The Cave Ch. 04

It was the snuffling in my ear that stirred me. Several light sniffs, followed by one loud snort, and then the offending cold nose made its way to my neck and started the whole process over again. I made my displeasure known with a moody groan.

"Pratt, no," I murmured.

The nose retreated, followed by a high whine.

"Too early," I reasoned.

Another pitiful whine. Then a sharp bark.

My eyes popped open. Then immediately shut from the brightness. The ground was hard, course and freezing, all rock. I lifted my cheek from it, brushing away the tiny pebbles embedded into the side of my face. Hearing a frantic rhythm of clicking, I coaxed my eyes to squint open on four golden paws dancing on a white painted line.

Christ, I'm on the road.

A second bark startled me and I blinked up into the overcast sky. The golden retriever wriggling in front of me gave an excited turn and licked my face. I flinched, disgusted. "Hey," I admonished.

But the dog was already distracted by something down the road, ears pricking at a distant whistle, and I was suddenly aware of a terrible pain flaring in my foot. As the dog ran off, I propped myself on my elbow and looked down at myself. I was dressed in my wrinkled clothes and my sneakers were on, but they weren't tied. Carefully, I kicked off the right shoe and tugged off my sock. My big toe had swollen to twice its size and was red and it hurt like a—

*

"Mother-fucker!" I screamed.

Flying upright, I rooted around for my foot under the fur blankets. I couldn't see a thing in the dark, but the intense pinch in my toe felt like someone had rammed a needle under my toe nail.

There was slow stirring on either side of me but I was too agitated to feel guilty for waking them.

"Layla? You okay?"

"No," I snapped, touching my toe carefully. The pain spread like my foot was on fire, but my toe felt generally unmolested and in one piece. "I think something bit me."

"Bit you?" Riley squeaked. "You told me there was nothing in the cave that could bite."

I felt her warm, bare body pressing against my left side as she guardedly drew in her limbs. On my right, Pratt flicked back the heavy bedding and took my foot in his large hand.

"You were hysterical. I would have said anything to calm you down."

"Gee thanks," she muttered and I could feel her getting up on her knees. "Hey. Hey you. We need a fire. You know, fire? For light?"

Riley had found her voice around Pratt; unfortunately "Hey You" was the only thing she cared to call him.

"A please would be nice," I told her.

"Why? It's not like he understands me anyway."

"He understands your tone," I said and then hissed as Pratt's tongue came out to gently lick the affected toe.

Riley found my hand. "Here. Squeeze as hard as it hurts."

"Actually, it's not that bad anymore." I pumped her hand anyway. "It's like I stubbed it, it'll fade."

"I wish I could see it."

"Pratt can see it."

"Oh, so when did Pratt become premed?"

I grinned at her in the dark. "You're cute when you worry."

*

"So what do you do? Suck out the poison?"

Riley looked up at me, smiling wryly. "I'm not certified in poison sucking."

The fire was high and hot. Riley and I straddled the smooth, gray log bench, my foot propped between us so she could examine it. Pratt was near the tunnel, scooping a cup of water. The pain was a low pulse in the tip of my toe, but Riley was very careful not to handle it directly.

Tucking her strawberry blonde hair behind both ears, Riley hunched forward for a better look, a serious crease between her grey blue eyes, but my gaze roamed downwards. She was beautiful: skin like a China doll, small, taut breasts, and the lean fold of flesh that appeared across her stomach when she was bent over. Further down, flaxen pubic hair tinged with blush. "Typically, spiders are blamed for all unknown bites, but without a sample anything could have bitten you. It's a little swollen and there's some bruising around it." She glanced up. "Are you listening?"

My eyes snapped up to her face. "Yes," I said through a grin.

Her eyes narrowed good-naturedly at me. "Are you allergic to anything?"

"I don't think so."

I felt Pratt settling down behind me and then a cup of water appeared in front of me. I started to reach for it, but Riley grabbed it instead.

"Thanks," she said, pouring a splash over my toes. "Now if we only had some antibacterial soap and some ibuprofen, I'd feel a lot better. Ecstatic even, if I had a bandage to keep it clean."

"It feels better than it did," I said and put both feet on the floor. "Must be your miraculous touch."

"Must be."

"But now I have to pee."

"Can't help you with that."

I turned to Pratt. His golden eyes were soft with worry. I pointed to the tunnel and pressed my thighs together tightly, anxiously, and the comprehension was near instant in his exquisitely intelligent face. He nodded and rose to his feet, reaching for Riley's hand.

"Why can't we just all go together?" Riley wondered out loud. "I know I wouldn't mind and it would save time."

I smirked. "I think his head would explode."

"You're probably right."

Pratt guided Riley up the rocks to a shadowy raised area where her chains hung empty. Despite his behemoth size, he was always gentle with us. I watched the easy way his large, hirsute feet mounted the rocks, the peculiar way his knees and hocks bent in unison as he climbed. The mink streamers of his loincloth shifted and swayed against his well-developed thighs and fine chestnut hair covered his body in humanly patterns. He used the key from the belt of his loincloth to lock Riley's wrists into her shackles. Riley was very casual as she let him do it, holding still, gripping the chains nonchalantly and the serene look on her face was almost angelic, even during the obligatory nipple twist with his long fingers and black talons.

At first, I was insanely jealous when he began touching her during our nightly ablutions, but I think I enjoyed watching him manipulate her body. And the way she'd boldly meet my gaze as he was doing it, her lips whispering a smile without an ounce of arrogance or haughtiness, was quite arousing. She had changed immensely in her short time in the cave, considering in the beginning Pratt could hardly approach without her screaming bloody murder. Even now, Riley managed to keep a certain emotional distance from him. She didn't love Pratt the way I did and I think on some level she preferred to stay out of our way. Pratt and I had a bond, and Riley wanted nothing to do with it.

With Riley secure, Pratt returned to me and I took his offered hand. He led me through the dark tunnel to another cavern with a dirt floor and a single flickering candle so that I could do my business. After, he led me back, but stopped me at the fork in the passageway, as he did every morning now after my evacuations, and stood against the wall with his arms staidly folded. The bones in his face were delicate, almost feminine, and despite his aloof posture, his eyes were intensely distressed as they flicked back and forth from me to the exit.

I knew the way out of the cave now. I even knew where he kept the key to the locked door at the end of it. Since the night I found my way out and chose to stay, every morning he let me choose again and I could see how it stressed him, the possibility I might decide to leave him forever. But knowing I could leave made me want to stay and I wedged a hand under his elbow to tug him back towards the firelight with me.

He bared his teeth, his signature smile, and followed me.

We had to walk through the fire pit area to get back to my bed of straw and furs where my chains suspended, but my eyes snagged on something in the shadow of the log bench. Pratt watched me curiously as I leaned over to pick it up and held it up to the light.

It was Amy's bird's foot ring. The delicate black claws were curled around an imaginary perch.

I looked up at Pratt and showed it to him and he looked mildly surprised to see it. For a moment we gazed at each other, sharing a private memory. Pratt had been as angry as I'd ever seen him when he tore the ring from Amy's hand and threw it blindly over his shoulder. The next day Amy was gone. I still didn't know what had happened but I had a few theories.

I handed over the ring so he could put it in his dark alcove of tchotchkes. Maybe someday he could make it into a necklace. But he held up both hands, shaking his head, and then pointed to me.

You keep.

"Really?" I said dubiously.

He jabbed a black finger nail at me again, nodding certainly, his eyes bright.

So I tried it on. Amy's fingers had been thin as jackstraws and the ring only fit on my pinky, but it went well with my rabbit tooth bracelet in a morbidly disturbing way. I offered Pratt a polite smile and he amiably swatted my behind to get me moving back to the bed. It occurred to me we hadn't made love yet this morning and the nagging itch between my legs wanted attention.

I wasn't sure how I felt about wearing Amy's ring, but I wondered if Amy knew of the door at the cave's entrance. Did she know escape wasn't possible, even if she managed to slip out of Pratt's arm at night? All those times Pratt brought her back from her bathroom breaks...had he stopped to give her a choice, too? Maybe that was why she was gone; because she had finally decided to. But then I remembered Amy had been quite adamant about staying. She had locked herself in her own chains in order to remain.

Later, after Pratt brought Riley out for a quick break and gave us both a drink of water, Riley pointed at the ring while my hands were splayed across Pratt's lower ribs for balance.

"Pretty," she said, breathless and flushed.

"Thanks," I rasped, plunging down on Pratt's rigid organ without missing a beat.

"With all that jewelry, you'll be the envy of all the other cavewomen," she jested.

"All I need now is a pair of bone hairpins."

She bit her lip to stifle her smile, closing her eyes blissfully. She moved like a cork in the sea, her fingers digging into Pratt's pectorals. I could see the underside of Pratt's jaw, the sinews of his throat madly flexing as his tongue was buried in Riley's fair shrub of pubic curls. "Oh god I'm close," she groaned. "Kiss me."

*

Changes in the cave had evolved following Riley's menstruation cycle. Now Riley slept with us at night and naturally the early morning romps included her as well. Pratt was not so much of a stickler with the chains anymore and usually only put us in them when he went hunting or to keep our hands out of trouble. Pratt was gone longer in the evening to fetch food, but we spent the time well, cracking jokes or playing an X-rated version of 20 questions that usually had us crying with laughter.

Over the last several days Pratt had become rather logy. He had lost interest in all his other projects, or maybe they were all finished. If he wasn't out hunting, he was usually yawning and stretching by the fire. Sometimes he curled up in bed with us and took long naps. Other days he was content to just dreamily watch us as Riley and I entertained each other. It made me wonder if Pratt had hibernation instincts. He was, after all, still a creature of habit.

Our amusement came in a wide range of activities. I taught Riley some of the games Pratt favored when there was extra food, which wasn't often. And although I wasn't clear on Pratt's change of heart, talking was okay now—whispers when he was asleep. Riley liked to keep her fingers busy when she chatted and was always knuckle deep in my hair, twisting some new elaborate braid. Pratt recognized this the first time she did it and brought us several faded scraps of ribbon to preserve her braids. She began weaving the decorations in the braids as well, which I imagined looked pretty, but I could only feel the back of my lumpy head when she was done. It was the only time in the cave I wished for a mirror. I tried to return the favor, but I only knew how to do a basic braid and something that resembled a sloppy, uneven French braid. I improved marginally with practice. And when we were all talked out and our hair was perfectly braided and we'd already played a round or two of dirty 20 questions, we'd start a new activity. Quietly. So we didn't wake Pratt.

There had been few conversations of leaving the cave. Sometimes I would think back to my first night in the cave, how I once assumed Amy and I might use the chains as some way to communicate and orchestrate an escape. Now, Riley and I enjoyed hours and hours of freedom, much of it alone, and if escape came up, it was almost rhetorical. Like when Riley declared there must be two exits to the cave. She was kneeled up behind me, undoing yesterday's braid, collecting a pile of old, hoary ribbons beside her.

"I told you, there's only one," I said. "And it's locked up tight."

"But the tunnel is so drafty. There's got to be a second way to the outside where the air is circulating from."

So smart.

The smoke was getting out somewhere; it was the only reason we weren't suffocating. I assumed there were narrow fissures in the ceilings acting as air vents, but was there another exit? One that wasn't locked? A second exit meant nothing to me—I knew where the key was—but was it giving Riley just enough hope to keep her going? And how often was she thinking on these matters of escape? I never told Riley Pratt was giving me a choice to stay. I was sure he wasn't extending this gratuity to her and certainly she would try to talk me into leaving. It was in these tortured moments of quiet deliberation I felt the most guilt.

The day after I found Amy's ring, after Riley and I had eaten all our huckleberries and our hair was weaved with ribbons, we reached that restless stage of our company earlier than expected. Still slaked from the morning, we had little else to do but snuggle under the covers and doze together. When I woke, it was with a start and it roused Riley at the same time. "You okay?" she crooned blearily.

"Yeah. Sorry. Go back to sleep."

The fire was low and glowing. I could just make out her face of empathy as her cheek rested on a mound of furs. "Bad dream?"

"Sort of."

"Tell me."

Hesitating, I pulled the blankets up to my chin. "It's just a dream I keep having of my dad." I wasn't going to say anything more, but Riley was nestling back into the furs, getting comfortable, waiting for me to finish. I internally sighed. "When I was 14, our dog Lady bit a little boy who lived down the road and my dad had to put her down. But in my dream, Lady bites me instead."

Riley slowly grinned, sexy and devious. "I thought you were going to tell me it was a sex dream. I swear I have about three a night."

Laughing, I said, "I've had my share. Once, I dreamed of being rescued by a group of well-hung men...and one woman." I could still remember the green-eyed man as the ring leader of my erotic capitulation.

Riley dropped her jaw, mocking shock. "The woman was well hung?"

I laughed again, but cut it short when Pratt moved beside me, sleepily exhaling.

"So how many days has it been for you now?" she asked. "In the cave."

"Thirty-eight," I sighed.

"Wow. If you were on Survivor, you'd be a finalist."

I grinned, but it only took a moment for it to go dry, that familiar guilt rising in me again. I was free to leave at any time; meanwhile, Riley's grades were dwindling with every absent mark she received. For the most part, I had gotten pretty good at pushing these thoughts out of my mind but sometimes I tried to bring it up, just to feel her perspective.

I rolled over to face her, tucking my arm under my cheek. "Do you ever think about getting off the island?"

Riley smirked, eyes bright, lively. "Not with that hidden immunity idol I know you have."

"I thought you couldn't use those after day 35?"

"Shouldn't matter, we're still in an alliance, aren't we?"

Admittedly, these conversations were often one big prevarication.

"I'm serious, Riley."

"Oh, Layla. Stop worrying. For me, the cave isn't so dark anymore. And with you here, I can handle just about anything. Now," she said, her cool hands groped around to cage my breasts in her small palms. "I want these."

I chuckled. "With your frame, you'll be hunched-back in a week."

Giggling softly, she slipped one hand down to clap the side of my hip. "I wouldn't mind these, either, as long as you're doling out body parts."

"You wouldn't want them. I have a strict return policy. Besides..." I softened my voice. "Your body's amazing."

"Ha. I have the body of a twelve year old boy. Doesn't exactly ooze sexuality."

"Who told you that?" I asked, gently affecting insult.

She looked at me strangely, considering a moment before answering. "No one has to tell me. It's everywhere. Television, movies, magazines. It's in the looks people give, the comments they make."

An image popped into my head of my dad behind the fortress of his Sunday paper, where he always felt more comfortable cracking jokes about thunder thighs and the weight capacity of brassieres. For a long time, that was my reality, the shadows on the wall of Plato's cave.

"Not here," I said.

"Where? You mean the cave?" Her eyes disengaged from mine and floated around the dim cavern curiously, as if making sure. When her gaze was fixed to me again, she had the reluctant, slightly crooked smile of someone who had just been proven wrong. "Point taken."

I touched her hair, wrapping a thick strand of blushing blonde around my finger (Pratt's special tongue combings always left it gleaming) and leaned to kiss her. She kissed me back with specter lips, surreal, downy cherub feathers softly sweeping over my mouth, her tongue like a drop of rain. Everything was feeling with her. No stress, just snuggling, cuddling, fondling. Propping up on one elbow, Riley laid across me, our bellies sealing, and everything seemed to fade into the background. It wasn't until Pratt stretched out next to us that I became aware of anything else.

"We have company," I whispered.

She pushed away to kiss my breasts. "Ignore him."

Pratt moved in to nuzzle my face and I closed my eyes, intoxicated by his woodsy scent. He withdrew and my throat made a drowsy little growl as Riley began to fiercely suckle at my left nipple. A moment later, I felt the rush of cool air on my lower half as Pratt lifted the blankets and then the brush of his warm, hairy body settling in between my thighs. The juices inside me leaked onto my inner thighs in a torrent, elevating my desire, and as I lifted my knees to prepare for his penetration, Riley threw her head back, suddenly gasping.

Behind her, Pratt had his claws in her hips, dimpling the tender flesh there. I felt her naked body jostling on top of mine as he hopped up on his haunches to line his loins with hers.

"Layla, he's—"

She was interrupted, body jerking as he entered her, for the first time as far as I knew, and her face flinched once before her mouth dropped open and hung that way in a noiseless moan. Pratt was wildly thrusting. Riley submerged her face into my cleavage and groaned.

My brain wanted to sulk, but my body betrayed me, passion coursing through my veins. Riley's knee was jammed between my legs and it was slick now against my damp sex. I lifted my hips, discovering pleasure in the friction of her skin, rubbing to their rhythm, to the wet beat of spanking flesh.

Riley began to fight me, pressing upwards on my breasts. "Oh god, Layla," she husked. "Scoot back."

I felt the sting of rejection as she shoved me, but I lifted up on my elbows anyway and struggled out from underneath her. This was inevitable, to be pushed out, discarded. Neither of them needed me anymore and my eyes heated up with the tears of my own obsolescence.