Page 17 of Fall

God, I’m so tired.I listen to them talk about things that don’t concern me, bringing up names I don’t know and wondering if I should try to file away any of this information for later. It takes me a few minutes and a few small adjustments to get comfortable, but I find Val’s body heat helps a hell of a lot more than I could’ve expected it would.

He’s just sowarm, and I’m starting to really notice the chill in the air now that my brain is so quiet and dotted with cotton fluff. Absently I turn to bury my face into his shoulder, and on my next inhale I can smell his sharp cologne, and a perfect, warm scent underneath that’s something uniquely his. I want to remind the two men I hate them, and that I’m not okay with this.

That once I get out of here, I never want to see them again.

But my mouth is dry and my tongue feels heavy as I think about actually saying the words. So instead, I let out a sigh against his shoulder and close my eyes with the intention of giving myself a few seconds to regroup and figure out what my next move should be.

Yeah,I tell myself silently.Just a few minutes of my eyes being closed. I’ll be fine.I won’t fall asleep.

I definitely won’t fall asleep.

8

All I can really thinkabout when I wake up is how warm I am.

And how fuckingsore.

I’m sore enough that I really don’t want to move, and I’m definitely not willing to open my eyes. Not even when I realize I’m in a bed, under blankets, and insanely better rested than I’ve been in a few days. But I also cansensethe dirt and blood and worse still smeared on my skin. And since I definitely don’t remember taking a shower or submerging myself in soapy water in some other way, I know I’m still filthy.

Even opening my eyes is a lot of effort, though I manage to glare up at the ceiling and the lazily spinning fan above me. The more I watch it, the more I swear I can hear a softwhooshingsound from the fast-moving blades.

That, or I’m just breathing really weird right now.

Trying to move reminds me that Iam,in fact, just as sore as I expected. A groan trickles from between my lips when I shove myself upward into a sitting position, only to find that my hoodie and shoes are gone. Instead, I’m just wearing my tank top and shorts, in a king-size bed I remember seeing last night.

Though any possibility of today being a welcoming, sunny day is snuffed out by a distant roll of thunder.

“You don’t have to get up yet,” a sleepy, pleased voice tells me. Turning, I see Val sitting up in the bed as well, his hair tousled and smile sweeter than candy. He’s so good at flipping personalities, I’ve noticed, from psychotic, primal predator to kind and full of rainbows, meet-your-parents guy. As I watch, he leans over to the nightstand to pick up a bottle of water and a foil packet, both of which he holds out for me.

“Tylenol,” he says, showing me the unopened red packet before he rips it open to drop two white pills into my hand. He even cracks open the seal on the bottle of water and hands it to me, making me wonder if I look too fragile to do it myself.

Another roll of thunder has me glancing toward the window as I swallow the pills, and I see the light from behind the curtains is dim from the approaching storm clouds. “Man, if only I had my phone to see what the weather will be like today,” I remark flatly, prompting Val to snicker. I hand him back the water, though that earns me a reproachful look as he gently pushes it back toward me.

“Uh, no. You’re drinking all of that. You’ve had a couple of really rough days, and I’m sure you’re teetering on dehydration.” He rolls his eyes and gets to his feet, leaving me to appreciate all of his bare skin on display, seeing as he’s dressed only in a pair of low-slung sweatpants.

It should be illegal for murderers to be so hot.

“It’s supposed to storm all day, and taper off tonight,” he tells me finally, turning to glance at me when I don’t move to take a drink. In response, I frown with my shoulders hunched, and tip my head back to down half the bottle.

All the while, I look him over. His tan, smooth skin is perfect, save for the marks I don’t quite remember leaving. Not that I doubt I did, given how desperate I was to get away from them. “I thought I only got the nice boyfriend experience if I didn’t runfrom you,” I can’t help remarking flatly. “I thought anything else would get you only doing what youwantwith me.”

That earns me an amused glance from his bright eyes, and he grins slyly. “You think Ionlywant to fuck you on your knees in the dirt? You think I’m that simple of a man, Noa?” He sounds teasing as he prowls back to the bed and leans on it so our faces are on the same level. “How boring of you.”

“You really don’t want to know what I think of you,” I assure him, rolling my eyes. In the daylight, and after a lot of sleep, I don’t feel quite as terrified of him. But that’s probably just me too far in shock to react appropriately, since I should absolutely be attempting to claw out his eyes right now.

He scoffs at that and stands with a wince, stretching toward the ceiling with his arms over his head. “If you want to shower, you can. You were looking around last night, so I figure you know where the bathroom is.” Still, his eyes flick toward the open door on the other side of the room, and a second later he’s striding to the other door that leads into the rest of the cabin.

“You’re leaving me in here alone? What if I jump out the window and make a break for it?” I get to my feet and try not to cringe, or swear, or place a curse on Val’s entire bloodline.

“Well, the window’s locked, so you’d be jumping through the glass. If you’re that desperate then I guess I won’t stop you, but I don’t think you are.” He flashes me his winning smile once more before leaving the room and closing the door behind him to give me the illusion of actual privacy.

For a few moments, I just stand in the middle of the room, listening to the fan above me with my eyes closed. All things considered, I could be in worse shape. My neck is the sorest part of me, then with my knees, and my palm stings enough that I know it’ll be a bitch to finish cleaning.

It also occurs to me they must have cleaned me up somewhat before tucking me into bed last night. I should be way dirtierthan I am, and my palm is somewhat clean, with only the scrapes and cut remaining. My knees are a tragedy of scrapes and red patches from the ground, though I choose to ignore that. It’s too easy to insult myself with the idea ofbeing on my kneesso much last night.

Even though I’m the master of self-deprecating humor most days, I quickly decide today is not the day. I make my way to the bathroom and glance at myself in the mirror, unsurprised to see that I look like a walking, talking, war crime. My neck is bruised with fingerprints dotting my skin, and I brush my fingers over the prints just to see if I can match them with my grip. I can’t.

While the shower is heating up, I strip, unsurprised to see the same fingerprint bruises along my hips and thighs. I have a few other assorted bruises as well, probably from falling in the woods, though the only actual wounds on my body are on my knees and my hand. And of those two, only my hand is something I’ll maybe bother to put a few Band-Aids on.

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