Burn (27 page)

             
“Where will you be sleeping?” I asked pointedly.

             
“I’m taking the couch,” he answered, without batting me an eye as he turned back around and walked out. Then he added, “If you need anything, let me know.”

             
I stood in the middle of the room, barely caring for the beautiful four poster bed, even though it screamed for me to lay my sweet ass down for some relaxation. I heard him placing the plates back into the fridge and then slamming the door shut before his footsteps faded into the living room. I stood in the silence for a while, and I hated it. Back to being alone when my other half was on the couch, deliberately keeping me at a distance. Why?

             
I eventually threw off my shoes and ambled to the dresser, eyeing my reflection with a shudder.

             
“The look of a traitor,” I whispered at myself. “That’s what you are.”

             
Hmm. Not what I expected a traitor to look like: baggy eyes, messy hair, pouty sad lips, pale face… I expected something a little more sinister.

             
Still, I detested what I saw. Would time make it better? Would I be able to look at my reflection and see something kindred staring back at me? Or would I forever feel like a treacherous snake?

             
I opened the drawers of the dresser and shuffled through an assortment of clothes. There wasn’t a lot, and many of it consisted of baggy shirts with faded logos on the front. It was a half-assed choice of clothes from his
friend
, but anything was better than what I had on now.

             
I found a plain white night gown and set it aside. I then took off his leather jacket and set it neatly on the dresser. I stripped my clothes off, squinting at my reflection. It’d been a while since I’d seen my naked ass in front of a big mirror. I twisted my body around, noticing that my curves had grown smaller. I’d lost weight the last few months, at least a size judging by how comfortable some of those weird gypsy clothes from Remy had gotten. Even my bra looked spacious.

             
I put the night gown on and then walked into the large ensuite bathroom. This cabin was beautiful. Even the bathroom was modern with a beautiful stone basin, large round tub and a shower stall that looked heavenly clean and fresh. I washed my hands and face, scrutinized myself some more and stepped back into the bedroom.

             
Loneliness gripped at me. And dread. I thought of Remy returning to the clubhouse to find what I’d done. I wondered how heartbroken he was feeling right that very second. I breathed unsteadily, remembering the way he held me the last time. I’d hugged him so hard knowing it would be the last hug I’d ever give him.

             
My knees weakened at my sadness, and I wiped furiously away at my tears. I reminded myself I had made the right choice. Even if that choice had barely said a word to me and was sleeping on the couch. Maybe I was being too harsh on him. Maybe he was just tired.

             
It took everything in me not to go and seek him out. I kept thinking maybe he really needed some alone time. If he truly wanted to be with me right now, he’d have come in already.

             
On my way to the bed, I grabbed my switchblade and propped it under my pillow. Then I fell into the soft bedding and stared at nothing until my eyelids could bear it no more. Sleep took me, and for several hours I was stuck in a black void, conscious enough to feel the pain, but too trapped from exhaustion to wake up.

*****

The sound of pots and pans woke me up. My head ached from the light streaming through the one large window in the bedroom. I turned over and opened my eyes immediately, aware of what we’d done, of what I’d walked away from. Sleep had dulled my sense of reality, and for a long while I’d completely forgotten what had happened, expecting to wake up to Remy’s scent and the darkness of our room.

             
I moved off the bed and walked out of the room, feeling the cool hardwood floors under my feet as I stopped just outside the kitchen. I peered in through cloudy eyes and regarded the shirtless, tall man in front of the stove. God, he was huge. Maybe even bigger than Remy. He certainly was more ripped than him. His back displayed every muscle – some I didn’t even think existed – as he moved around on a mission to cook.

             
His jeans were low, revealing his black briefs that hugged the areas I would have given anything to see. My eyebrows rose in delight that he, too, was barefoot. Why did that stir my chest so much? Maybe it was that he was homely and comfortable here. Or maybe I just liked his fucking feet.

             
“Morning,” he greeted without glancing back at me.

             
I wondered how long he knew I’d been standing there. Man had stalker senses.

             
“Morning,” I replied. “What are you cooking?”

             
“Pancakes.”

             
“Do you need help making the mix?” He’d always sucked at it back when we’d lived together…which was about a century ago now.

             
“Already had it mixed.”

             
He pulled out a large jug of the thick pancake mix. I frowned, wondering if his
friend
had made it for him too.

             
I settled myself into a seat around a small round table on the side of the kitchen. I could see his complete profile from my view. The determined look on his face would have been laughable if I was comfortable enough to do just that. The weird buzz of tension was still thick around us. He told me to come away with him. That I would be his. So why wasn’t he showing me how much of his I was?

             
I drummed my fingers along the table, searching hard in my empty mind for something to talk about.
Talk about his mom!
Yes. Perfect.

             
“How’s your mom doing? I tried calling her a few times a while back but only got her voicemail.”

             
“I told her not to answer your calls in case anyone found out. She’s out of Gosnells,” he quietly explained. “I told her to pack her shit for a while until the heat died down.”

             
“Where did she go?”

             
“After she got over her hissy fit, she said she wanted to go traveling. Apparently she’s always wanted to see the world.”

             
“Oh.” Well, that would have been extremely exciting for her. I couldn’t recall a time she’d ever left the town. Worse than that, I couldn’t ever recall her ever telling me she wanted to travel the world.

             
Drumming away still, I leaned against the chair and ogled the entire kitchen. I mean, there was nothing else to do. He wasn’t talking, and all the things I wanted to discuss were heavy shit. I figured it was way too early to delve into that heavy shit. We needed to do some reconnecting first.

             
I was surprised when he finally set the plate of pancakes in front of me. They were cooked to perfection; a golden brown without any burnt bits and smelled delicious. He placed maple syrup in the centre of the table and sat on the opposite end with his own mountain of pancakes on a gigantic plate of his own.

             
While they looked amazing, I wasn’t really that hungry. I had a few bites, but as I swallowed, they sat fitfully in my stomach. I was unable to process this complete change of my scenery and a part of me felt haunted for abandoning Remy the way I did. I ended up kicking the pancakes around, imagining how hurt he was.

             
When I finally finished my pitiable reveries, I looked up. Jaxon was staring holes into my head, and he didn’t look happy. I blinked down at his plate, surprised that it was empty. How long had I sat there staring at my food thinking about Remy and how horrible of a human being I was? I felt his accusing eyes dart down to my plate and back at me. I swear he knew where my thoughts had slid away to.

             
“Why aren’t you eating?” he asked, and it came out dangerously low. I’d forgotten how intimidating he’d gotten.

             
“I’m not very hungry,” I muttered.

             
“You need to eat.”

             
I shrugged. “What do you want me to do, Jaxon? Force it down when all I want to do is throw up?”

             
“Why do you want to throw up?”

             
“I feel nauseous.”

             
“In the morning? What, are you fucking pregnant?” Disbelief emerged in those blue eyes, as he stared accusingly down at my stomach and then my face.

             
My eyes bulged out of my head. “Um, no!”

             
“Are you sure?”

             
“Pretty darn!”

             
“Then eat!”

             
I pushed the plate away from me, scowling at him. Now that he was demanding me to eat, suddenly I didn’t want to. “I don’t want to eat, Jaxon.”

             
He pushed the plate back to where it was. “You’ve lost a ridiculous amount of weight. It’s disgusting.”

             
My jaw dropped. “You’re such an asshole!”

             
“Why?”

             
“What do you mean ‘why’? You just told me I look disgusting!”

             
“No, I said
it’s
disgusting.”

             
“What’s the difference?”

             
Nose flaring, eyebrows bunched, he growled, “The fact you don’t eat is disgusting! You’ve lost at least ten pounds. You’re like a goddamn stray cat, bones and all. Your tits have shrunk, your hips aren’t as wide. I know how much you used to eat. You were like a fucking starved caveman and now you peck at your shit like a bird.”

             
Bird.
Birdy.

             
I let out an unattractive grunt and stood up. “I’m going to take my stray cat ass away from you before I throw this plate at your head.”

             
I stormed out of the cabin and took a seat on the steps of the porch, crossing my arms. Anger flowed like blood throughout my body. One fucking encounter with him and we were back there again! Goddammit all to hell! I hated him.

             
I fucking loved him too.

             
Birdy. I grunted like a man again. Why did he have to say the word bird? Now the word was forever tainted with memories of Remy. Shit. Damn. Fuck. Ugh.

             
There was no way I could stomach food. I was already full. Guilt was an appetite suppressant. I didn’t regret what I did, but I felt damn bad about it. To fool and manipulate someone?
But you did it to get out because you were a prisoner.
Was I really? How come it didn’t seem so bad all those months? Why was I so confused about it all? A prisoner should know what a prison feels like!

             
I breathed deep, basking in the heat of the sun throwing up its rays of heat down on me in the cool wind. I looked around, noticing what I couldn’t in the dark last night. We were smack dab in the middle of the bush. The condensed trees, aged and full, swayed in the breeze around the cabin while the calls of birds overhead sang their morning tunes. Or maybe they were bitching at each other. Whatever they were doing, it was pleasant.

             
I stared up at the blue sky. This was peace. This was true silence. Not lonely silence, but real world kind of silence. No cars in the distance or people. God, being in that clubhouse had its ups, but always being around people was exhausting. My anger hated this quiet because rational me was able to fight it off. It washed away within minutes and I was feeling like a little wench for snapping at him like that.

             
He was so infuriating, though! So what if I didn’t want to eat? I’d lost weight, but not the amount he was going on about. A stray cat? Pahlease! I still had some cushion for the pushin’.

             
I peered down my night gown.

             
Well… they weren’t
as
cushiony as before, but whatever, they were still good. Tits are tits, right?

             
Interrupting my bodily inspection was a car making its way down the path and toward the cabin. I tensed. Had they found us already? Were these the wheels of death?

             
A red Prius appeared. Certainly not the wheels of death I’d have imagined. Looking at the people through their windshield, I’d say they certainly weren’t murderer material either.

             
When they found a place to park, two women stepped out. One was an old, fragile looking thing with white hair up in a bun wearing classical pearls and a floral dress you’d find in granny central. The other…
Shit.
The other was certainly not granny material at all.