Page 40 of Mason

“With all this insisting, you’re doing nothing but piquing my interest. Do you have star-shaped nipples or something?”

I intend to lighten the mood, but my comment does anything but. Instead, the fearless escape artist bursts into tears. She goes from zero to one-hundred, sobbing like I just told her I gutted her family and offed the family dog for kicks.

I’m left to rub her back, imitating the shushing noises Mom made when I’d get hurt as a kid. Her bare skin is smooth and hot to the touch, and while at first she bristles at the contact, she soon relaxes, folding in on herself to cry. I shouldn’t be touching her right now. I shouldn’t be anywhere near her naked and wet. Bad idea.

“I didn’t mean anything by it,” I explain, completely and totally out of my element as my fingers trace her spine. “Honestly, it’d be cool if you had star-shaped nipples.” If she does, she’s probably a hit at parties.

“I don’t have star-shaped nipples,” she snaps, not finding me or my calming tactics very soothing. “I just don’t want you to see me.”

“That’s fine. I never said I wanted to do a pelvic exam on you. Calm down.” At this rate, I’ll happily pretend she has three nipples and a tail. I don’t really give a flying fuck. I just want her out of the tub and in front of the fire. In clothing and far from me.

I pull away and hold out the coat with closed eyes, waiting for her to do whatever she needs to do at her own pace.

The water sloshes back and forth as she slowly rises to her feet, the gurgle of the drain plug sounding before she takes the coat from my hands. After a moment, she sniffles and finally speaks. “Ready.”

I lift her from the tub, placing her on my shoulder like I did for our hike back to the cabin. It’s the easiest way to get her out and touch the least amount of skin. She smells like cedar chest and woman. Gritting my teeth, I carry her into the living area and place her in front of the fire, where I have the button-down shirt and sleeping bag waiting. “We’ll sleep out here tonight.”

Her eyes flick to me, her long hair wet and wavier than I remember it being before. “We?”

“Would you prefer to sleep in the bathroom?” I ask, turning my back to her and nudging at the fire with a spare log.

She shifts, the hiss of her legs sliding into the sleeping bag filling the air. “No.”

“So don’t complain.” I look over my shoulder at her, annoyed at how her skin radiates in the fire’s glow. She’s too beautiful for her own good. Like a shiny little trinket I want to swoop back to my nest with and keep for a rainy day. Oddly enough, it’s not just her looks that have me interested. It’s that mouth. That filthy, smart mouth.

Her throat bobs with a swallow. “Thank you.”

“For?” I ask.

“Helping me.” Her voice is tiny, and I know it takes everything she’s got to show appreciation to me of all people. “In the tub and out there. You saved my life.”

“Wasn’t the first time.” I pull my eyes from her as I deliver the words. Not because I want to. But because I have to.

This is getting too friendly. Too personal. And it needs to end.

* * *

I barely doze off when a sound pulls me from sleep.

Teeth chattering.

She’s in front of the fireplace, wrapped in my button-down, suit coat, and the sleeping bag, but she’s still somehow a glorified ice cube, apparently. Granted, the fire went out an hour or so ago when the final log let out its last gasp of life. I climbed into the cot not long after.

“You ok?” I say it to the darkness, unsure if she’s awake or off in dreamland. For all I know, the teeth chattering could be sobs. I hope it’s not. I don’t want to go down that path again. I pray I never have daughters. I’m not good at this emotional shit.

She finally fell asleep a few hours ago, quitting her pursuit for conversation after my hundredth one-word response. I knew what she was doing. Making nice wouldn’t earn her freedom. It’d only come once the threat was eliminated, and she wouldn’t enjoy the mouthful of pills and booze it’d take to see the outside world again.

“C-cold,” she stammers.

“Out of logs.” I’m not exactly toasty myself on the stiff cot with just a blanket. My neck is bent at an awkward angle, and I’d do anything for a fucking pillow right now. Even the cheap, shitty ones that department stores practically beg you to take off their hands.

She doesn’t reply, but I swear I hear a whimper.

I flop to my back from my side, running my hands through my hair. This is hell. “You want to come up here?” I don’t want her next to me, but there’s room on the cot, and sleeping side by side might help us both stay warm.

That gets a bite out of her. A snarl, really. “No!”

I chuckle at the horror in her voice. “Am I really that ugly? Sheesh.”

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