Chapter 7
Two weeks later on Friday, I start laundry right after breakfast, and I finish before lunch.
I’m not used to having so many hours of free time, and Mason still won’t let me help with any of the farm work except morning chores. After a lonely lunch of sandwich and apple, I putter around the kitchen, looking for something to fill my time.
But each day since moving in, I deep-cleaned one room of the cottage.
The whole home has been gone over twice, and there’s nothing left that needs cleaning today.
I’m up to date on errands, baking, and laundry.
I’d like to go out and practice working with the cows, but Mason has them in the farthest pasture right now.
He mumbled out what he’s doing with them today, but I didn’t have enough context to understand what it meant.
Only that he’d be away from the cottage all day.
He’s gone. Out of sight and inaccessible until dinnertime. He even took Bill with him today since the dog was hanging around.
And I have absolutely nothing to do.
I’ve been sleeping better now that I’m used to the cottage.
I do wake up occasionally if I hear Mason in the bathroom doing his thing, but I never mind.
It gets me excited to hear him, so I rub myself between the legs until it feels really good.
I’m always warm and relaxed afterward and go right back to sleep.
Without any other ideas, I find an old book from one of the boxes from the stack in the corner of my room and lie on my bed to read it, but it doesn’t hold my interest. The back cover calls it an espionage thriller, and it’s about people and countries and politics that are utterly meaningless to me and hard to keep straight in my head.
I drop the book beside me and stare up at the ceiling, thinking about waking up this morning to the sounds of Mason going at it in the bathroom.
He was grunting rhythmically, getting louder and faster as he progressed. Near the end, he was muttering raspy words. Fuck. Yes, fuck! I need… I need…
At the end, he said something else. It was muffled by the wall and unclear, like he was swallowing over the helpless exclamation.
But it almost sounded like my name. Teresa.
I was rubbing over my underwear like crazy by that point, gasping into my pillow as the pleasure built up and up and up. When I heard his final outburst, all the sensations exploded in that hot, naughty way.
It all felt so good that I wanted another one. I kept going, eagerly massaging that particular spot. But after the first time, it doesn’t come as easily so I had to really work for it, rubbing and rocking my body so vigorously that my bed was shaking.
I should have been embarrassed. Thinking back, I kind of am right now. But in the moment there was nothing else I could do but chase that feeling and thrill at the possibility of Mason hearing me doing that.
There was silence from the bathroom. I knew he was still there as my gasps turned into silly bursts of sound as the pleasure mounted higher, and I was too loud—much too loud—as I cried out in release when I finally got that rush of feeling I needed.
He heard me.
I know he did.
And I didn’t care. I liked it. I wanted him to.
I have no idea why.
Recalling it gets me all excited again, so I slip my hand between my legs, rubbing for a few minutes until, very daring, I tuck my fingers beneath my underwear so there’s no barrier to the touch.
I do it like I did this morning, rubbing fast and hard and rocking my body against my hand at the same time.
It takes me almost no time to explode.
I try to do it again, but this time it’s all the effort and none of the reward. The sensations feel good, but they don’t intensify.
So frustrated and flushed and self-conscious and wondering if I should even be doing this, I sprawl on my bed on top on the covers and slowly catch my breath.
I’m still so restless.
I want something I’m not getting.
If I don’t find something to do with myself this afternoon, I’m going to lie here for hours bored and discontent.
So I get up, put on my work boots and a sweater over my trousers and top, grab my shoulder bag, and go outside.
I check the barn and nearby pasture, but Mason and the cows are nowhere to be seen. I’ll be back before he returns for dinner, so there’s no reason to leave a note.
Starting to walk, I head for the ruins of that indoor market so I can scavenge for a few hours.
I don’t have to anymore since I don’t need to replenish Lorraine’s supply of trinkets, but I might find something we can use. There might be more jewelry where I found it last month, and that will always be helpful for bribes in the future.
And even if I don’t find anything good, at least it will get me out of the cottage.
Three hours later, I’ve managed to unearth a few more pieces of that good quality jewelry and a few battered books that look more readable than the ones at the house I’ve been trying.
I’m pleased with the results, and I walk back feeling better. I’ll still get back to the cottage at least an hour before dinner, so I’ll have plenty of time to cook the meal and have it ready when Mason, Bill, and the cows return.
The first thing that alerts me is Bill bounding toward me when the farm comes into sight.
The dog is exuberantly happy to see me, so I lean over to greet him warmly. “Why are you back so early?” I ask him, straightening up to complete my walk to the cottage. “Did you leave Mason and the cows to come back on your own?”
Bill, of course, has no clear answer for me. He sees his ball where he dropped it when he caught sight of me and rushes over to grab it, tossing it as high in the air as he can with a swing of his head and then galloping after it when it bounces and rolls across the grass.
I’m laughing at his clever method of playing by himself as I climb the porch steps and reach for the front door.
I squeal when the door opens without warning, and I almost stumble, losing my balance.
Then Mason is there. Big and tense and filling the doorway with his big body.
We stare at each other in astonishment for a few seconds.
Then the tension on his face breaks into a scowl. “Where the fucking hell have you been?” he demands, his voice louder and angrier than I’ve ever heard it.
I was startled by his sudden appearance, and now I’m even more shocked at his outburst. I step backward, my heart hammering and my throat closing up like a crisis has emerged out of the blue. “I was… I was scavenging.”
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me? I came back and you were gone!”
He’s angry with me. That much is clear. He feels much bigger than normal. Towering over me as he glares. He’s holding a pre-Fall rifle. He always wears a small handgun in a holster on his belt as he works to protect the animals from predators, but I’ve never seen him with such a big weapon before.
“I’m… I’m sorry!” There’s a sob in my throat, and it’s nearly blocking my voice. “I didn’t… I didn’t…”
Why is he holding that gun?
I’d never believe he would physically hurt me, but he’s scary right now in a way he’s never been to me before.
“You didn’t what? Think about leaving me a note or telling me beforehand? What the hell is wrong with you?”
I’m shaking now. All over. Even my teeth are chattering. I hug my arms to my chest and back away from him, down the porch steps. I trip on the bottom step.
I would have fallen if he hadn’t taken two long steps and reached out with his free hand to catch me.
He doesn’t let go of my elbow, and it scares me even more. I don’t fight. I’m not like Annabelle. My instinct is never to lash out or attack when I’m afraid.
This world has never been gentle, and fighting back has only ever made it worse. Lorraine taught me that, if nothing else.
So I’ll take whatever is coming right now, just like I’ve taken everything else.
Then afterward I can figure out what to do.
He’s still tense, nearly vibrating with the intensity of whatever he’s feeling. But his eyes are also scouring my face, searching for what’s going on inside me.
When he figures it out, he drops my arm like it burned him.
He takes an awkward backward step and looks down at his rifle like he’s surprised he’s holding it.
He sets it down gingerly on the edge of the porch and turns back to me.
“You’re terrified. Why are you so scared, Teresa?
” When I can’t get a word out immediately, he continues, “Tell me right now. Are you scared of me?”
He’s really asking. I see something that looks bewildered and horrified in his expression. “I didn’t…” Why can’t I seem to get a full sentence out? “I didn’t know. You were so angry with me.”
“I was scared!” He’s still more passionate than I’ve ever seen him, but I realize now it’s urgency, not violence.
“I got here and you weren’t anywhere. I went to the village and couldn’t find you.
So I came back here to get the rifle in case there was danger.
I thought something bad happened to you. ”
I make a little sobbing sound and uncross my arms. My shoulder bag slips down my arm to the ground. “Oh. Okay.”
“I’m sorry I scared you. I was going to find you.”
My mind is a whirl of relief and excitement and something resembling affection. Another weird sound escapes my throat. This one is half giggle, half sob. “Where were you going to look?”
“I didn’t know,” he admits, dropping his eyes in a familiar way. “But I was going to anyway.”
This time the sound I make is definitely a giggle. “Well, thank you. Because if something really happened to me, then I would definitely appreciate you rushing in with your rifle to help.”
He’s finally relaxing too. He makes a couple of huffs of a laugh and darts a quick glance up at my face. “I’m sorry I scared you. But how could you think I would ever hurt you?”
“I didn’t. Until a minute ago, I never would have thought you would. But people aren’t always… predictable. And the people you trust let you down.”