Page 4 of Bottoms
If I thought I looked like a disgusting troll standing next to Hannah before, it was nothing compared to the patchwork of healing skin across the backs of my legs. Some areas were blistered, and it felt like thick slime suffocated the new skin.
Every part of my body felt sore. I did my best to clean myself up while tears slipped from my cheeks to mix in with the water as it slowly became colder with each passing moment. I wasn’t in a hurry to start another round of uncontrollable shivering, so I turned the faucet off. I was clean enough for now.
My feet carried me unconfidently into the rest of the bathroom, and I gripped onto the dirt-streaked countertops to hold me steady. A towel was folded on the closed toilet lid, and I wrapped it around myself. Thank fuck, it was soft and felt like a cloud. I pinned the towel under my arms, rolling the top to secure it.
A new toothbrush sat inside plastic housing next to a tube of toothpaste. I grabbed them quickly, whispering a silent thanks to the universe for the small boon. As I cleared the fog from the small mirror behind the sink, my new toothbrush slipped from my grasp and fell into the water-stained sink.
My skin was stretched over my cheekbones with a waxy shine to it. Dark circles ringed my shrunken eyes. Patches of hair stuck out in random directions despite my hair being soaking wet. When my hand moved to inspect it better, I realized it was because several sections of my hair were burned from the flames and would need to be cut off.
I opened the top drawer next to the sink and found an electric trimmer. It looked like the one my dad used to keep his beard cut short. This one seemed to be made about the same year as the one my dad had, too. I pulled it from the drawer, grabbing the long cord to push into the outlet next to the sink. When I pressed the power button, I hadn’t expected the ancient machine to hum to life. Guess I was doing this after all.
I finished cleaning up before deciding there was nothing else I could do other than head out of the room, wearing only a towel. Once I opened the door, the air felt cold against my newly shaved head. There had simply been too much damage to save any part of it. The cold hit my exposed skin, making goosebumps rise on my arm as I dipped into the towel and held it securely with my hand before stepping out. Didn’t want it to fall to the ground and give him more ideas about ways to hurt me.
I found Fynn sitting at a small dining room table with four chairs. A gun sat on the table near his folded hands. My feet immediately froze in a spot when his head turned my way.
“This is yours,” he said, sliding the gun to the empty seat nearest me. His gaze shifted to his cup of coffee, and I wasn’t sure what he expected me to do.
I took a few hesitant steps forward, holding on to the towel for dear life with my one good arm. My eyes flicked around the space, looking for an exit. He didn’t move an inch when I grabbed the weapon off the table or when I checked if the magazine was empty and loaded a round into the chamber. It took me longer than it should have as I struggled against my injured arm and my desperate attempt to ensure my towel wouldn’t slip. He finally turned his head to face me when I pointed the gun between his eyes. He faced down the barrel without even the slightest hint of fear.
“You’re not going to pull the trigger,” he said with a smile before his eyes flicked to my already shaking arm. “I wouldn’t have been as impressed as Nik was with your groupings. Then again, he did get to get his cock dipped twice for that little outing.” Faster than I could react, he took the gun out of my hand. Clearing the chamber before he pocketed the magazine and left the rest on the table in front of him. “Next time you point a gun at me, little girl, you better plan on pulling the trigger. Or else I will shove it up between those pretty little thighs of yours and let you guess ifIwill pull the trigger,” he said. Looking me right in the eyes, I knew every word was true. “Why don’t you take a seat? We can chat about a few house rules.”
My knees were shaking, even after I sat down in the chair.
“One, don’t point a fucking gun at me. Really, I figured that would be understood by now. I could kill you, like right now. Dead. On my dining room table and I would still eat a bowl of cereal while your lifeless body watched. You don’t want to see what life is like on my bad side,” he started, and I swallowed hard. Nodding rather than risk speaking. “Two, you’re not in any kind of condition to attempt an escape. Even if you did have a gun, you wouldn’t even make it out of the woods. I will not be pleased if I have to haul your ass back here.”
Well, at least he wouldn’t kill me for an escape attempt.
“Three, try not to piss me off, alright. That’s really just advice in general. I’m not around many people often,” he smiled softly, looking at me. His tone was exhausted, having lost the edge he started with.
My body seemed to relax, feeling that I was no longer in imminent danger. I couldn’t quite wrap my head around my thoughts on Fynn. He was a scary motherfucker, that’s for sure. There wasn’t any reason he should keep me around unless he decided that living a life of solitude was lonely. Now he wanted to force me into his life as some twisted form of amusement. It wasn’t going to happen, but the less resistance I gave, the better off I might do. All I needed was to have a little patience and wait for a good chance. Then I would make a break for it. For now, I could use a bowl of cereal.
“Where are you going?” Fynn asked. The edge in his tone reappeared as I got up from the table.
“You said 'bowl of cereal', and that sounds really fucking good. Want me to bring you one too?” I asked as I walked into the small dirty kitchen and opened the cupboards.
“Second cupboard on your left,” he said, pointing from the table.
I brought my left hand up but stopped as soon as my shoulder started to scream in pain.
“You do need to use it. Help get the movement going again. Try again, slower this time,” Fynn coached.
I turned to him, painfully raising my left hand to flip him off. “This count as exercise?” I asked, my bratty side apparently confused between sassing back against Tanner and trained murderers. Sweat collected between my shoulder blades, banding together before slowly making its way down my skin. At the same time, I held my middle finger painfully in the sky while I stared into Fynn’s heated gaze. With a groan, I let my shoulder muscles relax, and my arm fell to my side. Heat radiated throughout my shoulder, pulsing in time with my steady, beating heart.
Fynn raised his eyebrows, as if asking if he should be impressed with my little display. He laughed lightly before gesturing to the cabinet, “Try again.”
I felt my smile slide from my face as I turned back to the door. It silently mocked me while my shoulder cried out no more. I reached up with my right hand, but immediately Fynn made a tsking noise again, and I dropped my arm.
“I can’t,” I said, defeated, while my gaze dropped to the floor.
I heard Fynn’s chair. He got up and was now silently stalking over towards me. His movements didn’t make noise, but I could feel him moving towards me like an electric current growing stronger with his approach. Rather than run or fight, my treacherous body once again rolled a critical failure and stood entirely still. He crowded into my space, but I didn’t look up. I stayed frozen.
“If you hadn’t been so stubborn a few minutes ago, you could have gotten this for yourself. Now you need help,” Fynn said. The bass of his voice washed over me with his chest so near.
My head thawed enough for me to turn and watch how his muscles bunched while he reached up from behind me to flick open the cabinet door. Tattoos covered every inch of his arms, and I tried to look at the individual designs as he grabbed a box of cereal and two bowls. He was out of my space a moment later, setting up our bowls on the counter before going to the fridge. Grabbing the gallon of milk, he started to unscrew the lid, and I found my voice.
“Wait!” I shouted, my good arm swinging out wide. My towel started to slip, and I had to quickly grab it before anything showed that I shouldn’t. “Please do not tell me you are one of those psychopaths that put the milk in the bowl first.”
He looked at me like I was insane. “No. Not that type of psychopath. I always take the cap off while I’m walking. Saves me time,” he said, plopping the open gallon of milk onto the counter before grabbing the cereal box. It had rainbow marshmallows mixed in with the corn puffs. It looked like Hannah and Fynn had the same grocery shopping skills. He poured the cereal into my bowl and then added the perfect amount of milk. It had just started to float, but I would have plenty of crunchy bites to look forward to if I could eat fast enough. The way my stomach rumbled claimed I could get to the bottom and there would still be a crunch.
