Page 3 of Stranded on the Prairie
Not that I know if she’ll even want to stay when she wakes up.
Finally, I hear movement behind me, and I glance around – her eyelids flutter, and she lifts her head, fingers bunching around the rough blanket I tossed over her when she came in.
Partly to keep her warm, and partly to keep my mind from getting too drawn in to the way that her body looks under the confines of those tight clothes.
Because then, I might have to admit that my reasons for bringing her here aren’t entirely altruistic. And it might have more to do with my body than the decency of my mind.
She looks around, her gaze bleary for a moment, and then her brow furrows. She sits bolt-upright, the blanket half-falling from her body, displaying the curve of her breast beneath her skintight shirt. I avert my eyes quickly.
"Where am I?" she demands, as she springs upright – but, it seems, the cold has seeped further into her bones than she realized, because she groans in pain, sinking back into chair and rubbing at her legs and arms.
"I brought you back to my cabin," I reply, keeping my voice as steady as I can. "It was bitter cold out there. You wouldn’t have lasted long in that weather."
She roves her gaze towards me, narrowing her eyes.
"Did you take my phone?" she demands. I stare back at her, nonplussed.
"I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about."
"Well, I had a phone when I slipped into the water," she tells me accusatorily, stabbing her finger in my direction as she gathers the blanket around herself again. "And a whole pack, too. Someone must have taken it, and you’re the only person who-"
"I didn’t take anything from you," I retort hotly, unappreciative of her tone. She reels back slightly, and I realize I’ve been harsher than I need to be.
This girl was clearly on the brink of unconsciousness out there, no wonder she’s a little confused as to what the hell is going on. I haven’t had anyone in this house for long enough that it’s hard to remember how to act when someone is around like this, and I need to keep my tone in check.
She sighs, rolling her eyes skywards.
"Let me use your phone, then," she replies, glancing around. "What’s your wifi password..."
"What the hell are you talking about?”
She snorts slightly in surprise. Whatever answer she expected from me, that’s clearly not it.
"I’m sorry, what year are you from?" she asks, an edge of sarcasm to her voice.
"1857. What about you?”
As soon as I come out with that, all the color drains from her face. Her hands tighten on the blanket once again, so much so that her knuckles turn white.
"What?" she breathes, her eyes widening. She seems to be waiting for me to take it back and admit it’s nothing more than a joke, but I don’t see why I should.
Did this girl just drop out of the damn sky? She’s sure acting like it, I just don’t know why.
"You really don’t know what year it is?”
"No, I know what years it is," she protests. "It’s 2025. I wouldn’t forget something like that. This is-"
She glances around at the cabin – one I built with my own two hands, when I came out here myself ten years before. Not exactly the fanciest place in the world, but it’s home, and more than that, it’s freedom.
She lets out a long, stuttering breath, as though it’s all starting to hit her like a ton of bricks.
"You’re not serious, are you?” she whispers to me. "I mean, it’s not – it can’t be-"
“25?” I repeat after her, my brain still hooked on that part of things. "That’s when you think it is?”
"No, that’s when Iknowit is," she protests. "I was out walking in the woods, I was doing this hiking retreat to clear my head before I went back to my yoga studio, and-"
"Yoga?" I reply, eyebrow cocking a little higher.
