Chapter 6 #2
I groan and slip the tall set of rings off.
“You don’t like it?” Alexander watches me.
“I’m not used to it; it keeps snagging on clothes.”
“I would prefer you left it on…” He trails off, standing in my bedroom unmoving.
Looking at him, I attempt to infer what he means, but I’ll leave them if it’s important to him.
“Of course, I’ll leave it,” I nod as I slip the rings back down.
“Are you going somewhere?” he asks.
“Umm, yeah,” I sort of laugh. “I need to blow off some steam. I’m gonna go for a walk.”
“It’s only 5:00 A.M.,” he says, like that will deter me.
“Which is like my 6:00 P.M. My sleep schedule isn’t quite right yet.”
He nods, then starts slipping his boxer briefs on. I watch as he gathers his clothes, curious to know where all this would lead. What would our everyday look like?
I assume he’s home or not working because of the holiday, and that’s why Blanks is here, too. But maybe they’re just with each other all the time? Blanks said inseparable.
Do they even work? When are they traveling next? And am I expected to go?
“I’ll be back in two minutes. Wait for me.” Huh? Alex walks around me, slipping out my door, clothes and boots in hand, only his tight black briefs covering his backside.
His quads, like thick teardrops, will haunt me… Fuck, I want him. I wanted him the second I saw him. I needed him the second he laid a hand on me in that car.
I can feel myself clenching, yearning for release, but I won’t let myself do anything about it. At least not yet.
Without a beanie, heavy jacket, or boots, I’m questioning if I’ve thought this walk through when Alex bounds down the stairs in thick khaki pants, hiking boots, and a long-sleeved thermal. He’s also carrying an armload of things.
Immediately, he passes over a jacket and knit hat, which I accept without question because what else am I supposed to do? Freeze?
He dons a hat and jacket, and we head for the front door.
Stepping out and into the frigid morning is bracing.
There’s something about seeing frost lining every little thing yet knowing this will all be gone by the time the first sunbeams touch down.
It’s like a secret world before the rest of the living wakes.
Like in this secret world, anything that exists here stays here.
Like what just happened between Alex and me. This walk. It would all stay in this alternate reality before being bleached away by the sun. And I’m okay with that. Low expectations mean I’m not anticipating what just happened to ever happen again. Even if I want it to.
“I guess, where to?” I ask awkwardly, and he motions for me to follow.
Alex leads me to the clearing, where he chops wood and points to two small paths carved out between the trees.
“This one,” he motions to the path on the left, “goes further up the mountain. I’ve cleared about 5 miles.” Pointing to the path on the right, he says, “This one goes down to a hidden cove. It’s about a mile and a half round trip.” I nod my head towards the path on the right.
Someday, I’ll take the 5-mile trail. Preferably when I’m dressed appropriately and alone.
The path to the cove is rocky in spots, and we have to climb and travel along a ridge before starting the descent back towards the water line. I can’t see much because of the lack of sun, but occasionally, I glimpse the glint of moonlight on water through the trees.
I hear the scratch of some nocturnal beast. There’s the hoot of an owl on the prowl, and a gentle breeze rustles the tree limbs, sending pine needles to the ground, landing like glitter on the frost.
I’ve never wanted so badly to reach out and feel everything. The cold moss, the frosted forest floor, the pine cones littered about. I want to absorb every sensory detail: the sight, the smell, the sounds, the feel.
A sense of belonging permeates me at a molecular level.
It’s something clicking into place, breathing frigid air, bathing in moonlight, with nothing but trees as companions.
Here feels like home in a way no other place has.
Like when I was born, there’d been a crossing of wires, a mistake in the divine order, and instead of being born to a loving family who lived in the mountains, I was birthed into a desert of epic proportions.
Everything was dry and drained of life there; people doing anything they could to get a glimpse of their forest or life beyond.
Whatever drug they could find, whatever hit they could take that gave them a fraction of what this forest is giving me. It’s an epiphany to finally understand why they did it. But I’m still convinced I was never meant for the desert. I’m meant to be in a place like this.
I inhale, and Alex slows his gait, turning to make sure I’m fine. We’ve been walking in near silence for 15 minutes, and I anticipate hitting the cove any second.
“You good?” Never better.
“Yeah,” is all I say in return.
At last, we reach a small clearing with another path forking off in a different direction and, in the middle, a massive boulder.
We climb up the large boulder, and when we reach the top, I’m rendered speechless and breathless by the view of navy blue water lapping at the shore.
Moonlight hits the water and splinters, splaying itself across the lake.
Gray puffs of clouds drift listlessly across the sky, and it’s all like a dream.
I sit down on the cold gray stone, and surprisingly, Alexander joins me. I sit criss-cross applesauce, and he sits with his knees bent and his arms slung over the top of them.
We sit like this for probably ten minutes in complete silence.
Together. Until eventually, it feels like he’s not himself and I’m not me.
We’re just two people with no history and no past. And nothing laid out before us.
Nowhere to be and no future. All that exists is life as it happens, in this moment, in this hidden world of ours.
“My dad used to take me hunting. It was always really early. Like this time of morning.” I look at Alex, who is talking but zoned out, looking at the water. “I hated going until I got really good at it.”
I keep quiet, curious why he would share this with me.
“I got good at it because I had to. Every time I missed, he would shoot me with an air rifle.” I gasp but manage to keep the sound internal. “I got good because I thought he’d be scared of me if I was better than him. But he wasn’t. He just got jealous instead.”
Jesus.
I scoot closer, trying to decide how to say something without saying anything because talking on my part feels wrong. This is Alex’s time to share something in our world, and he can have it. This morning is his.
So I scoot closer, but I stay silent. And while my instinct is to crawl into his lap and stroke his face, I just let my close presence provide comfort this time.
I watch him, memorizing the lines of his face, the way his beard comes in thick and to the exact right spot below his cheekbones.
The broad shoulders that carry invisible weights.
Beautiful to the point of fracture. A fracturing because a soul claimed this man, then turned around and gave it away.
A shattering over parents who inflicted torture.
A break, dirty and ragged and beautiful.
That’s what I see when I memorize his face.
“I would have regretted it, Emma. I’m so sorry.” I know.
All I say is, “I’m sorry, too.”