Chapter 4 - Miranda
"The bathroom is on the other side of that door." He points with his flashlight.
"I'll prepare something for you to eat while you take your shower."
He points in the direction of the tiny kitchen. "Gas stove."
His house is warmer than the cabin I rented, my skin shivers in delight at the sudden warmth.
He doesn't give me much chance to look around the place, just enough time to think how clean everything looks. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't curious to find out more. But that'll have to wait.
He grabs a few candles from a drawer and hands me the flashlight. He's all business, and a part of me wants him to look at me.
I don't take long to take a shower but it's enough to make me sleepy and sore. Everything that happened didn't let me completely register my exhaustion until now.
"I made you a cheese and mushroom toast. It's not much, but I figured you didn't want to wait too long."
"Thank you," I say, my mouth watering at the sight of Oliver spreading a dollop of butter on the warm bread. He carefully cuts it in two and slides the plate over to me.
"You didn't have to."
"Of course I had to."
He doesn't say a word while I'm eating the toast. There are a few candles lighting the kitchen but besides that, we're in the dark. I can sense him watching me. It must be weird for him too. But I like the idea of his intense eyes watching me.
The rain outside is still pouring, it feels nice to finally be sheltered, listening to the rain without coming in contact with it.
"That was really good," I say after I finish.
"Good. You should rest. The bedroom is over there. I put some fresh sheets on the bed."
I'm too tired to say anything else, so I just nod and head to the bedroom. It smells slightly musky with plenty of pine, I recognize the same scent his shirt had.
I lie down wondering if his skin smells the same, but a second later I'm drifting away.
***
I wake up, startled by a sound. It takes me a second to realize I’m not only on Pepys Island, I'm also sleeping in a stranger's cabin.
I get up, and that's when I hear a noise, someone grunting in pain. It's still dark, and I don't know where the flashlight is, so I just follow the sound.
Oliver is having a nightmare, I can tell. I crouch down close to him, I can't really see him outside of his outline.
"Hey," I whisper. He keeps struggling, he sounds so pained, so desperate, I want to make it okay. Touching him, first lightly, then shaking him slightly, I try to wake him up.
Suddenly, his hand shoots out, catching my arm. The strength of it nearly knocks me back.
“Fuck,” he rasps, eyes wide. “I’m sorry. Did I hurt you?”
“It’s fine. I just lost my balance.”
"You shouldn't have touched me," he spits out.
He sounds mad. My heart squeezes at the same time my blood boils.
“I'm sorry for waking you up! You were having a bad dream. Is that so bad that I touched you?”
He looks so vulnerable. His eyes are still wide, horror carved into his face, and for a second I can’t breathe. He looks broken.
"Fuck no, Miranda. I'm sorry."
"I fucking hate rain," he grumbles, he's still breathing hard like his bad dream is lingering in his mind.
"I'm sorry. I don't know how to talk to people. Especially a beautiful woman like you."
"You think I'm beautiful?"
"Anyone who's sane would think you're beautiful."
"I don't think anyone's ever called me beautiful."
"Really?"
"Really." I don't know why I'm saying it. It sounds depressing. I've grown used to it by now. Why am I telling him that? I wave my hand. "It's not a big deal."
"Not even your parents?"
I chuckle. "They were never in the picture. I bounced between foster homes. The best thing that has ever happened to me was becoming an adult. I love to live by myself, to have my own independence, my own money so I can make my own decisions."
"But you still believe life is good."
He says it like a statement, like he already knows I’m like this. He's right, I really believe life is good, that life is a gift despite everything that has happened to me. And it really is. I’m happier than I’ve ever been in my life.
"I don't like to dwell on the bad. There's so much good out there, don't you think?"
I pause for a second. It's weird to be this trusting around someone, I'm much more comfortable being alone with my paints but, with him, I want to talk more.
"I believe life is good but I also don't spend a lot of time with people.
I'm more comfortable being around nature, that's what I find magical you know?
How a tree grows its roots, how fruits appear on their tree after a while, there's a lot of miracles around, don't you think? That's why I love to paint."
"You're a painter?"
"Yes. It's actually why I'm here. I wanted to have my own painting retreat somewhere isolated like the Almond Mountains."
"And yet you're stuck with me."
"I don't mind," I say quickly. Because I don't. I can't see him clearly but I could swear he's leaning closer.
"You're mature for your age," he says after a while and ruffles my hair. I hate it. He's treating me like a child. I don't want him to see me as a child. Not when a flicker of hope lodged itself in my heart when he called me beautiful.
"I'm twenty-five."
"At your age, I wasn't this wise. I can tell you that. I'm almost forty and I don't think I’m as wise as you."
"Thank you for waking me up and talking with me. I'm feeling better now. Get some sleep, you had a stressful night. Don't let the old man keep you up."
"Good night." My words come out bitter because it's clear he's trying to distance himself from me. People have done it with me all my life, so I recognize it a mile away. I thought I'd have gotten used to it by now. Guess not.