Page 21 of Embers

I hope it means he’s finally softening again, but that’s not what happens. By the time January rolls around, he’s colder and more silent than ever, and the slight thaw on Christmas is gone.

January is even colder than December. It rarely gets above zero, even during the day, and often it’s so cold that Cal hardly lets me leave the house. In midafternoons, he goes out to chop more wood, although we always have plenty, and at that time, he lets me take a short walk so I can at least stretch my legs and breathe the outside air. It’s never a pleasant walk. It’s far too cold for that. But it’s better than nothing.

Other than those brief daily breaks, we’re trapped together in a one-room cabin constantly.

As the days pass, I grow angrier and angrier. I’m not even sure why since this hard, rough asshole has always been part of Cal. He’s the same man I’ve known for years, but I’m aware of more of him now. A real man. A man who can laugh and listen and feel things. And it’s infuriating that he’s completely closed that man off from me again.

So I’m more moody than normal. Some days I vow not to say a single word to him until he talks to me, and we’ll pass hour after hour in silence. Other days I decide to get on his nerves on purpose, so I’ll talk constantly and poke at him and generally get in his space until he’s practically growling at me. And some days I spend trying not to cry.

Two weeks pass in January, and it doesn’t get any warmer. It feels like we live all alone in a world made of ice.

On what I’m pretty sure is the fifteenth day of January, I’m depressed and emotionally exhausted and still stewing with resentment toward Cal. I’ve spent most of the morning keeping quiet and reading in my bed. Cal has repositioned both our beds so we’re closer to the woodstove so we can stay warmer at night. By lunch, however, I can’t focus on the words on the pages anymore. We eat at our small table like normal—pork jerky and canned soup—and he still won’t talk. He doesn’t say anything at all.

I’m so upset and angry by the whole situation that I’m practically shaking, trying to hold it in.

Then he slurps his soup.

“Shut the fuck up,” I snap.

He blinks, clearly surprised by my sharp tone and rude words.

“Don’t you dare look offended!” I’m so mad I’m practically gnashing my teeth. “You don’t get to treat me like shit for months and then act like I’m not allowed to treat you like shit back.”

His gray eyes narrow. His shoulders stiffen. “What did I do to you?”

I almost choke on my outrage. I’ve basically finished my soup, so I jerk to my feet and grab my bowl and spoon to carry it back to the kitchen. “What did you do? You’ve stopped talking to me. You act like you don’t even like me. Like you don’t have any feelings at all. We were doing fine. We were getting along. We had a pretty good life. I… I liked our life. And then you went and tossed it all in the trash! I don’t care if you got scared or anxious or guilty or whatever after those guys barged in this summer. I don’t deserve to be treated like this!”

For some reason, I can’t seem to look at him as I lash out. I wash off my dish with the water he brought in from the well earlier, and then I go over and snatch his bowl and spoon out from under him.

He doesn’t say anything. Just sits at the table. But his eyebrows have lowered, creating five deep lines on his forehead, and I know he’s reacting.

“You’re better than this,” I add angrily.

He pushes his chair back and rises to his feet. “I amnotbetter than this,” he grits out. “I told you before. I’m not a good man.”

“I don’t care if you’re a good man. You’re still better thanthis.”

“I am not—”

“Would you stop it with that nonsense? You don’t have to be good. I don’t give a fuck if you’re good. You can at least treat me like a human being.” I’m finally able to look at him, meet his eyes. “How the hell do you think it makes me feel? I have no one else in the world to talk to but you, and you refuse to say a word!”

This appears to startle him, to clamp down his simmering resentment. He says in a different tone, “As soon as it warms up some, we’ll get out and find you people to talk to.”

“What?”

He makes a face and glances away. “You’re right. It ain’t fair for you to have to live like this. You need people. We’ll try to find you some as soon as we can get out.”

I honestly can’t believe he’s so completely misunderstanding what I’m trying to say. “I don’t want other people to talk to you. I wantyou!” My cheeks flush hot as I realize what I’ve just said.

He stares for a few seconds. Something sparks in his eyes—so briefly I’m not even sure I see it there. Then he gives his head a shake. “Sorry, kid. I don’t want that. I only put up with you ’cause I promised Derek.”

It’s a blow. It feels like a physical blow. It hurts so much I rear back from him and then whirl around to run out of the cabin. I have to get away. From him. Any way I can.

He comes after me, grabbing my arm before I reach the door. “Don’t you dare go out in the cold. You’ll die out there.”

I start to argue but then see on his face that he’ll stop me by force if I try. So instead, I jerk out of his grip and crawl back into my bed, hunkering down under the covers.

I’m trapped with him here, and he just hurt me worse than I can ever remember being hurt by another person.

---