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MAL
The fire crackles and pops,dancing in the dying wind.
The moon breaks through the last remnants of the clouds, turning everything silver—from the dark ocean that churns beyond the shore to the scattered rocks that dot the coastline. The air is still charged from the storm with an electricity that lingers between us, even as the winds have died down.
With the storm passed, I could easily get the Jeep out by driving over the sand and around the huge tree branch. But our clothes—at least, the few we evenfoundafter the wind died down—are soaked, and who wants to drive two hours in wet clothes?
I sit a few feet from Freya, tending the small campfire I built with scraps of driftwood collected from the beach. The fire crackles softly, sending a warm glow over her face as she wraps her arms around her knees, her naked body curled into a ball as she stares into the flames.
The quiet between us is comfortable, layered with a silence deeper than words. I poke at the fire, stirring the embers, trying to focus on something other than the way my heart is poundingfrom the way Freya looks in the soft light of the flames. Her hair is still damp, dark strands sticking to her face, and her pale skin has taken on a flushed warmth from being so close to the fire. I can’t take my eyes off her.
She glances over at me, her eyes catching the firelight, and there’s a softness in her gaze that makes my chest tighten. I’ve been trying to keep things with her in a box—neatly compartmentalized, like everything in my life—but every time I’m around her, that box gets harder and harder to close.
“That was insane,” she says quietly.
I grunt in agreement, throwing another piece of wood onto the fire. “Should’ve listened to me when I said to head in.”
She smiles faintly, a flicker of mischief crossing her face. “Yeah, you should know by now that Ineverlisten.”
“No shit,” I growl, smirking.
The truth is, I wouldn’t want it any other way. Ilikeher defiance, her stubbornness. That fire in her is what drew me in that very first night at the office where I found her.
She’s not afraid of me like most people are. And that, paradoxically, scares the hell out ofme, because I don’t know how to protect her from the darkness inside me.
All I know is that something about her makes me want to let go—of all the control, all the walls, all the shit I’ve built up around myself for years.
She shifts a little closer to the fire, pulling her knees to her chest and resting her chin on top of them again.
“You were pretty great out there, you know,” I say quietly.
She grins, her eyes raising to mine.
“Yeah?”
I nod.
“That why you brought me out here? To pump me up?”
I shake my head. “I wanted to show you something you’d never seen or done before.”
Her lips twitch into a smile, and she looks out toward the ocean. “Well, mission definitely accomplished.”
We sit in silence again, the fire crackling between us. I can feel her eyes on me, expectant. I know I should stay quiet, keep everything locked inside like I always do.
But I don’t want to. Not anymore.
I take a deep breath, feeling the words clawing up my throat, finally escaping. “I was beaten, tortured, and molested for three years after my family died.”
The words hang in the air between us, heavy and suffocating. I’ve never said them out loud before, not in a way that meant anything. But now, saying them here, to Freya, feels different. Like ripping open an old wound that never quite healed.
Freya doesn’t say anything. But when I glance over, I see her staring at me with haunted sadness in her eyes. It’s like she wants to comfort me, but also knows me well enough to know that’s not what I want. I don’t know how she does it, but there’s no judgment in her gaze, or pity. Just…sadness.
Her lips quivers, her throat bobbing as her fingers twist together.
“After…”
Freya’s face caves a little as she looks away.
