Fallen

5 - helping hands

Night was approaching on the cabin. After enjoying a square of coffee cake, Atticus had retreated upstairs to his desk. I picked through the small bookshelf, finding nonfiction covering local birds and trees and how-to guides, as well as an assortment of fantasy novels and graphic novels.

One of them was signed.

I stared at the author's signature. It was generic; not signed to anyone in particular but it also had a doodle of the artist's depiction of themself. Why was this here? Where were we really?

Glancing up, I could see Atticus at his desk, presumably writing.

Putting the book back, I moved to the end table. Pulling the drawer open, I found batteries, tape, scissors, and some electrical cords. Moving to the closet outside the bathroom, I discovered towels, sheets, and toilet paper. I moved to the backdoor and paused looking out at the shed across the small clearing through the dimness of twilight.

"What're you looking for?"

I jumped at Atticus' voice before turning to face him. "Just getting my bearings on what's here."

His piercing blue gaze held mine, doing his own searching. "You seem to be getting comfortable."

I shrugged. "Should I be acting more like a guest?"

"No," he said, shaking his head. "I guess I'm just not used to sharing space with another person anymore." He moved back to the living room and I trailed him.

Stopping at the drink tray, he poured two and I scowled. "I'm not making a habit of that," I said with absolution.

Atticus brushed past me to water down the second glass before rejoining me. "Think of it as an initiation," he said, depositing the lighter-tinted drink in my hand. "To your first day," he said, holding his glass out towards me.

Reluctantly, I clinked my glass to his and let a sip pass through my lips as he finished his own in one smooth gulp. Moving to rid myself of the remaining liquid, long fingers stopped me, wrapping around my wrist. "Waste not," he said softly, bringing my glass to his lips. He took a long sip, holding my wrist with the same reverence in which he held my gaze and I felt warmth blossom within me.

Slowly, his fingers retracted, grazing my skin in their departure. I almost dropped the heavy glassware despite the dent he had made in its contents.

"Finish it," Atticus encouraged me.

I brought the remaining liquor up to my lips to take another sip. While I did, a cheeky smile flashed as he used a fingertip to tilt the bottom of my glass up. The last of the tinged fluid poured into my mouth.

Sputtering, I swallowed much more than I intended while dribbling down my shirt. Now I was covered in flour, blood, and booze. Glaring daggers, I thrust the empty glass into waiting hands and strode over to the pile of clothes on the kitchen counter. Rifling through the materials, I found a pair of light gray sweatpants that would surely be too long, two more dark-colored t-shirts, and a pair of black socks. Grabbing the lot, I retreated to the bathroom.

Upon emerging, a voice greeted me. "So I'll just add those to your tab, shall I?" I could hear the smile in his voice as he sat away from me, facing the bay window.

My whole body collectively sighed. "I'm not paying for clothes with my body," I said gently. Falling into the loveseat gracelessly, I realized just how tired this body was becoming. At least I had realized the recliner was slightly more comfortable. Except...

My gaze drifted to the window where I saw a reflection of twin yellow eyes. "No," I said standing. I rushed to the door, faintly aware of the movement behind me.