I wash and I scrub, keeping the single light on low so that the cabin remains dark and quiet. Occasionally, the wooden structure cracks and settles as it gets used to the warmth Aerin and I bring to the place, and each noise makes the nerves along the back of my neck jump.
We’re fine.
I’m fine.
Aerin’s fine.
The only text I make is to Pidge, asking if he’s taken the dog to the vet. It’s a coded text just to be on the safe side. He replies telling me that the vet will be free to see the dog within the hour. It calms me enough that I return to my washing and distract myself until I’ve been through every drawer and scrubbed everything available.
Three times I approach Aerin’s room when my thoughts get the better of me.
Three times I walk away.
Each time, it’s like something is drawing me toward her that I’m not in control of, and opening her door and invading her space feels like the best idea in the world.
I could hold her, tell her I regret pushing her away when she kissed me, then tell her how madly I’ve fallen in love with her.
I could kiss her and tell her it happened so quickly that it took my breath away and I still haven’t been able to get it back.
Thankfully, I talk myself out of it each time.
Aerin’s been through enough.
She certainly doesn’t need her only lifeline turning into something she can’t handle. I shove her from my thoughts and bury myself in the bathroom to clean up.
Turning on the shower risks being too loud so I fill the sink with hot water—and it’s insane that this place even has hot water on tap—and settle for a rushed sink bath.
Tomorrow when Aerin’s awake, I’ll shower properly. Stripping out of my shirt and remaining in just my jeans for now, I rummage through the mirror cupboard above the sink until I find what I need.
I’m halfway through working up shaving lather in a small wooden bowl when the floorboards outside the bathroom creak subtly. I pause, focusing on my peripheral. Just as I’m about to chalk it up to the cabin settling once more, the floorboard creaks again. Twice in succession.
Not settling wood.
Footsteps.
Aerin?
The thought barely finishes when the wood subtly creaks once more, longer this time as weight shifts across the weak joint. Not Aerin. I know her steps and I know her weight.
That’s not Aerin.
Setting the bowl down carefully, I drop to my haunches and remove the blade from my left ankle. Then I turn on the tap, which halts the footsteps outside.
Like a ghost, I move away from the sink and climb up into the edge of the bath, flipping the knife in my hand until the hilt is in my palm and the blade aligns with my arm, tip pointed at my elbow.
A second later, the door handle dips very slowly, just once as whoever is on the other side tests the lock. Finding the door unlocked, the handle dips the whole way and the door very slowly swings open toward me.
Raising my other hand, I grip the top of the door and guide it open wider, keeping the motion smooth as if it’s the natural arc of the door.
A black balaclava-clad head pokes around the door, focusing on the sink and then peering around the bathroom.
I hold my breath and count the three seconds it takes for them to scan to the edge of the bathtub.
The stranger spots my bare feet on the tub just as I throw my weight against the door, crushing them between the door and the frame.
The stranger lets out a strangled cry that immediately muffles as I grab the balaclava with my hand and pull it tight against their face.
I grip it and swing my opposite elbow down against their face, then leap down from the bath and haul them into the bathroom.
