7. CHAPTER 7
E den’s fist pounds on the shack’s door. “Get your ass out here. There’s too much shit to get done today for me to be waiting around for you all morning.”
“It’s eight am,” I mutter to myself, then gulp down the remaining ramen broth left in the small tin bowl.
Opening the vents of the stove, I peer in to make sure the fire is out.
It broke my heart to see the flames die because Eden really did only give me one match. But I didn't have any other choice.
That stove’s almost one hundred years old.
You need to make sure the vent is open or you’ll poison yourself with carbon monoxide.
Move the cot away from it so you don’t burn your arm off in your sleep.
Don’t overload it with wood.
You only get one match so if you fuck it up don’t come crying to me.
If you leave this cabin for longer than it takes to piss, you put it out.
It’s not like it’s a quick process.
I had to have the fire big enough to boil the last of my water so I didn’t start another day on an empty stomach.
And it's not like I can just starve it of oxygen because the stove's hundred-year-old vents are so rusty they don't close properly.
So for the last twenty minutes I've been savoring my ramen while gradually getting colder and colder because this shack is a shit heap.
I know Eden calls it a cabin just to mess with me.
There's no way it's even a hundred square feet so it's not like I can actually move the cot away from the stove.
At any given moment I expect one of the deadly tools to fall from the rusty nails they're hanging from and either kill me or leave me with a debilitating case of tetanus.
And then there's the dusty piles of newspapers, two by fours, and broken solar panels.
“Jin!”
“For Christ’s sake, I’m coming!” I yell, and it feels good. Maybe having a giant saw and a fire poker by my side isn’t such a bad thing after all. That is, until I have to leave the shack and see his tanned and tattooed face glaring at me through the porch screen.
Seriously, though, tattoo artist or not, who decides that permanently inking a black widow spider and its web onto their scalp and face is a good idea?
At least with his hair down I don’t have to look at it because it covers the shaved patch.
But today he’s got it pulled up into a douchey man bun, so I get to see his bad decision in all its glory.
“There’s something on your face,” I tell him as I walk past—tapping at the exact place on my cheek bone as where the spider hangs on his from a single strand; the rest of the web hidden in his hairline.
“You’ve got something on yours, too. And your neck… I can give you some more, if you like.”
After passing him on the porch, I balance myself on the front door frame and start scuffing off my shoes only to pause midway when Eden walks behind me.
It's weird, and I don't know why I do it, but it's like I'm holding still for him to hit me.
And when he ignores me and walks straight down the front steps, I'm left feeling kind of empty.
Inside the cabin, I watch him through the door crack as he pulls the cover off his shitty old truck. He’s got the same red and black flannel on as yesterday, except it’s tied around his waist. And, like the cold means nothing to him, he’s wearing a black t-shirt with a slash in the back of it.
Not caring to do anything more than toss the cover to the side, Eden turns away from his truck, and I quickly shut the door. Stepping back from it, I remain looking at the handle like he’s going to barge in any second, only for him to catch my eye as he walks past the side window.
Moving to the couch, I pick up one of the cushions and continue watching Eden as he enters the shack then comes out with the three thirty gallon water containers that were stacked in the rafters.
As I unzip and remove the covers from all of the loose cushions, I hear him toss the large plastic containers onto the bed of his truck.
The sofa cover comes off easier because it's one of those loose, one size fits all ones.
And with everything Eden wanted washed piled in my arms, I open the door to see him loading a giant, tin tub onto the truck, as well.
“Do I do these in the bathroom?” I call out to him.
Closing the tailgate and canopy of his truck, Eden walks past the passenger side and opens the door without acknowledging I’ve spoken.
I poke my head out the door and watch him gather a few more small items before returning to the truck and getting in the drivers side. Closing the door behind him, he starts the engine and music blares out at full volume. Though it’s not loud enough to cover the unhealthy cough of the engine.
The truck pulls forward with the door still open, and despite my insides screaming for me not to do it, I pull the cabin door closed behind me and get in the truck.
Hugging the covers on my lap, I’m shaken around the cab as the truck makes its way down a track through the trees.
Glancing into the side mirror, I can’t even see the cabin behind us anymore through the denseness of the forest. The sides are no different, just untouched nature as far as I can see.
A few times Eden needs to swerve around a stump or a pile of fallen branches, and I don’t realize I’ve slid all the way to his side of the cab bench until I fall onto his side.
Without even raising the elbow of his other arm from the window sill, he pushes me back into the passenger door. My head hits the window, but I don’t let go of the washing. It’s the only thing keeping me grounded.
Their musty smell.
The soft feeling of some, and the rougher linen of another.
Reaching across me, Eden opens the glove compartment and pulls out a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches.
With one hand, he taps at the packet on his thigh until one slides out far enough for him to take it between his lips.
Tossing the pack between us, he takes the matches from his lap and gently shakes them from side to side.
Locking his knees around the steering wheel, he lets go, takes out a match, strikes it, shields the flame as he lights the cigarette, then shakes it out.
Suddenly I'm looking more closely at his dirty blue jeans. His tan work boots. His tattooed arms; one black and white, the other brightly colored. Then I'm hit with the smell of the smoke. It's harsh, and strong, and… his hands still aren’t on the wheel.
My eyes flicker from the track, down to where his knees are steering the truck, then back out in front of us again. Letting go of the washing for the first time, I grip onto the grab handle with my right hand and brace myself against the seat with my left.
Eden takes a long drag of his cigarette then blows it out against the windshield. “You scared, little man?”
“Ah, no.” I lie through my teeth.
Taking his eyes off the track, he leans his elbow against the door, his head against his hand, and stares at me.
He takes another drag and blows it into my face.
My hand on the seat curls into a fist.
I desperately want to look back at the track, but I can't.
Eden’s top lip pulls to the side in a smirk before he brings the cigarette back to his mouth. Blowing the smoke off to the side this time, he scratches his eyebrow with the nail of his ring finger and says, "Open the ashtray.”
My eyes search the cab before finding a small compartment on the bottom of the dash.
I feel metal scraping as I pull it out, then look to Eden again as I return to my seat.
As I gather the washing with one arm, he leans down to ash his cigarette.
And when he sits back up, he raises his eyebrows at me, tilting his head to the side.
I gulp, and sigh.
It’s pathetic.
I hate this man, and he hates me back.
Resting a hand back on the wheel. Eden looks out the windscreen from the corner of his eye, and a few seconds later I’m flying into his side when he swerves around another stump.
“Ow! Ow! Shit!” I scream, frantically batting at my neck then clamping my hand over it.
Eden slams on the breaks but catches me before I hit the dash.
The cigarette has fallen from his hand.
He stomps it out with his boot, and at the same time grabs the collar of Teks jacket, tearing it aside with so much force it ends up halfway down my arm.
He opens the back window, reaching into the truck bed.
“Fuck. Fuck,” I hear him mutter, but I don’t care what he’s doing.
It’s too hot in here.
The smell of the smoke is making me feel like I’m on fire.
I need to get out.
With no regard for the pillow covers I jump out of the truck.
“Wait,” Eden calls out—grabbing my wrist before I’m fully out of the cab.
I shake out of his grip. “Let go of me!”
He clambers across the bench seat and follows me out. “Get back here.”
“You fucking burnt me!”
“Stop moving.”
“It hurts.”
“No shit.”
I dodge free of him again, only to start shaking my hands as I pace around the truck. “What the hell did you do that for?”
“It’s not like I did it on purpose.”
“You’re so full of yourself, you may as well have.”
“Don’t pretend like your little dick wasn’t getting hard over it.”
“Fuck you!” I scream as loud as I can, and clamp my hand back over my neck. “Oh god, it hurts so much.”
“So stop touching it.” Eden tears my hand away from my neck and drags me back to the passenger door by the nape of Tek’s jacket.
I try to get away again, but he grabs me by the hair and forces me back.
After pulling the jacket off completely, he tugs my head to the side, revealing my neck to him.
Mumbling a string of profanities, he reaches inside the cab, returning with a bottle of Crystal Geyser in his hand.
He clenches the lid between his teeth and unscrews it.
Icy water runs down my neck, and the second it hits my chest, I jump away.
“Stop being a child,” he growls—pulling me closer and pinning my body between his and the truck bed.
Again he pours the water over the cigarette burn, and it’s so agonizingly slow that I’d prefer the pain of the burn over this.
It feels like an hour before the bottle is empty and Eden is stepping away from me.
His breath is just as deep and adrenaline fueled as mine is, but as I look at him, he’s looking at the ground between us. And then I see it; he’s wet too. The old black t-shirt is clinging to his chest, and the right leg of his jeans are several shades darker than the left.
Turning away from me, he undoes the flannel from around his waist, tosses it on the truck’s hood, and takes off the t-shirt.
Most of his back is taken up by two Japanese Koi fish swimming in opposite directions and curving in towards each other.
One is gray scale and the other is an intense orange, and they mark the dividing point between black and bright.
“Take your shirts off,” he tells me while getting back in the cab.
Picking up the jacket, I hang it on the corner of the passenger door. Shivering as I go, I peel off my sweatshirt and the t-shirt underneath it.
“What about my pants?” I ask, handing off my clothes to him.
“If you’re that desperate to get naked in front of me, go right ahead.”
With a sigh, I bow my head, put on the jacket, and zip it up.
After collecting all the washing, I climb back into the truck, and before I can even get the door shut, Eden is pulling away.
Neither of us say anything for the longest time. Not that I should be the one talking, anyway, because I'm not a child, and that wasn't my fault.
“We’re here,” Eden says with no emotion whatsoever as he parks the truck about fifteen yards from the bank of a lake so beautiful it could be a computer screensaver. It’s not so big that you’d have to squint to make out what's on the other side, but it’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen in real life.
“Quit staring and get your ass out.”
I don’t want to.
I want to take these covers back to my shack, get in my sleeping bag, and hug them until I’m not as alone as I feel.
But I don’t say anything—it’s not worth it.