But upon closer inspection, I see they are charcoal drawings, a mixture of harsh lines and precise blending on the paper. Simple black frames enclose the images beneath a layer of glass. Something about the pictures makes me feel sad. I can’t put my finger on it but it feels like the two people areforever separated. Maybe it’s the presence of the window and it would seem happier if the images were connected. But I have to imagine whoever put them there did so intentionally.
I don’t know if these are the softest sheets I’ve ever slept in, or if I’m just exhausted and broken. I feel like I’ve taken a beating. Climbing the stairs was more work than I would ever let on, but it was worth it to lay down in a cloud of a bed and rest my head. I must have whiplash too considering how damaged my neck feels. The only time I’ve ever felt anything like that was on the fastest rollercoaster at an amusement park in Washington. As soon as we made the first big drop, the rollercoaster took off at break-neck speed around a bunch of twists and loopty-loops. My neck was sore for a week after that. I haven’t been on a rollercoaster since.
I think about what led me to the mountain tonight, to that bridge that has been the cause of so much death in our town. Part of me wonders if I should have died in that car crash, maybe my body was meant to freeze in the snow and find an early grave beneath the winter until spring revealed my final resting place. Maybe Jason finding me was never supposed to happen.
I have to believe that him finding me was a mistake God didn’t account for because the alternative is that I was meant to be here. And I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to face him. I don’t want to confront my past. And I don’t want to see those disappointed eyes again.
So I close my eyes and let my body drift to sleep because I know I have to face it all in the morning.
There must be a way out of this.
Chapter Four
Jason-Present
Richard Petty- Billy Strings
The clock beside my bed says 6:03 am. It’s still dark outside.
Of all the people that could have ended up at my doorstep, why did it have to be her? Why did I have to choose to go hunting yesterday? Why didn’t the deer come out so I would have had a reason to come back sooner and maybe then I’d never be in this situation. I can’t believe I have to suffer all winter with Mara fucking Meyers in my house. I like the solitude all winter, I don’t like people, but I already know she’s going to cause trouble. On the nights when I wish I could go find pussy, it’s going to be a little too tempting to take what I want, even if I don’t want it from her.
What would she think if she knew her friend from highschool gave it up so easily in a bathroom stall at The Sawmill? The same girl who always laughed at my expense in highschool didn’t need much more than a head tilt before she impaled herself on my cock last year. I doubt Mara would be pleased to learn that.
It took a long time to learn, but I eventually figured out that if I wasn’t going to talk, I needed to be proficient in every other aspect of my life to compensate for it. Be the biggest and strongest motherfucker so no one would mess with me. Build the best business so no one could argue with my skills—or my prices, for that matter. Be the best lay any of these girls has ever seen so they’d talk about the size of my dick, not my lack of speech.
I even became the best at pool after losing a game a few years ago. I needed to perfect every area of my life, then people would talk about everything except my silence.
Mara was living in California all this time, so I heard, so she probably didn’t know any of this. Maybe that’s a good thing. Let her believe she can push me around like she used to and then shock her into silence when I’m not the weak, pathetic kid she knew years ago.
Let her believe what she wants, her opinion means nothing more than my eventual entertainment when she’s proven wrong.
When I finally pull my ass downstairs, I notice her clothes are still by the fireplace that’s nothing more than faint embers now. I take a log off the pile stacked beside the hearth and throw it on so the house warms up a bit. Then I take Mara’s clothes upstairs and drop them in a messy pile by her door. The last thing I need is her walking around in her underwear. I was too focused on my first aid training last night to really let my mind wander, but her body is beautiful. If I detach the person from the body, it might even be sexy.
Next, I start the coffee pot. Who needs pre-workout when you have coffee? As soon as it’s ready, I take the cup of dark fuel to the garage where the gym is set up. It’s shoulders and arms day,thank god, because I have some pent-up rage I need to work through. And I don’t think taking it out on Mara is the right way to do it. Dylan would never allow it. He’s too nice, in my opinion.
I start with some bench presses, three sets of eight reps at my current max weight of two hundred pounds. I haven’t been able to surpass two hundred pounds in almost a month. I’m convinced it’s mental, there’s no reason my body would get stuck at one weight. I just have to work through it. But I don’t want to injure anything that might prevent me from getting work done, so I start with my usual two hundred pounds and hope the tell-tale relief of being ready for another ten pounds settles in my muscles.
Sure enough, it’s there, but just barely. After the first set of eight, I add a five pound plate to either side and settle back on the bench beneath the barbell. Hands braced evenly apart, I heave the bar off the supports and restit over my chest.
I should really have Dylan out here to spot me.
With a huge intake of air and gritted teeth, I think about Mara calling me Mute last night and the fire in her eyes when she realized I’d undressed her. I feel a twinge of satisfaction at her discomfort. Using that as fuel for my energy, I force my elbows to straighten and lift the weight straight into the air parallel to my bare chest. I exhale a weighted breath of relief and lower the bar back down, careful to keep my wrists steady. I repeat the process four more times before I have to stop and rest. I’m disappointed with myself for not completing the set, but I did it, I hit a new personal record.It’s about damn time.
I finished my last set only completing five more reps and moved on to the other exercises in my workout for the day: some lateral and front raises, upright rows, and a few others to target specific muscles. I finish with some stretches to prevent tearing and head back inside to find Dylan already seated at the table drinking his own coffee. He’s still dressed in his ridiculous pajamas but now he’s covered with a white shirt.
I pour myself another cup of coffee—I swear it runs through my fucking veins at this point—and start on breakfast. I have no idea when Mara will wake up but I make extra for her just in case. And if it’s cold when she deigns to rise from her beauty sleep, so be it.
I’m plating the eggs and sausage onto two plates when the stairs creak alerting us to the shedevil’s presence right before Mara appears at the base of the stairs in her clothes from last night.
She takes a moment to process what’s before her, Dylan at the table and me cooking in the kitchen. When her eyes drift down my chest, I realize I’m still shirtless. But putting a shirt on now would feel like a retreat or submission.
I pull another plate from the cabinet and load more food onto it for her before placing all three plates and sets of forks on the table. Taking my seat, I nod my head toward the empty chair in front of the remaining plate of food indicating for Mara to sit. That’s the most communication I’ve given her since her arrival, even if it is nonverbal. She takes the direction well andsits.
A minute into my breakfast, she says with a note of horror in her voice. “Oh my god, no one’s going to take your food. Slow down.”
Why can’t she just say thanks for the food and leave me alone?
I narrow my eyes on her with a clear message,don’t talk to me. Then continue eating until I’m done while everyone else is only halfway through.
