arrived at a small cabin. The construction on the outside seemed new; its smooth wood frame still intact with little chipping or weathering. Damien cut the ignition. I slipped off the back, while he locked the bike into place. My legs wobbled. In moments, Damien reached my side, securing me with one arm. We stepped through the doorway.
The interior was clean and simple in design. From the entrance, we stood in a comfortable living space. Directly ahead was a narrow kitchen with a small dining area. A bedroom filled the space next to the kitchen. To my left was a bathroom.
Finding my voice, I said, “Is this your home?” Damien led me to the long, leather couch and sat me down.
“No. But I live here.” His distinction was clear with th e sudden tartness of his voice. He walked to his bedroom, while I wondered about the change in his tone.
An involuntary shiver shook my body, remi nding me of my saturated body. My sopping jeans left a trail of puddles from the doorway and continued to drip under my bare feet. Damien returned with a green towel and a handful of clothes. I accepted the thick towel, holding it against my face. I eyed the remaining clothes in his arms. He gestured towards me.
“I t’s not Nordstrom’s or anything but it’s warmer than what you have on.”
Accepting the clothes, I murmured a thank you.
“You can use the bathroom right there,” he said, pointing to the room beside me.
I hurried onto the cool tile floor, shutting the door behind me. I jumped in shock at the figure in the mirror.
Battered on the outside and broken within, I touched my reflection, watching the hand of the girl in agony reac hing back. Her face was pale. Fresh scratches crisscrossed her face, almost masking one long, fading line stretching across the right side. Sorrowful green eyes gazed back, appearing darker with the dripping, wet strands along the sides of her face.
My face. My agony.
With a deep sigh, I stripped my clot hes and observed the options Damien gave me. Throwing a red T-shirt over my head, it parachuted on top of me, reminding me of my favorite oversized pajama shirt at home. Slipping into the long, grey sweatpants, I experimented successfully with the drawstring. I gave up any efforts to tame the tangled layers framing my narrow face.
Abandoning my wet clothes, I opened the bathroom door and stepped across the wood flooring. The first thing I noticed was the glow of the fireplace, and then the large, steaming mug sitting on the coffee table. I looked over at the bedroom and stopped.
Through the door that lay ajar, I could see Damien. His black sweats appeared identical to mine, the back of his naked torso facing me. He slipped his arms into a long-sleeved, white thermal. Something about his back caught my eye. A darkened, discolored patch of skin covered from one shoulder blade to the other, though it was hard to distinguish next to his tanned skin. He finished pulling the thermal all the way over his long upper body before I could make out the distortions. Grabbing another T-shirt off the bed, he turned around. He stopped short, catching me watching him.
I turned away , but my eyes darted back to where he stood, pulling a short-sleeved gray T-shirt over his head. Damien met my gaze. Searching my face, he moved towards me. I noticed that the baggy sweats fit him just right, and the tight shirt outlined his upper body and the curve of his biceps.
“Oh, so is that how it’s supposed to l ook?” I said to him, attempting to cover up my unease. “Somehow, I don’t think I pull it off as well as you do.” I threw my hands along my body, modeling my voluminous attire in jest.
He couldn’t help but laugh a deep, low chuckle. H is dimple accompanied his grin as he sat down beside me. “The shirt doesn’t look bad on you.” He eyed me up and down again. “The pants could use a little work though.”
He motioned to the steaming mug on the table. “Go ahead. Drink up.”
I cupped the heated
The interior was clean and simple in design. From the entrance, we stood in a comfortable living space. Directly ahead was a narrow kitchen with a small dining area. A bedroom filled the space next to the kitchen. To my left was a bathroom.
Finding my voice, I said, “Is this your home?” Damien led me to the long, leather couch and sat me down.
“No. But I live here.” His distinction was clear with th e sudden tartness of his voice. He walked to his bedroom, while I wondered about the change in his tone.
An involuntary shiver shook my body, remi nding me of my saturated body. My sopping jeans left a trail of puddles from the doorway and continued to drip under my bare feet. Damien returned with a green towel and a handful of clothes. I accepted the thick towel, holding it against my face. I eyed the remaining clothes in his arms. He gestured towards me.
“I t’s not Nordstrom’s or anything but it’s warmer than what you have on.”
Accepting the clothes, I murmured a thank you.
“You can use the bathroom right there,” he said, pointing to the room beside me.
I hurried onto the cool tile floor, shutting the door behind me. I jumped in shock at the figure in the mirror.
Battered on the outside and broken within, I touched my reflection, watching the hand of the girl in agony reac hing back. Her face was pale. Fresh scratches crisscrossed her face, almost masking one long, fading line stretching across the right side. Sorrowful green eyes gazed back, appearing darker with the dripping, wet strands along the sides of her face.
My face. My agony.
With a deep sigh, I stripped my clot hes and observed the options Damien gave me. Throwing a red T-shirt over my head, it parachuted on top of me, reminding me of my favorite oversized pajama shirt at home. Slipping into the long, grey sweatpants, I experimented successfully with the drawstring. I gave up any efforts to tame the tangled layers framing my narrow face.
Abandoning my wet clothes, I opened the bathroom door and stepped across the wood flooring. The first thing I noticed was the glow of the fireplace, and then the large, steaming mug sitting on the coffee table. I looked over at the bedroom and stopped.
Through the door that lay ajar, I could see Damien. His black sweats appeared identical to mine, the back of his naked torso facing me. He slipped his arms into a long-sleeved, white thermal. Something about his back caught my eye. A darkened, discolored patch of skin covered from one shoulder blade to the other, though it was hard to distinguish next to his tanned skin. He finished pulling the thermal all the way over his long upper body before I could make out the distortions. Grabbing another T-shirt off the bed, he turned around. He stopped short, catching me watching him.
I turned away , but my eyes darted back to where he stood, pulling a short-sleeved gray T-shirt over his head. Damien met my gaze. Searching my face, he moved towards me. I noticed that the baggy sweats fit him just right, and the tight shirt outlined his upper body and the curve of his biceps.
“Oh, so is that how it’s supposed to l ook?” I said to him, attempting to cover up my unease. “Somehow, I don’t think I pull it off as well as you do.” I threw my hands along my body, modeling my voluminous attire in jest.
He couldn’t help but laugh a deep, low chuckle. H is dimple accompanied his grin as he sat down beside me. “The shirt doesn’t look bad on you.” He eyed me up and down again. “The pants could use a little work though.”
He motioned to the steaming mug on the table. “Go ahead. Drink up.”
I cupped the heated
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