Page 165 of Those Who Are Bound

Elliott

Elliottlethimleadher to the campsite where the others were waiting, plates in hand, food untouched. As they approached, paper plates with potato hash and carrots were pressed upon them; it was the only reason Jonah released her, she was sure. After they were interrupted for what seemed like the hundredth time, she assumed he was now loathe to let her go.

Weird, that his people popped up whenever they got close. It was as though they had a sixth sense about her; they were attempting to protect him from her. Mentally smacking herself, she chalked it up to more of an innate distrust of someone who isn’t like them—i.e., religious—rather than any insight into the fact that she might lead their pastor to his destruction.

There were wooden tables where several people sat, but a few also sat in fold-up chairs. Jonah made his way to one of the tables. Instead of sitting on the bench, he sat on the tabletop. He looked around for her and motioned for her to join him. Well, he certainly wouldn’t make a scene in front of everyone, so she shook her head. She contented herself with sitting on the bench farthest from him, balancing her plate of food on her legs. He watched her, his dark brows drawn together in concern.

Just when she thought he was going to prowl over and grab her over to his side, Lucy prompted, “You’re on, Jonah. I’m starving! Let’s get this show on the road!”

His expression fell into one of amused chastisement as he shifted his attention to his friend. But he humored them and instructed them to bow their heads.

Elliott stabbed at her food and watched in fascination as they followed his instruction. While Jonah stalled the satisfaction of hunger pangs of those waiting around her, she took a bite; it was pretty good for campside food. It was warm and full of seasoning, which pleasantly surprised her.

By the time he was finished and had released the others, she’d completed several bites. He sought her out immediately, noted her stuffed face, and gave her a look of amusement. If he’d thought she was going to wait for his okay to eat, he was sadly mistaken.

There must have been something in the air around her, because conversation was rapid-fire and mostly all-inclusive, but no one bothered her. It didn’t offend her, nor did she feel left out. She was grateful for it, although it made her more aware of Jonah’s watchful gaze; she felt his disquiet from their conversation.

It unsettled her, too. She’d been so close to confessing to him what had passed through her mind, her body’s reaction, when that rope had slapped her. To tell him the actual need that she’d had, the overwhelming tension inside. A tension he could help her relieve.

Gretchen’s timing was… well, the best-case scenario. Imagine if she’d said something, and the interruption had come a minute later, with Jonah still reeling.

“Will you hear our testimony, Jonah?”

He responded automatically, his tenor patient and kind. “Of course.” His gaze glanced off her—a quick look to ensure himself that she was still there.

It wasn’t as though it would escape his notice if she left. The space wasn’t that large. She supposed it should make her feel good, that he was keeping an eye on her. Although she’d been under his almost constant, contemplative and assessing gaze since dinner started.

But… testimony? Setting aside her empty plate, Elliott cocked her head as she looked back at him. It sounded like they were on trial for something. And Jonah was supposed to absolve them? Now, her curiosity was piqued.

Or was it going to be a praisefest—pardon the pun—of every wonderful thing he or the church had done? Sort of like a live Yelp review?

But for the next half hour, she listened to the people talk, encourage, and cry with one another… experiencing more and more alienation from him, these people. One after the other, stories of their lives were presented as evidence; their individual interpretations of a higher power’s hand at work.

They were encouraged: by the others and by Jonah. Validated.

A tear slipped down her cheek as she listened to the last story; not the last story, but the last she’d be able to sit through. Wiping it away, she ducked her head and turned as she stood. She walked away from the group, not looking back, even as she knew he had to notice, and marked her departure.

She walked down to the water’s edge, where the canoes had beached earlier. The metal contraptions had long ago been loaded up and hauled—she assumed—back to the starting point so they could begin their journey again tomorrow. The sunlight was dying, and a million dark orange sparkles were reflected back from the river.

Today had been more than she’d anticipated, more than she’d bargained for. Her emotions were all over the place. Waking up with him, deliciously fucked by him, clinging to him for hours on a bike, fighting with him… the moments on the river.

He was everything, absolutely everything she imagined she could want, except.Except.

In the back of her mind, her demon urged her to teach him a lesson: stay with him and show him the error of his ways, his beliefs. He’d earned it, after all, by having that goodness—the Achilles heel—that left him vulnerable to her.

And then, to compound it with what she’d just witnessed. Wiping at her cheeks to erase all evidence of her tears, she was further disheartened. He believed what they were saying.

“Are you all right?”

His voice was both a balm and a dagger.

Rubbing her hands against her thighs, even though the moisture from her cheeks was no longer on them, she nodded before she turned toward him. He was standing a few feet behind her. She was surprised she hadn’t heard him on the pebbles. “I’m fine.”

He smiled gently, holding a hand out to her. “You’ve been using that word too much. I want a different one from you. Tell me what you’re feeling; I know it was powerful.”

“Powerful?”

“It’s okay; I’m glad their stories touched you. But I want to help you process it if you need it.”

---