Page 18 of Fall

The water is delightfully hot when I step into the shower, and I tilt my head back with a grateful moan as the water runs over my skin and sends warmth seeping into my bones. My hair is an abomination, and after I wash it, I grab the conditioner from the lip of the tub. I pour enough of the product into my hair that I could style it in a mohawk that could hold all day.

Finally, I scrub my body thoroughly, getting rid of any lingering dirt from the woods and any other grime or blood I may have picked up over the last couple of nights. I’m not quite as tired as I was yesterday morning. Though if I had my way, I’d spend today sleeping and surrounded by pie and coffee like I wanted to do yesterday.

A particularly loud rumble of thunder interrupts my self-pity, and I lean against the shower wall to let the water run over my shoulders and down my thighs. I love storms. I’ve always loved to sit and listen to them, whether it’s day or night. Thoughit’s been a long time since my mom died, I remember sitting on our porch with her while she pointed out approaching sheets of rain and we listened to the thunder together.

Thinking about my mom sends an unexpected pang of sadness through me, and I hate howvulnerableand raw I feel.

And how much I miss my mom.

“God, I wish you could just swoop in and save me,” I murmur to no one. “You’d so know what to do in this situation, Mom.” She was always such a problem solver that it was unreal how many people came to her to vent about their issues. It was something I loved about her, and definitely something I unfortunately did not inherit.

Finally, I rinse the conditioner out of my hair and turn off the water, though I don’t leave the warmth of the shower enclosure for a few more moments. When I do, I wrap a towel around myself and lean over the counter, rubbing my hand over the mirror to clear off the condensation.

I look like a drowned cat. My face is pale, and the dark circles under my eyes areparticularlyvibrant today. My hair is still a mess, and when I yank open the top drawer, I’m happy to see a brush there I can steal. If I don’t take care of it now, then I will hate myself if I have to deal with it later.

Once I’ve dried off and stuck some Band-Aids on my palm over the worst of the abrasions, I tug the brush through my hair a few times. I’m not going for perfection. I’m just hoping for an improvement to looking like I’ve been living in the woods for the past week.

But after five minutes or so of gritting my teeth and dragging the brush through my blonde tangles, I suddenly wonder if I’ll look good with short hair just so I can avoid doing any more of this. I decide to say fuck it, and when I move to grab my clothes I’d left in a pile by the door, I find they’re gone. Instead, my shorts and tank have been replaced by a pair of long blacksweatpants, a new t-shirt, and a zip up hoodie. None of which are mine.

I don’t want to wear their clothes, the stubborn part of me complains silently. I hesitate with the towel wrapped around me, wishing I could sensibly turn my nose up at the offered clothing. We aren’t friends, or lovers, or anything other than kidnappers and victim, who happen to have amazing hate sex.

But I’m also not so sure I’d love putting my filthy clothes back on right now, and these look a lot warmer. With that thought, I drop the towel and tug on the too long sweatpants, not minding at all how they pool around my heels. The shirt fits a little better, making me think it’s Kieran’s instead of Val’s, since the latter is the more muscular of the two. The hoodie I don’t bother with for the moment, though. Not when I’m actually pretty comfortable now that I’ve reminded my body what it’s like to be warm.

Finally I sigh, and for a few seconds I press my forehead to the door while considering the merits of just hiding in here until someone miraculously shows up to rescue me, or I fade away from desperation.

“No, nope,” I murmur. “You will not perish in some cabin in the middle of the woods. Hopefully.” With that resolution, I yank open the door, drape the hoodie on the bed, and walk to the closed door of the bedroom.

When I open it, I’m definitely not expecting to findthreepeople in the open area of the cabin. Kieran is leaning against one wall, quiet as always, while Val stands in the middle of the room, closer to the stranger.

Looking at the man, I find something familiar in his stance, in the way he carries himself, and justhim, though I can’t figure out what it is or where I know him from. He’s attractive, in a cold way, his dark brown hair is slicked back with gel and tattoos cover every inch of arms exposed by the rolled-up sleeves of hisdress shirt. When he sees me, he stops whatever he’s saying and turns to look at me with dark, almost sapphire blue eyes.

“Why hello,” he greets in a slow, smooth voice that doesn’t do a lot to comfort me. His smile is slow and thoughtful, but I can’t help noticing that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Kieran shifts audibly, drawing the new man’s attention and causing his smile to turn into a smirk. “Oh, calm down, Kier,” he dismisses. “I trust you to take care of it.”

It occurs to me that theithe’s talking about might definitely beme. My fingers flex against my palms, though I wince when I accidentally press against the cuts under the Band-Aids on my palm.

“You spell your name interestingly, Noa,” the man remarks without waiting for Kieran to reply to him. “No H. I’ve never seen that before.”

“It’s Hebrew,” I reply easily. I’ve heard this before, and corrected countless people when they instinctively put anHat the end of my name. “Have we met?” I can’t stop myself from asking, or keep myself from being curious.

“You’ve met,” Val tells me flatly. “You’ve just never seen his face.” He adjusts his arms and settles against the back of the sofa. “Why can’t Erika take care of it?” he asks, his attention back on the man.

The stranger looks at me slowly, brows raised in a silent question, but Kieran sighs and provides an answer instead. “Noa’s already a liability until we figure out a way to make sure she isn’t,” he points out. “It doesn’t matter what she hears you say.”

“You met me asNerothe other night,” the man tells me at last. “That’s how I know you. Though I definitely don’t know as much about you as Kier or Val.” A smile twitches at his lips, and his eyes warm just a little. He turns to glance at Val and shakes his head. “Because it’sErika,” he points out. “She barelymanaged to keep her room under control. And apparently, she didn’t do enough research.” He rolls his shoulders in a shrug while I try to ignore my growing curiosity and desire for popcorn—or the pie in the fridge—to enjoy while listening to this drama.

Instead of standing awkwardly in the doorway, I prowl to the sofa, figuring this might not be a good time to demand my freedom, make a scene, and declare any radical intentions I may have for the day. So I sit and curl my knees up to my chest, grateful for the cozy, slightly too big clothes and the warmth of the cabin itself.

Though I’m definitely not grateful for the men I’m here with.

“Also…” Nero glances my way, his look morphing to one of concern. “Are you in love with her, or just trying to torture her? She’s amess, Kier.” He turns to look at the taller man, whose chin jerks up in surprise.

“You’re blaming me?” Kieran snaps. “Me? You know I’m not into leaving marks like that.”

“But you’re the more responsible of the two of you,” Nero admonishes. I’m liking him more and more by the minute, and it’s hard to remind myself that he’s definitely not on my side either. “And I know you know the meaning of aftercare, Jesus…”

Kieran shakes his head and leans back against the wall once more. “You’re an ass,” is his only response, and Val glances my way, a bit of a guilty look on his handsome face while I fight back a satisfied smile.

Nero isdefinitelyon my list of ‘less awful serial killers I’ve met,’ unless he has a reason to remove himself from it.

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