Page 32 of Paradox
“Fuck yes! Don’t stop. Just like that.”
Even though his words aren’t for me, I can’t help but to follow their command.
“I hate you,” I breathe out, shaky, as I come inside my pants. Filthy and ashamed.
Eden was right.
Eden was so freaking right.
The storm was coming, and it’s big and bad and it’s gonna blow this shack down.
Every panel of wood is shaking around me, and every bit of dust, dead bug, and probably a ton of spiders have fallen from the roof on top of me. The wind is howling through the cracks, and in spite of wearing every item of clothing I brought, it still slices at me like icy knives through the holes in the walls.
The glass rattles loosely in the window.
I pull my head inside the sleeping bag so there's at least some protection in case the hundred-year-old glass shatters.
I might actually die here.
The stove went out hours ago. I tried to keep it going for as long as I could, but gave up all hope once the tools started shaking on their rusty nails.
I took them all down, hid them under the cot and stacked the newspapers on top of them.
For hours Eden worked, hammering boards over his windows, stacking all the firewood that he could fit onto the porch, and hanging up tarps to stop the snow from coming in through the screens. He moved his truck as close as he could to the front of the cabin, and I even saw him on the roof again, checking the work he’d made me help him with last week.
And all for what?
So he'd be safe?
So that he'd be warm and comfortable while he watched me suffer?
The man is a fucking narcissist.
It would have taken nothing for him to secure my window or give me one of the tarps, but he actively chose not to.
I held out some hope that he might at least leave me some food, but he was locked up inside before I even dove into my sleeping bag.
The wind shrieks, and the shack violently shudders.
I curl into a ball.
My breathing is hard and fast, as I suck down on the built up carbon monoxide trapped inside this cocoon with me.
All I wanted was to make some of my own calls; to dictate what happened in my own life.
I wrap my arms tighter around myself, shivering uncontrollably. My stomach gnaws with hunger—another painful reminder of my own stupidity. Jeon Jintae; small, stubborn, pathetic.
A deafening crack of thunder splits the air.
The wind howls, laughing at my terror.
The wood groans.
The tools rattle beneath me.
I’m alone. Just me and this relentless storm.
I don’t want to die like this.
