Page 7 of Gooey

Unfortunately. Every part of me wishes I was kidnapped by a stranger and there was actually a big family waiting for me somewhere.

“I don’t have anyone else,” I admit, trying not to cry. But you do have someone else, my brain argues. “The man who saved me… where is he?”

“Moore?” she asks, her eyebrows lifting in surprise. “He’s probably in the dining hall with the rest of the men.”

“This is his bed, isn’t it?” I have to hold back a shudder, remembering his deep and commanding voice saying that I would stay in his room.

“It is,” Nancy says awkwardly. “He has one of the bigger spaces and you didn’t seem to mind the idea? I hope that’s okay?”

“It’s fine,” I say softly. It would be more fine if I woke up surrounded by his big strong arms. Though, I suppose being bathed in his scent from sleeping in his blankets is nice too.

Excitement rolls around in my gut. “Can I go see him? To thank him, I mean.”

Nancy notes my blushing face and bites her lip in contemplation. “From what I hear, you thanked him already.”

If it’s possible, my face gets warmer. Yes, I remember kissing the big hunk of a man who pulled me out of the horrible waters and held me in the shower while I shivered and cried. It was the most natural thing I’ve ever done, leaning into him and offering up my first kiss. We were both too frozen in shock for it to be wonderful, but it was great for me. I’m hoping the second time will be even more magical than the first.

“He saved me,” I reason, giving her a small shrug. “I like him.”

“Honey, I’m sure you feel very grateful for him, but Moore is much older than you?—”

Folding my arms and pouting, I narrow my eyes at her. “So?”

She holds up her hands in defense, trying to show she means so harm. “I’m not here to tell you what to do, honey. But… have you ever been with a man before? Your father stole you away here when you were just a girl. I don’t want you to be hurt?—”

Moore wouldn’t hurt me, he’s my hero,I want to yell at her but I don’t. She’d just think I’m even more naive than she already does.

So what if I don’t know about being with a man, why can’t he teach me?

“I’d like to see him now,” I state firmly, straightening my shoulders.

Nancy gives a soft smile. “Okay. Here, put on these slippers and I’ll show you the way.”

It’s a bit of a struggle to stretch my legs, but with her giving me a hand, I manage it. Shuffling slowly out of the room and into a narrow hallway, I start to fiddle with my hair, making sure it’s not too much of a disaster. It feels dry from the saltwater, but it isn’t full of tangles, thankfully.

I’m sure my face looks a bit worse for wear, given everything that’s happened. I refuse to ask for a mirror, though. If I look like a mess, I don’t want to know. I’ll lose all my nerve.

Nancy walks by my side, looking like she wants to wrap an arm around me to help me take my steps. She doesn’t though, possibly in an attempt not to offend me. I’m glad because I don’t want her help with walking. Even if my body feels like I’ve been hit by a truck, I want to be strong.

The soreness is a good distraction for the fact that my father not only tried to murder me, but he successfully killed himself. And I’m… not sad about it. I don’t want to think about him or the two horrid years he’s locked me away on this structure. I just want to be free of him, and I guess now I am.

Maybe that makes me awful, but I can’t be bothered to worry about it. There are other things on my mind. Other people.

Moore.

It’s a nice name, I think. It suits him and his hard expressions. I didn’t get a good long look at him while he took care of me, but I saw enough to know he’s the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. Trying to picture him from memory, I smile to myself.

His jaw looked like it was carved from stone, and his eyes were the deepest blue, so dark they could almost be black. His tanned skin looked so smooth underneath the gliding shower water. I wanted to run my fingers over every inch of him, his tattoos and scars included.

From what I can remember, Moore has a long jagged scar down the left side of his cheek bone, stopping right before his nose. Another thinner mark ran through his right eyebrow and down to the top of his cheekbone. He had countless healed scars on his hands too, decorating them like tiny white vines.

And even though his markings didn’t take away from how handsome I immediately found him, a small part of me was sad for him. Not because of how he looked, but because of how every cut and injury must have felt. They must have been horribly painful. I mean, my hands and my face are some of the most sensitive parts of me.

Sighing, I shake out of my head and attempt to collect myself. The last thing I want is to make Moore think I feel any sort of pity towards him. I don’t want him to pity me either.

“It’s just through here,” Nancy says, motioning to the unopened door in front of us. “It can get pretty rowdy at meal times, what with thirty men all crammed into one room. If it gets too loud or overwhelming, let me know and I’ll get you out.”

“Thank you,” I say quietly. “For helping me.”

---