Unnatural Instinct: Amazon

21.

If life was hard before, it's nigh on impossible now.

It's been two days since our return to camp, since I killed that woman, and things have not gotten better.

They've gotten worse.

They've cremated her since then, that same night I killed her. I watched them carry her massive corpse into the camp on their shoulders. Six of them. I couldn't look at them. I couldn't look at her. We decided to leave the camp during the ceremony, returning late that night when most had taken to bed and the camp was quiet.

If it wasn't for you and your protection I'd either be banished or killed by now. At the very least I would be violently beaten—if not raped again. The thought makes me wince and turn my head to look out the window of your hut. I can smell the smoke from the fires and dinner being cooked. It makes me salivate. It makes my stomach gnaw on itself.

Ever since our return I've been approached twice by women. The second time by a group of them. It is not lust that drives them. It's rage. They hate me and they want to abuse me in the worst way possible—by attacking my sex. By violating and breaking me.

Quite honestly I'd rather be dead than have to live with that.

They almost had me in the trees before you stopped them. Though you were only one and they were five they did not want to fight you. Not out of fear but out of respect.

It's the only thing keeping me safe.

For the last two days I've barely left your side, sleeping in your hut, joining you in the bushes to relieve myself. I still wear the pants you gave me. The women hate that too. Twice they've tried to rip them from my body. And twice you've stopped them.

At the sound of footsteps approaching the hut, I grab the machete at my side, but it's only you. I exhale in relief. You've brought dinner.

We eat together.

I'm focused on my food but after I've sated the worst of the hunger pangs I suddenly feel your eyes on me. I look up and meet them. You're eating slowly. You smile as you chew and I smile back. You are becoming more and more beautiful every day. And my heart skips a beat at the realisation that I might actually be falling in love with you.

We haven't touched each other since that day. You've been respectful and cautious. Only once have I caught you gazing at me—up until now anyway. Your eyes are intense but uncertain. My heart skips another beat as I lean over to touch your thigh. You look down at my hand, then back up into my face.

You don't speak much and neither do I. If we talk, it's usually about the events of the day. You mentioned that you loved a man once. It must have happened a long time ago. During my three years of surveillance, I haven't seen you in a relationship with a man. I always wondered about that. You're an eligible bachelorette. A real catch for the men in the camp, if Shereen's obsession is any example. And yet you live on your own.

Clearly, he's not one of the men here, so he either abandoned you, or died. He must have died. Not only is it much more likely but I glimpsed the pain in your face when you spoke about him. No anger, no betrayal, just pain.

It explains a lot.

We finish with our meal, wash up, then step outside to relieve ourselves before we go to bed. You carry no weapons except for the knife in your boot. The majority of the camp is gathered around the fires. Many eyes turn our way, then turn away again. We are not followed as we disappear into the trees.

I'm always nervous exposing myself out here. I always think someone's watching. There are women patrolling the outskirts of the camp, after all. Even though you tell me that we are alone, I can't shake the feeling. It's like an itch at the back of my neck. If I'm truthful with myself, my fears are not just from when I'm in a vulnerable position like this but any time a woman looks at me. Since the moment you brought me to your camp, I've felt like eyes have been all over me.

It's a nauseating, disturbing feeling.

And you were part of the problem.

Not now.

Your eyes seem almost sad at times as you look at me. Is it guilt over what you've done or sadness over the thought that I'll have to leave? I like to think it's more the latter.

We return to the hut in silence. We're both sitting up against the wall, listening, as the camp steadily winds down for the night. Nobody has approached the hut. Nobody has disturbed us. And soon all we hear are the crickets and frogs and night birds squawking high in the trees.

I watch you from the corner of my eye. The moonlight is gleaming against your hair and eyes. You're breathing slowly and steadily and I watch as your breasts rise and fall. Rise and fall. The light catches against your nipples. They look so soft they make my hands ache. Then you turn to look at me. You're expressionless. Unmoving. What are you thinking?

Something comes over me. A need. A desire so strong that it overwhelms any urge for caution or feeling of anxiety. A wave of yearning that compels me to lower my head into your lap. You do not stop me, merely shifting position to make me more comfortable. I gaze up at you, unblinking. I feel like a child who's seeing something new and strange for the first time. I'm unable to look away.

You give me a small smile as you lower your hand upon my head. It's so warm and comforting. It's then you begin brushing your fingers through my hair. Long, gentle strokes that make my whole body relax. It was my intention to cut my hair short as soon as the bruising in my temple had properly healed. Now I'm not so sure. You like my hair. You've said it before.

You feel so warm. The sound of your breathing is soothing. You're making me feel tired. My eyelids are drooping. But before they completely shut, I roll over and press my face into your abdomen. Wrapping my arm around your waist, I hold you close.

I've been a lonely man for too long.