Read Online Lost (Captive Heart #1) by Carrie Aarons - Free Book Online
Authors: Carrie Aarons
Ads: Link
way that will work!”
I feel defensive and furious now, with her sitting there laughing at me.
“Shut up!” I slam my fist into the side of one of the bunks and Char goes quiet as a church mouse. Now I’ve got her attention.
“They’re not going to give you anything.” She talks to the hands folded in her lap.
“I know it’s not the best plan, but it gets us both out of this. So why the hell not?”
Char looks at me, her brown eyes holding back tears. “I haven’t spoken to my parents in more than a year. So they’re not riding in to save me from a deranged lunatic. They probably will think it’s all a big joke. You couldn’t pull it off anyway.”
Huh? I mean, I knew Char’s home life wasn’t amazing, but it seems strange that she hasn’t talked to her parents in over a year. But she’s right, this idea is stupid at best. Fucking tragic fail at worst. It was bound to end up with me dead or imprisoned at the end of it.
I abandon the notion and go back to my cabin, not caring if she’s quietly weeping into her hands.
15
Charlotte
T he first week passes and no one comes to get me. And then another passes, and still, no one comes. It’s just me and Tucker, out in the woods. Alone.
We haven’t said much since that night he talked about his injury. A passing statement, a check-in, an invitation to take part in whatever meal the other was making.
I find more clothing, not any that fits me but some that will do so I don’t have to try and wash them every single day. I found the laundry room though, which is nice so we won’t have to be dirty as criminals on the run, which technically is only one of us.
The toughest part of being “trapped” here, besides the awkward past with Tucker I am trying not to fake, is showering. Each cabin has a shower, which is nice enough not to have to go to a main bathhouse like the camp used to have back in the day. The problem is, old Pocono Mountain pipes in October don’t carry scalding hot water. They don’t even carry lukewarm water.
I remember the first day I stepped in the shower, intent on washing all of the dirt and sadness off of my body, and screamed like a hyena. Tucker had come running in, yelling my name, and had almost opened up the bathroom door before I stopped him.
“It’s just the water temperature,” I’d said, “I’m really fine!”
He’d probably thought I was being murdered instead of having liquid ice pelted at my naked skin by the way I’d screamed.
I keep my distance and Tucker doesn’t seem all that interested in approaching me. There is still no plan, and I still have no real desire to escape. It sounds crazy, fucking nuts, but I simply have nothing to get back to . The only person I’ve ever truly loved is here, and while I know it is under the most dire of circumstances, and that I would never allow him close to me again … I can’t help it. I am a moth drawn to the flame.
The moonlight filters in through the window of cabin three and I hear a wolf or another creature howl somewhere far in the distance. I’ve taken to sleeping on the floor, on top of a stack of the flimsy, thin mattresses with my sleeping bag thrown over me. It’s not half-bad.
And like all nights, I lie awake wondering what Tucker is doing over there. What he’s feeling, what he’s thinking.
I remember the day he got hurt. I was watching on TV, just like I always did, while I studied in my dorm room at Bryn Mawr. It’s not like I had anywhere else to be on a Saturday afternoon. My stigma had followed me to college. Aside from my serious boyfriend, whom I’d met sophomore year, I had no real friends. Clark and my academics, those were my world. And Saturdays with Tucker. Not that Clark knew anything about that.
I remember when he went down, the way it looked so horrible on television. I remember biting my lip so hard when I screamed that it bled for ten minutes. I remember sitting directly in front of the screen, crying for him. Because even I
I feel defensive and furious now, with her sitting there laughing at me.
“Shut up!” I slam my fist into the side of one of the bunks and Char goes quiet as a church mouse. Now I’ve got her attention.
“They’re not going to give you anything.” She talks to the hands folded in her lap.
“I know it’s not the best plan, but it gets us both out of this. So why the hell not?”
Char looks at me, her brown eyes holding back tears. “I haven’t spoken to my parents in more than a year. So they’re not riding in to save me from a deranged lunatic. They probably will think it’s all a big joke. You couldn’t pull it off anyway.”
Huh? I mean, I knew Char’s home life wasn’t amazing, but it seems strange that she hasn’t talked to her parents in over a year. But she’s right, this idea is stupid at best. Fucking tragic fail at worst. It was bound to end up with me dead or imprisoned at the end of it.
I abandon the notion and go back to my cabin, not caring if she’s quietly weeping into her hands.
15
Charlotte
T he first week passes and no one comes to get me. And then another passes, and still, no one comes. It’s just me and Tucker, out in the woods. Alone.
We haven’t said much since that night he talked about his injury. A passing statement, a check-in, an invitation to take part in whatever meal the other was making.
I find more clothing, not any that fits me but some that will do so I don’t have to try and wash them every single day. I found the laundry room though, which is nice so we won’t have to be dirty as criminals on the run, which technically is only one of us.
The toughest part of being “trapped” here, besides the awkward past with Tucker I am trying not to fake, is showering. Each cabin has a shower, which is nice enough not to have to go to a main bathhouse like the camp used to have back in the day. The problem is, old Pocono Mountain pipes in October don’t carry scalding hot water. They don’t even carry lukewarm water.
I remember the first day I stepped in the shower, intent on washing all of the dirt and sadness off of my body, and screamed like a hyena. Tucker had come running in, yelling my name, and had almost opened up the bathroom door before I stopped him.
“It’s just the water temperature,” I’d said, “I’m really fine!”
He’d probably thought I was being murdered instead of having liquid ice pelted at my naked skin by the way I’d screamed.
I keep my distance and Tucker doesn’t seem all that interested in approaching me. There is still no plan, and I still have no real desire to escape. It sounds crazy, fucking nuts, but I simply have nothing to get back to . The only person I’ve ever truly loved is here, and while I know it is under the most dire of circumstances, and that I would never allow him close to me again … I can’t help it. I am a moth drawn to the flame.
The moonlight filters in through the window of cabin three and I hear a wolf or another creature howl somewhere far in the distance. I’ve taken to sleeping on the floor, on top of a stack of the flimsy, thin mattresses with my sleeping bag thrown over me. It’s not half-bad.
And like all nights, I lie awake wondering what Tucker is doing over there. What he’s feeling, what he’s thinking.
I remember the day he got hurt. I was watching on TV, just like I always did, while I studied in my dorm room at Bryn Mawr. It’s not like I had anywhere else to be on a Saturday afternoon. My stigma had followed me to college. Aside from my serious boyfriend, whom I’d met sophomore year, I had no real friends. Clark and my academics, those were my world. And Saturdays with Tucker. Not that Clark knew anything about that.
I remember when he went down, the way it looked so horrible on television. I remember biting my lip so hard when I screamed that it bled for ten minutes. I remember sitting directly in front of the screen, crying for him. Because even I
Similar Books
