Page 46 of Audiophile

She managesa small snort of derision, but her pupils are blown. “We’ve said far worse.”

“True,” I say, holding tight to the remnants of my self-control. “But that was practically a challenge.”

“Oh.” When my implication registers, she drops her head to my chest. My heart pounds fiercely under my jacket, so hard she must feel it.

“Let’s go hiking, before I maul you like a bear.” I offer her my hand, struggling not to lay her down in the backseat instead.

“No wonder you’re a bachelor if that’s your best pickup line.” She’s fronting; her breath hitches each time I pull her close. I tug her onward—against my deepest desires—because she needs to know there’s more to dating than never leaving the bed.

“You love my pickup lines,” I shoot back, and she laughs as we walk up the path.

Petra is patient with me as I frequently stop along the trail to record the babble of a brook or call of a bird. Oregon is so beautifullygreen.Everything is wet—the soil nearly black with the damp—and covered in a verdant groundcover that’s reminiscent of an enchanted forest.

The nearby stream provides an undercurrent to the snap of old twigs and pine needles. The wind whistles through empty branches of trees still waiting for spring, and its high, mournful cry makes me inexplicably sad.

This is why I chose audio as my medium. I have a love for these sounds I can’t describe, but with Petra I don’t have to. She pauses when I do, cocking her head in an attempt to decipher which sound I’m isolating. I record Petra’s gentle crunching steps with my phone and text it to Mom as my favorite sound of the day.

Occasionally a soft smile will cross Petra’s face as she tracks things that aren’t there. Her eyes flit from the base of a tree to a high branch, though I can’t spot an animal. “What do you see?”

“Oh. It’s nothing.” A blush creeps up her cheeks. “I have a vivid imagination.”

“If you were writing, what story would you imagine here?”

Her eyes light up as she takes in the trees around us, and points to a space beneath a tangle of roots. “This is the house of the Bobbity family, obviously. Little Ian Bobbity is the youngest, and a troublemaker of a bunny. He never comes home on time for dinner.”

“Obviously. And this?” I point toward a deep hole carved out from the bank of a small creek. “Who lives there?”

She shakes her head playfully. “No one. It’s a training arena for the Trouncing Toads. They’re the most elite squad there is and are sworn to protect the realm.”

“Trouncing Toads? I love it. So, when do I get to read about Ian Bobbity?”

Petra just shrugs. “I’d have to write it first.” She gives me a small tour of her imagination whenever I point out gnarled branches or oddly shaped rocks. Through her, I fall more in love with the land.

We’re almost to the first waterfall when my phone interrupts our peace.Caller Unknown.A chill sweeps over me as I silence it. The needling sensation creeps in, and when we stop in front of the rushing fall and Kinley calls a third time, I turn my phone off completely.

“You okay?” Petra asks. “I can give you some privacy.”

Her consideration melts the ice crusting over my skin. “No, that’s not the problem. It’s…the person I was telling you about.”

“Need me to kick her ass?”

I laugh, but when I turn to her, she’s dead serious. “You don’t need to get hurt on my account, but thank you.”

“Way to stick me in a box,” she scoffs. “Unofficial black belt, remember? My other sister, Silla, was dedicated to martial arts. I was her practice partner, whether I wanted to be or not. Violence doesn’t solve everything, but this woman can’t seem to take a hint.” I flinch at how close Petra is to the truth.

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Petra sits on a nearby bench, silently waiting me out, and I sink down next to her with a sigh.

“Kinley wasn’t all bad. I think I loved her in the beginning, or maybe I loved who she pretended to be. But things disintegrated. She grew obsessive. She wanted private recordings, and then I couldn’t even discuss DKP without her there. Eventually, I couldn’t make eye contact with a woman without Kinley going off on me. She wanted me to stop working so she didn’t have toshareme. Kinley never understood that DK isn’t real.”

Petra’s eyes are big enough to swallow me whole, and it makes the rest of my words come easier.

“By the time I saw who she was under all the pretty lies, she had a hold on my whole life. My identity, my secrets, my family—she’d armed herself with an arsenal of information when I wanted to remain anonymous. It was nearly impossible to dig myself out of that situation. Sometimes it was so overwhelming that I wondered if it was worth it to try.”

Shock blooms over Petra’s face. “She was going to dox you?”

I rake a hand through my hair, frustrated. Kinley is unpredictable at best, malicious at worst. “That’s the least she’d do. Has done. She brought hell to earth for me.”

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