time in a long while on the creaky stairs. I brace my hands against the wall keeping my feet to the staircases edge where the boards do not protest my passing with quite the same level of lament. Once more on quiet ground I move quietly and swiftly to the front windows, bracing my palms against their wooden edges as I wiggle each one down holding my breath and staring wide eyed through the thin layer of glass at the shapes not fifty feet from the porch still wandering in aimless frustration through the yard.
It takes me several heart-pounding minutes to secure each one, the one over the kitchen sink gives me the most trouble enough that I almost abandon it for the next one before it finally gives way with only the tiniest of a groan—luckily well-timed with an accompanying angry snarl from the storm. Now done I stand unsure of what to do just outside Bryn's room, there are windows in here too…and not only that but Bryn needs to know of the forms moving out in the storm. He would want to know this, I am sure. I turn the knob and go inside, closing the door again softly behind me more for the bodies outside then the one in the bed—a light sleeper Bryn is not. I am not the only one who tells lies.
I work my way on quiet feet to the first window, and then the next peering through the rain splashed glass as I work, nearly slipping on a slick cold puddle on the floor, catching myself just in time before I bang into the wall. I work the last window down, bite my lip watching the body moving towards the porch as I click with exaggerated slowness the locking mechanism home. Which in hindsight is ridiculous really; if they are coming in it will not be through an open window. It will be right through the glass.
Behind me Bryn makes another of his un-timely deep breathing noises and I cringe watching a head swivel in the yard, no noise from the sky to cover up his unconscious gaff. If we are to survive this night he must be quiet.
I back quickly towards the bed, still watching the body advancing toward the porch with its awkward staggering gait. My heart is racing in my ears again, hammering unevenly in my chest hard enough to make my hands shake. I turn swiftly crawling onto the bed where Bryn's sprawled out beneath a single sheet on his back hands thrown up by his head fingers barely curled. He breathes again—much too loud and I don't know what else to do as the muffled sound of steps on wood make my eyes go wide and my chest pound so hard it hurts.
I straddle him swiftly pressing my palm tightly over his mouth and nose leaning as close to him as I can get skin to skin pinning him to the bed and gripping his left hand with my own. Sound will hardly matter if he leaps from the bed, the movement will be all too easy to see from the window.
One heartbeat, two, three…his eyes fly open and he jerks but I shove back even as his other hand flies to my wrist in a bone-crushing grip. I release his other hand press one finger to my mouth like I have seen Ethan do to Libby when he tells her she talks loud enough to wake the dead. I hope the gesture translates to Bryn as well, but I cannot be sure. He stares up at me looking a little shocked. I have shifted my hand down somewhat so that he can draw in a breath but not enough to talk.
More steps on the porch. I do not know if the one who stalks us is old or new. The older dead can see little more than variations of light and large movements, but sometimes the very new can make out shapes too. I press myself flat to Bryn's bare chest keeping my palm flat over his mouth and whispering in his ear as quietly as I know how.
"Dead men," I tell him feeling rather than seeing from this close his head tick to the side dragging my hand with him just enough to make out the hunched outline barely more than a darkened lethal shadow through the backlit glass. "The storm, closed the windows." I'm too afraid to risk full sentences, but he seems to know. He keeps his face turned toward the body of the man mere feet from us, just outside the glass.
The fingers over my wrist softened some time ago, after I moved my hand to allow him to breathe but now they pull me away again. I reluctantly let go—he knows the danger, he should not need my hand anymore to stop him from speaking. "How many?" He whispers back. I cringe a little at the sound which is ridiculous as it is not much louder then what I have done.
"Twenty-seven." I reply then pause for a moment confused myself because I do not recall taking a head-count. Yet somehow I know the number to be right.
Bryn curses softly gaze still locked on the body to our right. He shifts his head back to me, his now free hand cupping the back of my head so he can press his next words to my ear. "Too many to shoot without a serious fight, don't panic."
I open my mouth to tell him that I am not afraid of the walking dead in the yard when he shifts his arm around my waist, raises one knee against my side and rolls us in a single fluid movement. I freeze remembering our previous position in the barn my stomach back flipping with desire despite my very real and pressing fear. "What are yo—" I start almost talking in my shock before Bryn clamps a hand over my mouth staring down at me. Our positions now completely reversed. I liked it better before. I tell him as much in a harsh whisper the second his hand slips off and for some reason he blinks at me and then grins so fiercely it makes my stomach tingle and my cheeks heat.
His right hand lifts the pillow now under my head and I start to ask him what the Hell he's doing, but then I don't need to anymore when he pulls his hand back.
Turns out Bryn really does sleep with a gun under his pillow. He shifts against me then goes very still eyes darting to mine looking a little nervous.
"And what are you planning to do with that?" I ask.
"Uh…" he flushes suddenly confusing me endlessly once more.
I am starting to worry that he is still partially asleep, as it was not that long ago. "You said there were too many to shoot!" I remind him in an urgent whisper. If the plan has changed, or he is forgotten suddenly this is important for him to know.
"Oh, that…" the flush remains staining his cheeks bright red even in the darkness. What the Hell else would I mean…and then that's not a question anymore either.
Oh.
I'm trying to think of something to say, but suddenly all my brain can think of is the fact that Bryn obviously likes this position more, the evidence of which is pressed tightly through a thin cotton sheet against my thigh. I bite my lip and he pointedly doesn't look at me swallowing hard.
Then the guy at the window presses a hand to the glass and Bryn leans into me close enough that the rough shadow over his cheeks and chin prickle against the sensitive skin of my neck. I shiver.
"Upstairs, end of the hall." He whispers right against my neck making my head buzz. "Hatch into the attic, pull the stairs up." He starts to pull back and I grip him with both hands hard enough to bruise.
"Don't you dare." I snarl back at him. I do not know exactly what he is going to do. I only know if he were planning to be with me he would not have to explain his escape plan, and that does not sit well with me. "Not leaving you," I whisper quieter squeezing his arms under my fingertips as hard as I can, hard enough that my nails bite into flesh. He winces a little staring down at me. And good, I think viciously. The thought of him dying while I hide away in some 'attic' makes my chest hurt, he should feel it too.
The man at the glass is taping his hand over one of the squares in the pane.
Bryn stares at me expression oddly fierce in the wash of white light right before his head dips down and his lips seal over mine. And okay, I tell myself. It beats staring at death through the window, counting my heartbeats wondering how many of them it will take for death to shatter the glass. I draw my arms around his shoulders and press my palms to his back while he shifts against me, over me angling his chin and tracing my lower lip with his tongue and dear god that does something melty and gooey and oh so right in my gut.
I feel myself moan and drag my teeth over my lower lip staring up at him heart in my throat certain I've just given us away. He drops his head again a breathless shush against my ear making my breath shudder in my chest and a hard shiver pebble my nipples further against his skin. Bryn curses softly, the word almost a groan against the shell of my ear; right before his mouth closes over my lobe making my entire body jump in response. He presses down into me, and suddenly his weight is no longer just distracting—it feels incredible a whole section of my brain simply shutting down to focus on the exact feel of hot skin through thin sheets and his hand not occupied with gripping a handgun sliding up to cup my cheek tilting my head so he can—Wow.
Outside thunder cracks so loud it rattles the windows in their frames, shakes my heart in my chest and Bryn pauses for a brief moment his mouth hovering just over my skin—not touching me but close enough that his exhale floods across my skin in a warm brush.
The man at the window moves away, drawn by the sound we both lie perfectly still barely breathing as his steps shuffle across the porch and then drop away into another heavy rumble of thunder.
My stomach is skipping under my ribs, my heart pounding an unsteady rhythm in my ears and Bryn's mouth closes over the side of my neck wet and hot and his hand lets go of the gun so his fingers can close around my hip even through the tangled cotton sheet. His mouth glides lower, and I tilt my chin up silently urging him on my arms still wound around his back one hand now pressed lower against his spine dragging him down to press harder against me and something about that touch, the weight against my skin makes my brain go to white noise and my breathing hitch all over again.
"Charlie," Bryn's voice slips over my skin curls inside me fanning flames already licking their way up my skin even higher. It's a firestorm on my senses, engulfing my brain.
One of his hands grips the sheet tangled between us during our roll. He leans away from me, the loss of his heat and weight like a physical blow, I mourn the loss but not for long. He's flicking the sheet away in one quick flick of his arm and a sudden rush of cooler air and then there's hot skin on skin and god that's a thrilling. Just the feel of him pressing into me sends a sweet rush under my skin to the heat building in my abdomen. His mouth is everywhere at once, his hands caress every inch of skin, fingers pressing me closer to him while he's dragging his frame over mine, parting me with one thigh to slip between my legs and I can't breathe, my lungs are on fire and my fingers are in his hair holding him tight.
I gasp and tremble, shudder beneath him at the twisting silver strands of pleasure winding their way down every limb, sweet and hot and bone-meltingly exquisite. His heavy and thick erection sliding against my leg before he crawls higher up my body; until he's throbbing and pulsing against my waiting heat, just outside of where I want him to be. Leaning over me until he drops to his elbows flush against me, his arms wrapped around my back, trapping me beneath him which is silly almost, there is no-where else I want to go. Not now, maybe not ever if being with him like this will always feel so good.
My head is rushing with too much sound and sensation and the spiraling heat swirling through my chest, tightening further with each ragged breath…with the look he sends me right before dipping his head to re-capture my lips.
He slides over me, skin on skin tongue sliding over mine. I wind my ankle around one thigh feeling him press in just the right place while my insides clench in another mind-staggering tingling rush and Bryn tears his lips from mine breathing half a curse, his whole frame shuddering. One of his hands is skating down my side from rib to hip, than he's gripping me, tilting me up to the glorious mind-numbing pressure of his body firmly pressed against mine. And just that feels so immensely right, I feel like I'm going to squirm out of my own skin waiting for him to move, the anticipation burns like a wildfire through my core. It's overwhelming, too much, not enough… to need something so urgently that I never knew existed before now.
He pauses there, barely inside me; waiting for what I don't know. His breath hot and wild, blooms of wicked heat caressing my neck, breaking skin already pebbled in gooseflesh out in full body shivers. When he moves it's just the tiniest of thrusts against my entrance, only just penetrating slick folds, reminding me with each press and retreat of the impossible empty ache hounding my senses, gnawing at the last remnants of self-control clinging together under my skin.
His breathing is ragged and too fast, barely controlled gulps of air. Every inch of his body now shaking with bone-deep tremors where his skin is flush with mine. His fingertips suddenly pressed to my temple, dragging down to follow the line of my jaw while he stares at me in some kind of awe. I gasp and arch and flutter and my breath breaks on a half uttered sob. Every inch of me spirals down, centers on one fluttering wet and slick channel of raw nerves pulsing with heat and need to every rapid heartbeat while somewhere high over our heads the storm that brought me down here rages on pelting the roof and world outside with a symphony of rain and the sharp whistle of wind.
It's enough to drive anyone mad. These sensations crawling under my skin; flashing out through my limbs turning me liquid and matching the warm honey color of his eyes the tickling hum of need pushing down my spine and curling my toes. And I'm losing my mind, this aching need…this hunger it's too much and needs to be fulfilled.
"Bryn please," I gasp the words against his neck feel and hear his answering groan only half understand what I'm begging for, what I need myself but that's okay because he does. Bryn's hips press forward; his heavy length sliding past slick folds burning and aching past muscles seizing against this all new sensation, this impossibly heavy sensation of fullness while I fight for the control not to move. Pleasure sears through me, tumbles through my belly bursts with white pops like static, an electric fusion up my spine.
Then without warning, scarcely an inch past my entrance he hits a tight spot…really tight. He presses there momentarily fixed; a flash of something like astonishment flitting over his face and then the pressure becomes a piercing pop.
I gasp, flinch under him when something breaks free in a rapid burst of white hot pain that steals my breath at the same instant he slides rapidly home. The pain throbs and clamps around his presence in my belly, burning so intense it makes my eyes suddenly tear up and my skin break out in a cold damp sweat.
And it must hurt him too whatever it is because he curses like he's been shot and jerks away from me completely. He's leaping up leaving me stunned and hurting still flat on my back on the bed too stunned to move.
Apparently books lie too.
"The Fuck Charlie?!" Bryn is staring at me more wide eyed then I've ever seen him. His back pressed against the wall like I'm threatening him in some way I have yet to figure out because all I can think about is this aching pain.
Like I have any idea?! I feel like rolling onto my side, curling my spine around this tender ache in my belly. So I do just that, twisting onto my side and curling tight. An exhaled and dumbfounded "Ow," is the only answer I manage to give him.
But it tells him something; or my posture does and just like that his expression slides from panicked to shock and somehow settles on royally pissed.
He leaps back onto the bed kneeling beside me and rolling me flat with quick almost brutal movements. I lay still once more on my back, though this time my legs are drawn up because it eases the ache noticeably so. I swallow staring up at him pinning me his hands on my arms in a bruising vise grip which is wholly unnecessary because I don't really want to move right now, and the glare he's fixed on me is so intense I'd have to shatter the very laws of nature to defy it.
Suddenly it's all I can do not to start crying.
"You're bleeding Charlie, why are you bleeding?" His tone is accusatory and sharpens the pain in my chest to the point my abdomen no longer hurts. Well, almost.
Why is he still asking me? I feel like my disconnected brain is grasping at empty air, struggling for answers that refuse to come. "Is that not normal?" I breathe out desperate to know what I did wrong. There was nothing about pain in my book. I wonder for a fleeting moment if any of it was true.
Perhaps my whole world is a lie, and that is why none of it makes any sense.
Bryn utters a string of words that I didn't even know could go together in a single sentence. "Have you done this before?"
"No." I whisper it, because I've never heard him sound so desperate…and I know even before his reaction that it is not the answer he wants…
"Goddamnit! Charlie!" His eyes are wildly furious. His hands tighten on my shoulders to a bruise inducing grip. I wince but it doesn't loosen.
"Is that bad?" I stare up at him, unable to do anything else.
"Yes," Bryn hisses eyes narrowing down at me. And he shakes me hard enough my head snaps back and then he leans over me aggressive and radiating immeasurable rage. "Because it means you've been lying to me this whole goddamn time!"
Oh. Tears finally slip out dampening the pillow under me.
"So how about the fucking truth for once! Tell me who you Really are!"
He wants the truth? I heave in a broken breath, choke as it catches half-way down my throat seizing painfully part-way out of my lungs. "I don't know." I croak twisting my head to the side and clamping my eyes tight over unshed tears.
"And how is that? Head-injury, run-away, some desperate rich-girl ploy to re-capture the attention of Mommy and Daddy?"
"No." I shake my head violently. I do know who I am but I am certain I am not one of those things…at least I am mostly certain.
"What did they promise you to someone you didn't love? All Romeo and Juliet, so you ran away?" and on this at least his hands soften for a moment. My mind flashes to Libby and I wonder for a brief painful moment if it's because he can relate. "How old are you, whoever you are?" His face changes, softening just a bit. "What are you running from Charlie? Are you running from the mandate?"
"I don't know." I breathe out between hiccupping breaths, "what mandate?" I blurt out when it's clear he wants something more of an answer I don't know how to give.
"The Mandate! The god-damn fucking Mandate! The reason Libby is registered at the station house as my wife and has to stay at my place when we go out in case a patrol checks because she's over eighteen and if she doesn't at least look like she's trying to comply they'll take her away, assign her to someone else! The god-damn reason people have more kids then they can feed and half of them end up starving in the streets or in work houses or sold for sex to put food on the table for the ones that are left!"
"I don't understand,"
"No you don't! You really don't!" He hisses. "and how is that possible?" His voice has a razors edge to it. "You're smart Charlie, I've seen it. So how does a girl of what seventeen? Eighteen? With enough background to read manage to not even know where she comes from?" He moves closer to me leaning in and it feels very different than it did moments before but it doesn't change the spiral of heat clenching through my insides that his closeness always brings. "No name, no family, no history just Wham! Out of nowhere; I'm not stupid enough to believe you fell from the sky."
I remember Libby's pick-up line days earlier and my throat tightens. "More like a hole in the ground." I hear myself say.
He makes a sound I can't classify and glares at me, "Would it kill you to make sense for once!"
"I'm trying!" I snarl back and he looks a little surprised. He moves away from me, sliding all the way off the bed to grab his jeans, shoving his legs into them and jerking up then he leans his back against the wall, arms crossed tight over his still bare chest glaring at me expectantly. "I crawled out of a hole in the ground," I tell him.
It takes him a moment. "You mean that literally don't you?"
I just stare at him.
"Okay fine, you crawled out of a hole." He says. "What was in the hole?"
"A lot of things." I tell him. More specifically a long metal pipe I shimmed up to escape. It stretched so far to the sky my thighs ached long before I reached the top, shaking so bad I wasn't certain they wouldn't give out and send me plummeting to my death—or at the very least severe injury putting a very premature end to my escape.
"Explain," he says staring at me mouth pulled into a fierce scowl.
I turn away and I try. "I have been trying to leave that place for as long as I can remember. They did…research," I tell him remembering that word. Though I avoid telling him what kind. "They experimented with…things…" I wrap my arms around my knees the phantom memories of pain washing over me.
"They hurt you," Bryn says his voice strained still staring at me jaw tight, his eyes very dark in the low light.
I nod swiping at the hot tears threatening to spill from my eyes again. "Yes, that was true. I did not wish to lie to you, but I cannot go back there." I stare at him willing him to understand things he cannot know; wires and chairs and tanks and needles and wounds I never remembered getting only healing…
His jaw clenches and he straightens up. "You won't." There's such conviction in his voice even I believe it. He turns to leave.
"Why do I still feel like I have done something terribly wrong?" I mumble to his back my heart seizing up in my chest.
"I didn't mean for this to happen… things got…out of hand. I'm sorry." His voice is tight. "It was bad enough touching you when I thought so many other people had done it…that you at least knew what we were doing… that you wanted me too…" He snarls shaking his head. "I could forgive myself for that maybe…but this…I didn't…" he stops looking for all the world like he hates himself.
I'm struggling to understand, a heavy lead weight only growing heavier and more painful in the pit of my stomach. "So you wouldn't touch me before because you thought other people had done it—" My stomach is in freefall. "…and now you won't do it because you're the only one?"
He flinches like I have hit him, turning his face away. It makes no kind of sense and I feel like total shit in ways I can't even explain.
"I'm sorry," He pulls the door shut behind him. Outside the rain stops, the thunder rumbles but it sounds very far away. The world outside is slowly turning a lighter gray. I lie back staring at the ceiling suddenly empty and very numb.
And then unbelievably angry.
Furious, seething rage like I've never known in my life bubbles up coating my insides and the back of my throat like hot tar. The edges of my vision start to go a little red. I blink but it doesn't change, and the burning rage clawing through my belly only intensifies, swells up blotting out all reason.
I jerk up from the bed slamming both fists against the mattress with a snarl while my vision tunnels, narrows and washes the world completely red…
and then everything goes black.