I’m still on the run for kidnapping and robbery. If I did let her leave, she’d surely bring the police or whoever else back here to get me.
I can’t go to jail. I’ll die before I do. I might have turned into a street-wise drug addict, but it doesn’t mean I want to fuck with the type of people who go to prison.
They have no idea where we are. No one could have looked at those tapes before we made it here. They wouldn’t have even been looking yet. I destroyed her phone, we didn’t use any credit cards or stop anywhere. Camp Marsh is closed up for the winter, no one will be back here for at least six months. That is enough time to formulate a plan.
* * *
I don’t see Char for the rest of the day. I don’t seek her out and she doesn’t come to me. By the time I make my way to the mess hall to try and choke down some crackers, there is no sign of her.
I manage to eat a whole piece of bread and gulp down some water, and thank God my stomach doesn’t reject them. My body still aches and my stomach feels like I’m on a Tilt-a-Whirl even when I lay down, but I feel better than I’ve felt in years.
Nothing is dulled, I can actually see and feel the things around me without a hazy curtain floating in front of it all. And while that might lead to more hurt and pain, it also leads to more joy and opportunity. I’ve been using drugs for more than three years, and in all that time I’ve never really felt anything.
Not that I’m not still craving. Fuck, if you put even a speck of heroin in front of me right now I would latch onto it like someone about to fall off a cliff. You can’t go three years shooting up and two days sober and just be cured. But I don’t really have a choice right now. My drugs are gone. I’m stuck here. I’ll have to deal with it.
It’s pitch black by the time I get back to my cabin, the cold air seeping in through the tiny cracks in the wood. It was only going to get colder out here in the mountains.
I wonder if Charlotte has a blanket?
I glance to the mattresses on the ground, ones I assume she put there last night. And the pile of flimsy blankets and an old sleeping bag. She probably left them all here for me, while she sleeps with nothing.
Grabbing the heaviest of the three, the sleeping bag, I heft it under my arm and walk to her cabin.
“Char?” I knock once before letting myself in. “Oh shit … sorry.”
Charlotte’s naked back is to me, the only thing on her slim figure is the baggy sweatpants she’s been wearing since she found them. Her hair is wet and hanging down her back in a thick, straight mass. I trace the lines of her sides down to her waist and can’t seem to tear my eyes away.
“Oh my God, Tucker, what are you doing?!”
I turn around fast, preserving whatever decency still exists in this situation. “Sorry, I was bringing you the sleeping bag. I thought you might be cold.”
“Oh.” I think I hear a touching note in her voice. “Well … thanks.”
“Yep.” I drop the sleeping bag next to the door and go to leave. Except her voice stops me.
“What is the plan here, Tucker?”
Jeez, she always could read my mind. “I can’t let you leave, Charlotte.”
Her words are quiet. “I know.”
“I’m not going to hurt you, but I can’t let you leave.”
When I turn back around she’s put her shirt on, to my cock’s disappointment. She only nods.
I’m not sure what else to say to her.
“Tucker … the drugs …”
I sigh, because I know she’s trying to ask me the same question she asked last night. “What about them, Char?”
She sees the opening I’ve given her and takes it. “How long have you been using?”
“Three or so years.”
Her expression changes into one of shock. “Ever since …”
“Yes. Since the injury.”
“And is it because of the pain? Because of your knee?”
She’s referring to my left knee. The one I shattered and tore and broke. The one that was beyond repair, murdering my dreams. “At first.
I can’t go to jail. I’ll die before I do. I might have turned into a street-wise drug addict, but it doesn’t mean I want to fuck with the type of people who go to prison.
They have no idea where we are. No one could have looked at those tapes before we made it here. They wouldn’t have even been looking yet. I destroyed her phone, we didn’t use any credit cards or stop anywhere. Camp Marsh is closed up for the winter, no one will be back here for at least six months. That is enough time to formulate a plan.
* * *
I don’t see Char for the rest of the day. I don’t seek her out and she doesn’t come to me. By the time I make my way to the mess hall to try and choke down some crackers, there is no sign of her.
I manage to eat a whole piece of bread and gulp down some water, and thank God my stomach doesn’t reject them. My body still aches and my stomach feels like I’m on a Tilt-a-Whirl even when I lay down, but I feel better than I’ve felt in years.
Nothing is dulled, I can actually see and feel the things around me without a hazy curtain floating in front of it all. And while that might lead to more hurt and pain, it also leads to more joy and opportunity. I’ve been using drugs for more than three years, and in all that time I’ve never really felt anything.
Not that I’m not still craving. Fuck, if you put even a speck of heroin in front of me right now I would latch onto it like someone about to fall off a cliff. You can’t go three years shooting up and two days sober and just be cured. But I don’t really have a choice right now. My drugs are gone. I’m stuck here. I’ll have to deal with it.
It’s pitch black by the time I get back to my cabin, the cold air seeping in through the tiny cracks in the wood. It was only going to get colder out here in the mountains.
I wonder if Charlotte has a blanket?
I glance to the mattresses on the ground, ones I assume she put there last night. And the pile of flimsy blankets and an old sleeping bag. She probably left them all here for me, while she sleeps with nothing.
Grabbing the heaviest of the three, the sleeping bag, I heft it under my arm and walk to her cabin.
“Char?” I knock once before letting myself in. “Oh shit … sorry.”
Charlotte’s naked back is to me, the only thing on her slim figure is the baggy sweatpants she’s been wearing since she found them. Her hair is wet and hanging down her back in a thick, straight mass. I trace the lines of her sides down to her waist and can’t seem to tear my eyes away.
“Oh my God, Tucker, what are you doing?!”
I turn around fast, preserving whatever decency still exists in this situation. “Sorry, I was bringing you the sleeping bag. I thought you might be cold.”
“Oh.” I think I hear a touching note in her voice. “Well … thanks.”
“Yep.” I drop the sleeping bag next to the door and go to leave. Except her voice stops me.
“What is the plan here, Tucker?”
Jeez, she always could read my mind. “I can’t let you leave, Charlotte.”
Her words are quiet. “I know.”
“I’m not going to hurt you, but I can’t let you leave.”
When I turn back around she’s put her shirt on, to my cock’s disappointment. She only nods.
I’m not sure what else to say to her.
“Tucker … the drugs …”
I sigh, because I know she’s trying to ask me the same question she asked last night. “What about them, Char?”
She sees the opening I’ve given her and takes it. “How long have you been using?”
“Three or so years.”
Her expression changes into one of shock. “Ever since …”
“Yes. Since the injury.”
“And is it because of the pain? Because of your knee?”
She’s referring to my left knee. The one I shattered and tore and broke. The one that was beyond repair, murdering my dreams. “At first.
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