Unnatural Instinct: Alone

11.

It's daylight when you next wake, bright morning light streaming through the smoke hole. The fire has died but you remain incredibly warm. A little too warm. Your mouth is dry and tastes funny. You feel shrivelled up, like you've been wrung out to dry. When you sit up, you stifle a groan.

Then you notice the smell. Then you notice your hunger. Then you see Lance lying in a bundle on the other side of the cave, wrapped in a pelt. The next thing you realise is that you're busting to urinate. Biting your lip, you try to be quiet as you pull yourself to your feet. But you're so weak you stagger and crash back to the floor with a yelp.

Lance is immediately standing over you. 'Are you all right?'

You grip at your throbbing head, annoyed with yourself.

'Here.' He takes you by the elbow and slowly helps you to your feet. He reaches out to touch your face, then stops himself, his big hand falling to his side. 'How do you feel?'

'Better,' you croak. You clear your voice. 'Much better. I just—I just need to go outside for a moment.' You clutch at your pelvis with a wince.

He steps aside and you leave the cave. You stand outside for several moments, wondering where you should go. It's so rocky and steep. It must be easy for a man; not so easy for yourself. You go behind a pile of rocks and awkwardly brace yourself as you drop your/his pants.

Your heart skips a beat at the sound of footsteps.

'What are you doing?' comes his voice. 'Are you all right?'

'What are you doing?!' you cry, gathering up your pants as he appears around the rock.

He's frowning, the scar on his face turning his mouth into a sneer. His brow is furrowed. 'Are you okay?'

'I'm not okay now!'

He reels back like he's been slapped. 'I just thought ...'

'Just go! Leave me alone!'

His face turns bright red as he turns and hurries away. You wait several anxious moments before you fix yourself up.

'What the hell was that?' you ask as you enter the cave.

He's sitting before the fire, looking small as he looks up at you nervously. 'You were gone a long time. I was just checking on you.'

'You can't just walk in on a woman like that!'

He stares long and hard into his lap, forehead furrowed. 'You shouldn't have gone up there. In your weakened state, you could have fallen.'

'There was nowhere else to go.'

'What do you mean?' He's looking frustrated. 'Just go over the edge.'

'G-go over the edge?'

He's staring at you, confused. You're staring at him, confused. And then it hits you.

'You really know nothing about women, do you? I mean, absolutely nothing.'

He straightens. 'I know some things.'

'Like what?' Your thudding heart starts to slow. Your anger quickly drains away. I assumed you're much the same as men ... But I don't know a lot. You didn't think he meant it physically. Could he really have no idea?

'Well .. I know you—I know you have breasts.' His face flushes brightly. 'I saw them on my mother.'

'Okay. And what are they used for?'

He opens his mouth, then closes it. You stop yourself from showing your dismay, keeping your expression flat. He's already humiliated enough. You feel a surprising swell of compassion. His face crumples and he looks away.

'I'm sorry to surprise you like that,' you say softly. 'I didn't mean to.'

'I'm sorry too. I don't understand. I don't understand you. I don't understand myself.' He hunches his shoulders.

'I don't know much about men either. We can learn together.'

You go over and crouch down beside him. He looks at you uncertainly. 'What are breasts used for?' he asks. 'Mother never told me.'

You sit beside him, so close your hips touch. Daylight is streaming onto his face. How old is he? You can't even tell. Not old but not young. Certainly not young enough to be asking these sorts of questions.

'They feed babies milk,' you say.

'You mean like teats.' His eyes dart over your chest. 'A strange place to have them. They're supposed to be on your belly.'

Laughter bubbles in your chest as you lift up your shirt to show him your smooth stomach. 'Nothing.'

He stares. You laugh. He's like a child. For the first time in your life you feel in control. Safe. Lance isn't going to hurt you or abuse you, no matter what you do. You could probably hit him and he would do nothing. It makes you think of your father. Of your mother.

'You're so sweet, Lance.'

'Am I?'

'Very much.' You bite your lip. The urge to touch him suddenly becomes overwhelming; to have him touch you with his giant, gentle hands. Somebody different to Tate. Somebody different to your father. To every man you've ever known. 'Did you want to touch them?'

His eyes widen. 'Touch them?'

You nod.

'W-why?' His eyes skip to yours before fixing upon your chest again.

You raise an eyebrow and bite down on the urge to laugh. 'I just want to see something.' You raise your shirt before he can answer.

He stares. 'They look—' he swallows '—different.'

You smile as you pull your shirt right off. You hesitate, then reach back to undo your bra. You watch him closely as you pull it off. He freezes. His eyes widen. The mark down his face turns red. His cheeks flame.

'Is something wrong?' You can't believe how brave you feel. How powerful. This is not how you thought your real first encounter with a man would be like—and you're enjoying it. Really enjoying it. 'Are they wrong?'

You hear him swallow. His Adam's apple bobs up and down. 'No-no. They're—they're—' he swallows again '—different.'

'Not the same as teats?'

He looks into your eyes without answer. It's like he's in pain. It's like he's frightened—of you. Nobody's ever been frightened of you before. For a woman to take control. For a woman to feel so powerful in this situation.

It's unnatural.

And wonderful.

'You can touch them if you want.'

He reaches up to rub the back of his neck. 'Why?'

'Why not?'

He continues to rub his neck. The mark on his face grows redder and redder. He hasn't blinked for a while. The snarl in his mouth twitches.

'Don't be afraid,' you say.

'I'm not afraid.'

He stops rubbing his neck and reaches out. His hand is very warm as he lays it upon your left breast. His palm presses against your nipple, hardening it. He instinctively cups it. A tortured look passes over his expression. He whips back his hand and shoots to his feet. He's rubbing the back of his neck again, the colour completely drained from his face.

'Excuse me.'

And he races out of the cave.