The Cave Ch. 04

Riley's arms locked around my thighs. "Far enough, sweetie. I want to kiss you again."

I moaned as her mouth pressed to my pubic lips, her little tongue darting out to stroke my special spot, which was already bloated, craving and thudding with heat. Beyond her, Pratt's blonde eyes fastened to mine, burning through the haze of desire, spearing me, tugging us closer. My cheeks were moist from tears but they meant something different now, something much more overwhelming, the romance of it swallowing me up. My simultaneous love for them was devastating and crushing and it knocked me over the edge of my climax. Howling my release, a cathartic deluge of emotion poured out of me and I was only distantly cognizant of Pratt and Riley as they bucked and grunted through their own pleasure.

Time with my new lovers was now short, but I was unaware...my journey was nearly complete.

*

"Layla!"

I lifted my head off the bed. "What?"

We had no sooner finished and Riley was looking at me, insulted. Behind her, Pratt's face dipped out of view and I heard the vulgar slurp as he started to lick her post-coital juices. Riley was still on her knees as she shook him off.

"Not now, fuzzy," she said. She dropped her face to examine my toe, horrified.

It was red and tumid and I think there was milky leakage coming from the wound, but I jumped out of my skin the moment she touched it. "Layla, it's infected," she scolded.

It had been dully throbbing all last night and today, but nothing I couldn't sleep through as long as no one was picking at it.

"Hey. Hey you," Riley said. She scooted aside and pointed my foot out to Pratt. "She needs medical attention now. Do you understand?"

He gave my foot a fleeting look, and then flicked his eyes between Riley and me rather nonchalantly, comprehending nothing.

"Are you deaf? Her toe is infected. If we don't do something, she's going to get very sick."

Pratt gazed blankly at her.

"Dammit, Layla, he doesn't listen to me!" She folded her arms crossly. "He's just a big dumb dope!"

Pratt growled at her tone and I found myself missing the days when Pratt didn't allow talking. I didn't like the way she talked about him and it seemed unfair he couldn't understand her insults.

"Maybe we could boil water to clean it," I suggested.

"It's not enough. Without bandages to keep it clean, it will just keep festering."

I sighed. I didn't want to hear any of this. It was like that part of my brain had turned off and I was disinclined to give my foot any thought. "It'll go down on its own if I give it time."

Pratt wasn't hearing it, either. He gave a sudden yawn and crawled over to me, circled his arm around my waist and pulled me back into bed. Riley was scowling, but it made her appear childish and it was difficult to take her seriously.

I patted the space in front of me. The furs were still warm from our earlier slumber. "Come on. Let's talk about it after a nap."

Riley dropped it grudgingly, crawled into bed with me and when I woke some time later, she was still snoozing under a stack of pelts.

Pratt was kneeled at my side, holding a cup of water, gently provoking me by caressing my arm with the smooth side of one claw. Torpidly grinning, I sat up and took the refreshment. He leaned backwards to sit against the wall, holding an arm out as an invitation. Peering sideways at Riley, I carefully pushed aside my blankets and nestled in beside him. It seemed like such a long time since we had last been alone, bathroom breaks aside. Lately, all my energy had been directed at Riley and I felt a pang of remorse. Pratt didn't look neglected, but he seemed extraordinarily cheerful to have me near him.

Sipping my water, I leaned against the side of his ribs. I noticed there was something in his hand. I pointed at it and looked up at him, evincing a curious frown as a silent question. Smiling a sneer, he lifted his hand and let it drop down. I inhaled sharply and tucked my cup between my knees so I could handle it. It was a necklace. Unfinished, as there was no clasp yet to close it, but a delicate wire held together a string of ivory white...vertebrae.

I didn't know what animal they came from, rabbits if I had to guess. The larger, lumbar vertebrae were centered as the focus and smaller ones tapered upwards towards the neck.

"It's lovely," I said and smiled pointedly up at him. I gestured enquiringly at Riley. He nodded and I smiled again. I patted my heart to let him know she would love it when it was finished.

Shrugging humbly, he carefully folded the necklace and set it next to him. Swiftly, his hand came up to touch his breastbone and then pointed to me. When he met my eye to see my reaction, I hid my grin by bashfully nuzzling the side of his chest. The arm he had draped around my shoulders briefly embraced me and his hooks lightly raked my arm. Eventually, both our gazes settled on the tangled nest of strawberry blonde, sticking from of a pile of rabbit fur blankets.

I know he loved me, but did he love Riley, too? Or Amy? I wanted to ask, but I was afraid his response might be too complex for gestures. I think he did love them in a way and I don't think I wanted to hear it. Would he want to know I loved both him and Riley? Actually, I think he already did know it and I lifted my head with an unexpected thought. He looked down at me with a questioning tilt.

"You chose her for me, didn't you?" I whispered.

Pratt blinked at me.

I leaned back into him, pressing the side of my face into the hair of his chest. "You must be able to smell something in our chemistry. Our pheromones or something. Something that...matches. Or maybe even something that doesn't match. I haven't figured that out, yet. In either case, you knew we would be attracted to each other and that's why you picked her. You didn't choose her for yourself. You chose her for me."

I raised my head and he grinned at me without understanding, his golden eyes glittering with oblivious happiness. I think he just liked listening to the sound of my voice, especially when I got dreamy and long-winded like this. It was easy to speak out loud a stream of consciousness knowing my opinions couldn't be judged.

Thinking of something else, my eye sharpened on him. "Did you pick me for Amy, then?"

His jovial expression didn't change.

"Because I don't think Amy liked me very much. So...does that mean you picked me for you?"

Crouching down a bit, he licked the side of my temple twice.

I sighed. "I guess it's not a perfect science." I lifted the cup to my lips and finished off the water. Grimacing, I peered into the bottom. "This batch is a little bitter."

Pratt divested me of the cup and nudged me with his elbow to get my focus. His arms shot out in front of him, palms facing out, and he waited with a mockingly arrogant raise of his nose. It took me a moment to know what he was doing, but when I realized it I began to mimic him.

Before Riley arrived, I had showed Pratt a magic trick, but I never showed him how it was done. Since then I sometimes caught him reenacting the trick on his own, trying to figure it out. I imitated his movements until the moment of truth, the trick's pivotal point, and with practiced insouciance he reached over to adjust my arms, lowering them an inch.

I grinned warily at him. He was looking askance to me, smug, sneaky.

The secret to the trick was in the casual correction, the misdirection; when he grasped his hands together again it was in a much different way. Deliberately, he rotated his fastened hands so that the thumbs pointed up and separated his hands with a whimsical flutter of his fingers. The illusion was the equivalent of turning your head all the way around, only with your wrists.

I proudly bumped my shoulder into his side, nodding emphatically to acknowledge his triumph. "You figured it out."

Pulling me against him affectionately, he held me with both arms and an odd contentment settled over us like a warm quilt. I felt peculiarly complete, like something had concluded between us, as if we had finally learned all we could from each other.

I sat with him for a long time, until I felt sleep dragging on me. I let myself close my eyes and drift off for another nap that lasted most of the afternoon. When I awoke, Riley was in her chains and Pratt was serving her share of water.

Riley noticed me stretching. "How's your foot?"

It freaking killed. "Better," I said and forced a smile.

I awakened several more times throughout the day. Each time, Pratt's location in the cave was different, but it felt like no time had passed in between, like flipping through a stack of picture stills. Once, he was staring at the fire as he sat by it, another time I found him standing by the bed glowering at me in serious thought. I think one time he was tinkering around his dark alcove. Sometimes Riley was awake, sometimes she was asleep.

I finally woke again with Pratt behind me, his large hand cupped around my chest, his thumb absently running over one stiff nipple. I was still drugged with that ultra-groggy feeling of getting too much sleep, but it felt extremely good to stretch out, arching my backside against him with his hands on me. His nose skipped down my shoulder, inhaling me.

"You've been sleeping a lot today," Riley said from her chains, tone dropping into that objective voice of a future doctor. "Are you sure you're feeling okay? Do you have a fever?"

"I feel fine. A little groggy, I guess."

She nodded, but I could still see the worried strain in her face.

Pratt jumped up to get more water.

"I think he's starting to get it," Riley said, her eyes flicking over to him.

I propped up on my hand. "Who? Pratt?"

"He hasn't left your side in hours. He's worried about you. He just strokes your hair and watches you sleep."

"Didn't he go hunting?"

"Not yet." Her chains rattled as she adjusted, sitting up. "I think he's afraid to leave you."

Kneeling down, Pratt handed me a cup of water. I was feeling thirsty, but I made sure to leave half for Riley and handed it back. He urged me to keep drinking. The bitter aftertaste was still there, I noted, and it reminded me of something Riley told me in the menstruation room. She told me Pratt had given her something to make her sleepy. Was that why I was sleeping the day away? Perhaps Pratt thought sleep was some kind of cure-all. If I wasn't so weary, I'd be angrier with his all-natural roofie.

When I was done drinking, he got to his feet and reached down for my hand. Riley was right about Pratt: he did seem worried, the intense way he stared at me without blinking.

I favored my right foot as I got up. I found if I walked on the outside of my foot I didn't have to limp too much and Pratt helped me keep steady by holding my hand.

"Try to keep your toe elevated in there," Riley warned from her chains. "That giant litter box we use as a bathroom is a cesspool."

I smiled. "I'll try."

We entered the tunnel and Pratt spun around to face me at the fork. His eyes were on fire as he glared at me, imploring that I make my choice again, now. He seemed more torn than usual, glancing fretfully down at my inflamed foot. I think part of him wanted me to choose to leave. He was afraid for me and he knew he didn't have the resources to help me.

Shooting him an irritated look, I didn't hesitate as I headed down the right tunnel. My infection would clear up on its own. Pratt had the right idea; all I needed was a little extra rest.

I heard Pratt's quick exhale and I don't think it sounded like one of relief. He followed me into the next cavern and I started to head over to the bucket where I usually did my business, but my vision started to cloud and my balance faltered.

"Whoa," I said and reached out for Pratt. He caught me from behind to hold me stable. "I think you gave me too much sleepy-juice that time."

Taking another step in the right direction, I felt my body tipping again, my bleary eyes struggling to focus, my head woozy and full of helium, but I felt secure as Pratt wrapped his arms around me and guided me down to the floor. As I fought to straighten my bearings, Pratt cradled me on the inside of his arm, gazing down at me. His eyes sadly gleamed.

"Hey, I'm going to be okay," I said and tried to reach up to touch his face, but my limbs felt heavy, strapped down with concrete bricks...

...and that's when I realized his overdose had been intentional.

"Pratt," I croaked. "Pratt, no..."

Whining in response, his hand trembled as he ran his nails through my hair. There was a muscle in his jaw that flexed continuously and he took sporadic sips of air through his nose. Behind him, the room was spinning and I felt sick.

"Please, I'm not ready..." I choked. There was a hardness growing in my throat and my eyes distorted over with tears. "I have to say goodbye to her...to you. I can't...I can't let our last conversation be about cesspools!"

But he comprehended none of my words. I could feel everything slipping away quickly, tenebrous shadows looming in the edges of my vision. He turned his head away to wipe an errant tear. He looked back at me. I fought to memorize his face. But everything was fading so fast, it was like looking at him underwater, wavy and nebulous. The vague outline of his wild hair, the dark, bottomless pits of his eyes, the shadowing of his face hair...this was not how I wanted to remember him!

And he just kept rocking, rocking, rocking.

Until I floated away.

*

There were a few instances of consciousness that I can still remember. The scratchy inside of a sweater dragging over my face. Looking down at Pratt's bare feet, trudging through sun dappled, autumn leaves. Brushing bits of hard asphalt from the side of my face...

But when the last of Pratt's magic water left my system, the world, bright and white, filled in slowly around me, a gradual focus. Daylight hurt my eyes, but it was the cold wet nose that prodded me to open them. I found myself staring up two shiny black nostrils, snorting huffs of air on me.

"Ugh, you again," I said. My throat was so dry it hurt.

The nose withdrew and the golden retriever it was attached to lifted his ears at me and sat down. His tail thumped eagerly against carpeting.

At least I was off the road. I moved my squinty eyes, processing large sunny windows, maple carpentry, and the forest green upholstery underneath me, covered in blonde dog hair. Stifling under a faded patchwork quilt, I threw it off me like a disease and leaned up on my elbow. The wood slab coffee table in front of me was concealed in open newspapers, junk mail and two half-drunk cups of cold coffee and the sage accent rug was littered with crumpled white men's socks and shredded chew toys. The flat screen TV on the wall seemed too big for the room and I swear the monstrous black woodstove in the corner was radiating the flames of hell from its vents. Add that to the clothes I was suffocating in and already a light sheen of greasy sweat was developing under my arms.

The dog's ears suddenly flattened and his tail quickened, looking adoringly up at someone entering the room behind me.

"You're up," said a man, circling around with a sense of urgency. He was carrying a black roasting pan with both hands and a spa green bath towel was draped over one shoulder. His jeans were soft and worn, especially at the knees, with a splatter of white paint dried at the ankles. As he set the pan on the floor, I could see the sleeves of his blue flannel shirt were rolled up his hairy forearms and the front was open, revealing a gray tee-shirt with some black writing on it. His physique was mildly husky and a week's worth of brown whiskers raggedly covered his cheeks and neck. He started to spread the towel out in front of the couch I was lying on. "Bucky, move."

The golden retriever obediently backed up just enough to be out of the way.

Through tufts of dark brown hair, his bright green eyes flicked up from his task to briefly meet mine. "I'm Jack," he said and tipped his head sideways toward the dog. "That's Bucky."

I answered with a sharp inhale, my rescue dream swimming up in my mind's eye. Jack wasn't exactly like the helpful man in my dream, but the eyes were dead on.

"Your foot hurt?"

"Huh?"

He nodded down at my feet. "Looks like it hurts. Did you step on something in the woods?"

I glanced down at my bare foot and my angry big toe. "Yeah. I mean, no."

"Which is it?" His green eyes scanned me, curiously concerned.

"I think something got in my shoe. It bit me. Where am I?"

"About three miles west of Highway 135."

"Ugh," I groaned, running a hand through my hair. "It's too early for cardinal directions."

He chuckled. "Not far from Kugler. Bucky, stop!"

Bucky suddenly quit sniffing a spot on my jeans and looked guiltily up at Jack.

"Can you sit up?" Jack asked me, moving the roasting pan to the towel he just laid down. "Dip your foot in here. Let me know if it's too hot."

I scooted upright and swiveled forward, lifting the cuff of my jeans as far as it would go. The water was pleasantly hot and as my foot settled, some pinkish-gray sediment roiled up. "What's in it?"

"Baby detergent," he said. He cleared a spot off the coffee table and sat on the corner of it.

"Oh." I looked around the cabin for signs of a baby. A bib, a nookie. Something. "You have one?"

"What? A baby?" He gave me an odd look. "No. It's just good for infections."

I nodded, noticing Jack's concern deepen as he lowered his gaze to my front.

"Your shirt's on inside out. Backwards, too."

I looked down, the care tag of my sweater sticking out at the base of my throat. "It's how the kids are wearing them now."

He snorted a laugh. "Are they even yours?"

"Of course they are. Why do you ask?"

"They're way too big for you."

They were looser, I realized, thanks to the 38 day Cave Cleanse. I shrugged in a noncommittal way and thankfully Jack didn't ask any more questions about it.

Instead, he thought of something and jumped to his feet. "Be right back."

Bucky stayed and looked at me sideways, trying his best to be obedient.

Unable to stand the heat anymore, I removed my jacket, a navy blue windbreaker I had been wearing on my way home about 40 days ago, and as I did I noticed Amy's bird-foot ring on my pinky. Feeling a strange, watery sort of déjà vu, I remembered my rabbit tooth bracelet, and I dug under both cuffs of my sweater to find it was still on my right wrist.

Glancing over my shoulder to the hall, I hurried to lift the bottom ribbing of my sweater up over my head to turn it right side out. I also noted I wasn't wearing a bra, but I didn't blame Pratt for omitting that baffling undergarment.

I thought the sweater seemed scratchier than I remembered, but it might have been because it was inside out. The break from the extreme heat was definitely welcome and I considered leaving the sweater off, until I remembered I was in the real world now where things like that didn't swing. I wriggled into the bulky pullover the right way and as I smoothed it, I dared another look to the hall behind me, where Jack was standing.

He looked like he'd been stopped, but now he hustled into the room, keeping his eyes averted from mine. Above his scruffy stubble, his cheeks were stained pink and his neck was flushed as a rash. Maybe I wasn't as quick at redressing as I thought I was.

Jack said, "I think he smells your dog."

I had discarded my jacket to the couch cushion beside me and Bucky was eagerly taking in all the new scents it offered, but recoiled abruptly when he found a smell he didn't like. He eased back in warily to continue sniffing.