Page 11 of Gift from the Tree

“We need to go, now,” I whisper-yell to the man who’s here to save me. Well, hopefully, that’s what he’s doing.

He chuckles lightly, giving me a look that says I told you so. “Yes, of course, let’s go.”

Bending down slowly, he grips my ankles carefully where they’re still bound to the desk. Reaching into the pocket of his pants, he pulls out what looks like a switchblade, and as soon as the light catches the silver of it, I begin to hyperventilate.

“Calm down, calm down. I need to unbind your ankles. I swear on my life, I won’t harm you,” he speaks so softly, all I can do is nod at him as tears well up in my eyes. The reality of what happened is crashing over me in waves, eroding the tough exterior I’ve tried to build up.

A hand gripping my arm gently pulls me from where I was lost in my mind. I hadn’t realized he freed both of my ankles and was standing beside me, trying to assist me off the desk. I hiss in pain as my feet touch down on the cold floor. Losing my balance, I nearly crumble, but I’m quickly caught with ease and grace.

“Come on, I’ll help you.” Again, his sweet words cause the tears to grow fuller, my vision going blurry, and I have to blink rapidly to try to clear them so I can see where we’re heading.

We start to make our way to the French doors that lead out to the pool and panic sets in again as I see the water rippling as we grow closer, but my savior doesn’t get us to the handle as a hand shoots out and grabs me by the ankle. A panicked shriek leaves my lips before I can stop myself.

“Willow, I’ll kill you for this,” Donald moans out.

His right leg is twisted at a weird angle. Cuts and dried blood decorate his chest from the new marking he wears and the damage he took being flung across the room. Without much thought, I lift my other foot and kick him right in his balls. He immediately releases my ankle to grab his sorry-ass excuse of a manhood, but I’m not done. My hurt, my anger, my loss of innocence, everything’s rising in me, and I’m not walking away with just a kick to his balls. So I set my demons free.

Lifting my leg, I bring it down on his body, over and over, anywhere my foot can hit. I don’t even know what I’m hitting. I just kept giving it my all and the satisfying cracks I hear fuel my rage. My half-asleep foot throbs from the exertion, but I don’t give a fuck. The hand he laid on my ankle moments ago will be the last time he touched my skin.

“Shh, it’s going to be okay. We’re leaving, and I’ll get you far, far away from here.” A firm but soft grip pulls me back, cooing at me like a child.

Drifting back into the moment, Donald’s face is bloody, swelling by the second, and he’s hollering in pain. There’s blood coating my foot. I have no clue if it’s his or mine, nor do I care. The sight of him bloodied beneath me makes me smile and I can’t muster up any sense of remorse for what I just did. If this man hadn’t just pulled me back, I would’ve continued to kick until my leg fell off, probably long after Donald took his last breath.

Stumbling back another step, I turn to the old man and point toward the French doors, nodding for him to lead the way. Limping pitifully, he places his hand on my arm and keeps me steady as we make our way outside.

“We must move faster. The man who was banging on the door went to get more people,” he informs me quietly.

Fuck. Father’s going to get someone to break the door in and then they’ll find the mess I made. I guess I made it. I have no fucking clue what happened, nor do I think I’m ready to process the possibility of what just happened.

“Where are we going?” I ask, my voice raspy, sounding like I smoke two packs a day.

“The woods. I sense great power coming from somewhere in the center.”

The woods. Power.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask frantically. Freaking out on the inside because somehow, I know he’s talking about my tree, which opens a whole other can of questions.

“I promise, I’ll explain what I can once we’re off this property and in the woods.” His eyes beg me to just listen to him.

I’m very aware of stranger danger, but he can’t do worse to me than what’s already been done. Even thinking that this man could do that to me sends a feeling through me I can’t even describe. I’m not sure who he could possibly be, but instinctively, I know he’ll never hurt me.

Looking him in the eye, I give him a clipped nod and whatever he sees in my look must ease his worry. “Good, let’s get a move on.”

Moving as quickly as I can, ignoring the pain shooting through every inch of my body, we make our way through the woods at a pretty fast pace. We both seem to know exactly where to go, even though neither of us mentions it. Until we break into the clearing and begin to slow our jog. That’s what we’ll call the pitiful speed limp I’m rocking right now.

“You knew to come here,” he states.

“This is my safe haven. No one comes here but me.” At that, he looks at me with a mixture of sadness and wonder, confusing me completely.

Gently pulling my arm away, I move over to the lower branches of my tree, breathing a sigh of relief as I spot my box and bring it to my chest. I didn’t realize till now how worried I was something was going to happen to it.

“What’s that?” he asks curiously as I clutch the box in a death grip. Instead of answering, I take a good look at him now that I’ve got a minute to think clearer.

Even for his age, he’s still in great physical health from what I can tell. Judging by our height difference, I’m five-three and my forehead barely reaches his chin, so he’s around five-eleven. His tanned, wrinkled skin says he’s spending the days under the sun, making his baby-blue eyes pop. In this moonlight, his hair glows, revealing a luminous cascade of silver hair that’s slicked back with a beard down his chest that matches.

Staring into those blue eyes, I get a sense of safety, wisdom beyond my imagination, and strangely enough, familiarity. The corner of his lip curls on one side in a smirk that says I know what you’re thinking.

“My name is Gaster,” he says, reaching his hand out slowly as if he’s getting ready to pet a startled rabbit. I stare at his hand for a moment, waiting to see if he’d react to me not shaking it, and when I look up at his eyes, they’re tender, like how a grandfather would look at his granddaughter.

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