The Farmers Daughter // Jake Kiszka

Chapter Three

You put the phone down slowly and stepped away from it, as if being near it was going to bring you bad luck. You felt dirty. The lies oozing from every pore threatening to strangle you.

"Who was it?" Jake asked, appearing from the bedroom with a look of intense worry.

"Daddy's friend, Jerry. They play darts and go drinking on Thursdays. Today is Thursday, isn't it?"

Jake pursed his lips. "What did you tell him?"

"Daddy wasn't here." You say, your thoughts trailing off as you try to figure out what day of the week it is.

Instinctively, Jake pulled the chord from the phone and reeled you in to a firm embrace. You feel the filthiest you've ever felt.

"We're leaving tonight. Can't risk any more people knowing we're here. We can come back when he's been found." Jake pats you on the ass, urging you to go pack.

But it's not something you've ever done before. Your entire life has been centred on the farm. You can't stand the thought of leaving the animals behind. Jake was frantically throwing things into a suitcase kept beneath your bed. You'd never used it before, except for storage. It felt as if Jake had always known it would come to this.

You watch him slip into madness. There's a part of you turned on by seeing him take charge. Seeing him protect you. But the other is afraid of what it means. You begin to wonder if you're walking out of one prison and into another of your own making. Dragging him into your cell with you.

"Jake?"

He stops dead. A pair of your panties in his hands as he goes to put them in the case.

"We already decided neither of us killed him. We don't have to do this. If we do, we'll be wondering all our lives if the truth is gon' catch up to us."

He shoves the panties into the case and aggressively closes it up. All the while keeping his gaze locked on you. It's as if he can't hear you. It matters not what you say.

"And if I ask you to trust me, could you do that for me?" He asks, "Because right now, you're talking like we have a choice."

You feel a little foolish. Feel the crimson rise to your cheeks as he presses himself against you. In his arms there is no need to fret the way you have. It's in your mind to sink to your knees and thank him. Until he cups your chin with a hooked finger and forces you to look him in the eye.

He doesn't want thanking. He doesn't want anything. The way he peers down at you, as if he's somehow known all along, and the intense feeling that you're safe is all consuming.

"What are you so afraid of, pretty one?" He asks, studying your face as if he's never looked at it so closely before. "You know I wont let anything bad happen, right?"

Oh, to be loved by him. If only Daddy could have seen what kind of man he was. He was far more than the dreamer who played guitar for you. He was a shield. A sweet natured force. The sort of person who would write a song about you and sing it to you softly as you dozed on his lap and then fight a war for you to be happy. You wondered what sort of hole he'd left behind in the lives of those he'd walked away from.

"I trust you." The words slip out of your mouth as his thumb trails across your bottom lip.

His jaw flexes and you're strangely attracted to it. Your stomach begins to tighten.

"I need to pack some things and burn that couch. When I come back, be ready to leave." He instructs, firmly but in a way that lets you know it's said with love.

The familiar scent of burning wood came in on the breeze. Your case was standing dutifully on the porch. The porch swing had broken years ago, and sat idly beneath broken chains now. You crouched on the old thing, taking a moment to pet the dogs and watch the chickens run across the yard. You tell them sweetly that you're coming back for them. Scratching behind their ears as they sniff you for something to eat. They're not pets. But you can't help but feel as if leaving them is still going to break your heart.