Fort Oakley | Part One

5 | Someone's Having a Worse Night Than Me

Saturday afternoon , Fin's mother calls him home since they're heading out of town for dinner.

Claire wasn't back yet, and I didn't have any inspiration to start a new painting, so I took my sketchbook and headed for the meadow, not wanting to hang around the house all day.

The lantern I encountered yesterday night was still in the back of my mind as I made my way through the woods, but I told myself it was probably just part of a forgotten hiking trail or something.

When I reach the middle of the meadow, I hear water splashing, so instead of sitting down, I head down to the river that bordered one side of the meadow.

A backpack was lying in the grass near the riverbank, an expensive looking instant camera resting on top of it.

A pair of jeans and a t-shirt, along with a pair of sneakers were discarded next to the backpack, and I slid my gaze towards the river just as Jacey's head broke through the surface of the water.

"You're going to get hypothermia in that water, you know," I called and Jacey's head snapped in my direction.

He was surprised to see me, unlike last time.

His face was still bruised, but the bruises were starting to heal, making him look much more approachable than he did the last time I saw him.

"How long have you been sitting there?"

"I just got here," I answered, shrugging. "I'm not a creep, Jacey."

"I didn't say you were."

He glanced at his clothes on the grass next to me, raking a hand through his wet hair as if he was frustrated about something.

"I can close my eyes if you're self-conscious," I offered, realizing he didn't want to come out of the cold water with me sitting there.

Jacey looked down the river, shaking his head to himself.

Then he strode out of the water, the sun reflecting off of the water on his light olive skin. He rolled his shoulders back like he did last time, tilting his head to one side.

"I'm not self-conscious, Charly."

And he had no reason to be.

Jacey had the perfect athletic build while not being overly muscular.

And yet, despite his well defined muscles and the abs Elvin certainly didn't have, all I could focus on was the bruises across his chest and abdomen.

They were in the same stage of healing as those on his face, but the sheer number of them made it look way, way worse.

I wanted to ask him about it; wanted to know who he allowed to hurt him like that without fighting back, because his knuckles were in perfect condition.

Instead, I took his shirt and and jeans, holding it out towards him.

He took his shirt first, quickly pulling it on before he took his jeans and slid them on over his boxers.

"May I?" He gestures at the sketchbook in my lap.

"Sure," I reply, handing it towards him. His cold fingers brush over mine as he takes it and I notice him looking at me for a second before he moves his eyes down as he flips through my sketches.

I study his side profile as he pages through the book, trying to get a read on him, but his face is blank, the only sign of emotion being the way he repeatedly clenches his jaw.

For the first time in my life, I'm nervous about someone looking at my sketches.

"You're painting professionally now, right?" I wanted to ask him how he knew that, but then I reminded myself of the size of our town. Word got around about anything and everything.