Page 72 of The Wild Man
“Let me go! Let me go!” I scream over and over again.
Wild Man isn’t yelling anymore. All I hear are Joe’s heavy breathing in my ear, grunts coming from the tree hut, and the heavy sound of flesh hitting flesh.
Joe keeps dragging me backward, further and further away.
My heart feels like it’s being sliced from my chest with a dull blade. I can’t get enough air to breathe and my head feels dizzy with dark spots dancing in my vision. My struggles taper off when my arms feel too heavy, even as my mind screams to fight! To get to my dad and brothers before they kill the man that I love.
I let my body go completely limp in Joe’s arms. He sets me to my feet and my legs nearly buckle, but I force the muscles to work. As soon as his grip on me loosens, a rush of adrenaline fills me, and I take off blindly for the tree hut.
“Everlee!” Joe calls behind me, and I hear his thundering footsteps as he chases after me.
I brush the hair out of my face, hardly registering the blood I’m smearing on my cheeks from the gouges on my palms. I can barely make out the tree hut entrance just up ahead.
I’m only a few feet away when my foot hits something hard. I don’t have time to register the pain before I’m flying forward. A sharp pain shoots through the side of my head when I collide with something solid.
The blackness comes fast, but before it fully takes me under, I hear another roar of rage.
And this one, I know, is the sound of death.
twenty-four
Everlee
The first thing I notice is the smell. Apples and spices. Dad says my favorite food when I was a child was cinnamon applesauce. I’d always choose that over any other sweets. Even in adulthood, I still do. Instead of Ben & Jerry’s being my comfort food, I always grab a jar of applesauce. I love the smell of apples so much that every room in my house has at least two apple scented candles.
The next thing I notice is the silence. There are no birds chirping or insects buzzing or leaves rustling. The only sound I hear is a light hum of some sort. It’s far too quiet, and I don’t like it.
And why is the bed so soft? I’ve grown used to sleeping on a pallet on the ground. I feel like I’m lying on a pillowy cloud. The blanket lying atop me is too heavy, as well.
What I notice the most is the lack of warmth at my back and the muscular arm I’ve grown used to having around my waist. The hard length that’s usually wedged between my buttcheeks is absent. Wild Man always wakes me up, demanding sex, before he gets out of bed. I never complain, because I love having him inside me. I don’t remember him doing that this morning, and my body isn’t deliciously sore like it normally is after he does, so why is he not in bed with me now?
I crack open my eyes and immediately regret my decision. Pain explodes in my head the moment my eyes encounter the bright light. Why in the hell is it so bright? The trees above us shade the tree hut, so where is the light coming from?
A moan leaves my lips, and I lift my hand to the side of my head where most of the pain is centered. My fingers encounter something soft right above my ear on my temple. I poke it with my pointer finger and wince at the sharp ache I get in return.
“Ever.”
The muffled voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, like through a long tunnel. The deep timbre sounds familiar, but it’s not Wild Man, and I can’t place it.
“The light,” I croak. My mouth feels like cotton was shoved inside it.
“Ethan, close the shades.” The voice sounds closer, and I’m still struggling to remember who it belongs to. “Ever, can you hear me? Open your eyes for me, honey.”
Seconds pass before the light I see through my closed eyelids finally dims. The relief is instant. There’s still pain in my head, but it’s not as profound.
I slit open my eyes and a blurry picture tries to focus in front of me. I blink several times before it begins to clear enough for me to see the man hovering close to my face. Dark brown hair and hazel eyes. He has a shadow of hair on his cheeks and chin, which seems strange. Dad shaves every day, so to see that he obviously hasn’t in a few days is out of the ordinary.
“Dad?” I rasp. Jesus, why does my throat feel so raw and dry?
I open my mouth to ask for some water, but a glass with a straw is presented in front of me before I can. A hand goes behind my head to lift it from the pillow and my greedy lips latch around the straw. I pull in several deep swallows. The water is good and cold and feels wonderful against my throat, but it tastes different.
“That’s enough for now.” Dad pulls the glass away before I’m finished. “I’ll give you more in a few minutes. I don’t want you to get sick.”
Why would I get sick from drinking water?
“Wha—” I cough and clear my throat. “What happened? Where am I?”
I try to look around, but the movement sends a wave of dizziness through me. I close my eyes and breathe in deep through my nose and out through my mouth.