My black T-shirt is oversized on her small frame. It’s askew, and one of her shoulders is sticking out of the neckline.
I lay my palm on her neck, then her cheeks, then her forehead. No fever. In fact, she’s a little cold and clammy. “How are you feeling?”
She shrugs. “I kind of hurt all over, but that’s probably normal after sex, right?”
I press my lips together. “I think the withdrawal symptoms are hitting.”
And she hasn’t complained once. Hasn’t resented me for flushing her drugs down the toilet. Hasn’t begged for me to get her more.
Although, we’re only a couple days out. The worst is yet to come, so maybe I shouldn’t be so optimistic.
Rosalie hiccups, which turns into a burp and a grimace.
I frown. “Are you nauseated?”
“A little. I think I’m just hungry, though.”
“Here.” Getting up and going over to the tall cabinet that acts as a pantry, I grab a bottle of water for her. “I should be making you drink more. Sip this. Slowly.”
After spooning our soup into bowls and opening a sleeve of crackers, we sit down at the table and eat. I scrutinize Rosalie closely, watching for any sign that she won’t be able to keep her dinner down.
I know a little something about withdrawals because I’ve been through it myself. Prescription drugs were my recreation of choice when I was a teenager. Vicodin, Oxy, Adderall. Fucking loved that stuff.
But when Krystal died, I stopped, cold turkey. I remember the body aches, the shakes, and the vomiting. Until I quit, I hadn’t even realized I was addicted. I just thought I was having fun.
“The more I think about it, the better it seems that we stay here for a week or two,” I say. “We can just lay low, spend time together.”
More like, give Rosalie time to work through her shit. Detox is a bitch.
She perks up. “I’d love that.”
“It’s not going to make you feel isolated? I’ll do my best to keep you entertained.”
A smile spreads over her lips. “Oh, I’m sure you and I won’t have any trouble staying busy.”
By the way she says staying busy, it’s clear she means fucking.
And fuck if I don’t want that. My dick wants it, too. Even though we already went at it once today, I stiffen in my pants.
I discreetly adjust my hardening cock. “Then it’s settled. We’ll stay.”
Digging into the sleeve of crackers, I convince myself it’s the right decision. We can explore the woods, play games, talk, and fuck while Rosalie recovers.
No one knows where we are. We have no reason to worry.
I just can’t help the nagging feeling that danger is coming.
It’s almost bedtime, and the past couple hours have been the most normal hours Rosalie and I have experienced together. After we ate dinner, we started assembling the new puzzle we got at the lighthouse gift shop. So far, we’ve only completed the edges, but I’m sure we’ll be back at it tomorrow.
Now it’s time to get clean.
Next to the shower, I get up onto the stepladder and pour some heated water into the two-gallon metal container rigged above the tub. Rosalie’s standing below it, naked and shivering.
“Are you sure you don’t want to take a bath instead?” I ask. “It’d be warmer.”
She shakes her head. “This is fine.”
I hope to help her get rid of her fear soon. At least when it comes to a simple bath.
“Okay, so when you want the water to come out, pull this chain,” I tell her. “It’ll open up the spigot. Only use enough to get wet, then let go so it closes. Lather up and rinse. You’d be surprised how quickly you use the water up, but if you run out, I’ve got more in the bucket.”
As I step down to the floor, I hear the metal squeak as Rosalie tugs on the chain. A sigh of satisfaction follows as the heated water runs over her chilled body. There’s a lantern back there with her, and I can see the outline of her silhouette through the thin plastic curtain.
The tips of her breasts as she arches her back. The curve of her ass…
“Preston?”
I adjust my throbbing cock inside my sweatpants. “Yeah?”
“It’s not closing.”
“Huh?”
“I let the chain go, but it’s like the plug is stuck or something.”
I quickly pull back the curtain and see what she means. The little latch is rusted. Probably needs to be greased. While I try to push it back to where it belongs, the water flows out, soaking my clothes and emptying what’s left of Rosalie’s shower.
“Shit.” I look at Rosalie, and the fact that she’s wet only makes my cock harder. Her nipples are beaded up, and shiny drops trickle down her chest. To her stomach. To the blond patch of hair between her thighs. “I can fix this, but it’ll have to be tomorrow when I have daylight to work with.”
She blows out a huff. “All right, I’ll take a bath.”
My eyebrows go up. “Really?”
“As long as you take one with me. Maybe I won’t be scared if I’m not alone.”
Now there’s a point I could never argue. Maybe if I can make her associate water with good things—sexy things—she’ll be okay with sitting in a few inches of water.
Covering Rosalie with a towel, I go to heat up some more water. Once I’ve got enough, I pour it in the tub, strip down, get in, and motion for her to join me. She lowers herself in front of me, her legs trembling.
She whimpers when she’s seated, and she’s so stiff and tense, curled up into a ball as she hugs her knees to her chest.
“It’s okay.” I run the bar of soap over her shoulders. “I’m going to pour some water on you now.”
“’Kay. But talk to me while you do it,” she requests, desperation in her plea. “Tell me something real, babe. Something I don’t know about you yet.”
“I could tell you about my job, what I did before all this.” I take a red pitcher I got from the kitchen and let the water trickle over her shoulders, wetting some of her hair. “It’s a tricky business—connecting people who haven’t seen each other in decades, people who might’ve just found out about each other. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows. Sometimes it’s messy.”
“I could see that.”
“It wasn’t just about making a dollar for me. Before I accepted a case, I’d research my clients first. I’d always made sure they were good people because I didn’t want to enable toxic relationships. Remember what Jay told you about how we met? Well, his cellmate wanted to find his son, but I refused to do it until I knew the guy was safe to be around. I needed to know if he was violent or dangerous.”
“That’s smart. How did it turn out?”
“The guy passed my standards. Jay watched him for a couple weeks and gave me some good info.” Rosalie’s hair is completely soaked now, but I pour some more of the water over her to keep her warm.
“According to you, my father’s dangerous,” she says. “He doesn’t fit the safe criteria, but you took the job anyway. Why was Ivan the exception to your rule?”
“He wasn’t. You were.”