Paradise Forbidden Read online

  But Zeus has already written him off, already thrown him to the wolves. I mean, for God’s sake, he stole the man’s bag!

  Are possessions more important than human lives these days? And if so, why did he even bother saving me?

  All of this only seems to justify my recent behavior. I may be turning into a bitch, but it’s one hundred percent warranted.

  Letting people in is a mistake. I’ve been burned almost every time that I have.

  Just when you think you’ve discovered something good, you have to go back to the drawing board and try again.

  I look up at the darkening sky (what little I can see through the trees, at least) and I realize that I may never see another sunset again if we don’t bunker down for the night.

  My own thoughts are reflected back to me when a voice suddenly speaks up. “We need to set up camp before nightfall.” It’s Zeus. He’s right behind me, his voice low and gruff.

  I know he’s right… about everything; it just pisses me off that he is. I don’t trust him.

  I turn my head towards him, muttering “Fine,” contemplating my options. How will we set up anything suitable to last us through the night?

  Despite my foul mood, we convene immediately, deciding to wander in search of a place to bed down.

  When we find a relatively flat clearing, we crouch over the patchy grass, emptying out the contents of our bags.

  Zeus’s bag is barely wet inside. Mine? Soaked.

  My suitcase is gone: went down with our “ship.”

  My backpack? Sunscreen, a pair of shades, some medical supplies and pain relievers (Score), an extra t-shirt (Even more of a score), water bottle, pepper spray, my agenda (That stays in the bag), some cereal bars and bananas, headphones, lip balm and more useless stuff.

  Zeus’s bag? An even better jackpot. A pop-up tent, a flashlight, a sleeping bag, flare gun, a giant bag of Trail Mix, water bottle, some extra clothes, matches, bandages and salves, utility knife, a clear bag of toiletries, and a small map of Tennessee (YES!).

  Thank God for the map; mine is at the bottom of the lake.

  And just when I think we’ve hit our good-luck threshold with our remaining possessions, we wind up uncovering the MOTHERLOAD.

  The driver’s red knapsack is chock full of plastic-wrapped oatmeal crème pies and candy bars. Kit Kats. Hershey’s. And my absolute favorite: Snickers.

  And despite the loss of everything (including our drenched cell phones), I feel a smirk start to emerge. All is not lost.

  But what do I know? I never thought I’d make it this far in the first place.

  ***

  Him

  I watch my icy girl’s eyes light up at the sight of the candy. Her hair is wet and her cheeks are flushed as she gazes at the hidden stash.

  As dire as our situation is, I can’t help but to smile at her expression. I keep my head down so as not to flash it in her direction. She didn’t like it when I smiled at her the first time. She’ll probably hate it more now. Now that she’s pegged me as this callous son-of-a-bitch.

  Her concern over the well-being of our foregone-driver stunned me a bit. For as prickly as this girl may seem, she was surprisingly altruistic regarding a complete stranger – to the point of risking her own life.

  There’s more than meets the eye with her. Of that, I am sure.

  I look up and around us. The darkness is deepening. Our evening is over.

  I hesitate before saying the next words. Lord knows how she will take them.

  “I’ll unpack the tent now. The flashlight didn’t get very wet; it still works.” I take a deep breath. “You can use it while you remove your wet clothes.”

  I hear her drop her bag. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” she says, deadpan.

  “No, I’m not. Our clothes are saturated and the temperature is dropping. It’s April, not August. The temperature in these Tennessee forests can drop to near freezing at night in the spring. We could get seriously ill if we keep them on.”

  She huffs soundly beside me as I unpack my bag. From the corner of my eye, I watch her rise from her squat and kick the bag near her feet with a muffled crunch.

  She sighs. “Let’s just get our things together first, and then we’ll come to that part later.”

  “Fine,” I grumble, not pushing the conversation further.

  We work in silence for the next hour and a half. I shine the utility flashlight intermittently so that we can see as we set up the tent, remove the sleeping bag, wrap our food up to hang from a nearby tree and arrange the rest of our belongings in readily available spots.

  I keep the light on when we finally stop and sit down to munch on the bananas in the icy girl’s backpack. She finally handed one over when I convinced her that they were the most perishable items we had.

  I can almost hear the wheels turning in her head, as I am sure that she can nearly hear mine. I think of the day’s events, our luck. I wonder how far we are from the nearest highway, how long it will take to get there, where the closest sign of other people may be. Last I saw, we were heading into bum-fuck.

  Now? We’re in bum-fucker, and I don’t know how far we’ll have to travel to see some actual forms of human life.

  I sneak a peek at the icy girl. She sits cross-legged in the dirt, staring absent-mindedly as she nibbles. She closes her eyes… and I feel a “hush” permeate the space.

  It’s like the birds have stopped chirping and the forest has gone still. A church-like cloak has fallen, covering us with a confessional-like silence that fills the air. I’m waiting with anticipation… though, I’m not quite sure what I expect next…

  Suddenly words pervade the dark. A confession, coincidentally.

  “No one knows I’m here,” the icy girl reveals. Her voice is hollow: lifeless. It falls with a thud on my hypersensitive ears, shocking me, inciting a flutter deep down in my gut: a flutter that feels strangely like fear.

  And to make matters worse, there are two confessions to be made, not one. “No one knows I’m here,” I say, and I watch the girl shudder, an involuntary action that I know all too well at the moment. My own shiver ripples ominously down my spine.

  My next thoughts are too dangerous to be shared with the girl: too forbidden, too ominous to even speak aloud. Will anyone find us? Will anyone even come looking?

  On the bus, the thought of anonymity flooded me with excitement. Now? It fills me with a dread that I’ve never known.

  Then I remember. The bus. The driver. They had their own destinations. People awaiting their arrival. People who will miss them if they don’t show. Unlike the girl and me….

  I squelch the needling thought. The bright side of this: all is not lost. We’ve got food. We’ve got shelter. We’ve got me. I’m no slouch at toughing it in the wild, but then…

  My mood suddenly spirals downward.

  One… Our driver went off the reservation: literally. He abandoned the “tried and true” route, taking us further into the Tennessee woods than any passenger bus should ever go. Who knows how far off course we’ve gone? We could be anywhere.

  Two… We’re taking too long to perform even menial tasks, and we both hurt so badly that we have to rest just doing those.

  Add to that, the frigid detachment between the girl and I, and we’re looking at dealing with what I’m sure will be the longest, most arduous trip of both of our lives. Our journey back to civilization won’t be an easy one: not by a long shot.

  I trash the peels, glancing towards the icy girl. She is so tired that she is swaying, her eyelids heavy over her baby blues.

  I tap on her knee for her attention and her eyes shoot open: wary.

  “You can get in the tent first,” I say, carefully. “There’s a branch where you can hang your, um… materials. And the bedroll’s all yours. I’ve got extra clothes.”

  She rubs at her eyes like a small child fighting sleep and again, I want to laugh at her goddamned adorableness. These spontaneous snippets of sincerity only draw me furthe
r into her, but I remind myself…

  She wants nothing to do with me… with anyone, it seems.

  It’s not my job to solve her, but I will do my best to save her. Save us.

  She speaks up after several seconds, exhaling loudly.

  “Look, I want to get a couple of things out of the way first before I start… disrobing and all of that,” she states, tucking long locks of brown hair behind her ears.

  “We don’t know anything about each other so before we share a tent and sleep in closer quarters than I’ve probably ever slept next to anyone since… like, my fourth grade slumber party… I think we should at least know each other’s names.”

  “Ok, princess,” I practically snarl. “You go, first.”

  Straight-faced, she extends a hand out to me.

  “I’m Kat. Kat Lexington.”

  My breath catches in my throat. I cough involuntarily. I literally have to tell myself to breathe before I inhale again.

  This can’t be a coincidence. There’s just no way…

  Seconds pass before I realize that I’ve made no move to shake her offered hand. I then grab it, squeezing it firmly before retracting my own.

  “Trevor,” I say. “Trevor Cassidy.” She nods knowingly, perhaps considering the name I’ve just given her.

  I pause, taking a brief moment with my own deliberations. I debate myself about my next step, though I know, deep down, what it will be. I can’t stop myself.

  As if I needed another blow to the gut, I ask the question: the question that I’m almost positively certain I already know the answer to.

  “Kat… is it? Ok, Kat, so tell me… Kat is short for… ?” I let the question linger, prompting her to finish.

  She grins slightly, letting the expression drop as abruptly as it appeared.

  “Katarina.”

  The hit to my abdomen is swift; I almost recoil from the force. Just the one word coming off of her lips is like a physical thwack. And even though I expect it, the punch is still shocking, still intense.

  But I know how to take a punch; I’ve taken a few in my day. I recover quickly.

  “Well… Kat. Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way, I’ll just… turn my back over here while you get settled. Don’t forget the sleeping bag.”

  I stand up from my crouching position and walk thirty feet away. My back is now to Kat, and I can tell that she’s waiting until I’m far off.

  Finally, I hear the thud of sneakers as she drops her running shoes, the small jingle of her jeans, the slight swoosh of her shirt.

  Even with my mind racing, jumping, skipping, I hear everything. I clench and unclench my fists to focus on something else, to keep my brain from going nuts.

  Then I hear the zip of the tent’s “door” as she opens it up, hopping inside. She closes it behind her.

  I immediately start taking off my own wet clothes and shoes, replacing them with the thermals that I’ve kept in the bag. I swing my wet items over a close branch, rubbing the thermal’s sleeves to warm myself. I grab another t-shirt from the bag, slipping it on, as I make my way over to the tent.

  I grab the lit flashlight with one hand, while reaching for the tent’s zipper.

  I balk before opening it, but I have no choice.

  Once inside, I see Kat underneath the alpine sleeper, her body wrapped like a cocoon. The blue material is pulled all the way to her chin and she’s facing the wall of the tent as if her life depended on it.

  Every piece of her body is jutting towards the exterior, the same way she appeared near the bus window. She’s closing herself off, intentionally building this wall between herself and anyone that may come near.

  Her body language is undeniably blunt: Don’t cross this boundary.

  I hear it loud and clear.

  I close the tent with a sweeping motion and move to the other side of the space. I lay down, facing the other wall in the same manner. I’m still gripping the light and I warn Kat before I extinguish it.

  As I shift on the floor, her voice startles me, inciting me to perk my ears.

  I’m not quite sure I hear correctly, so I ask her to repeat herself and, when she does, I am stunned.

  “Thank you,” she says softly. She never moves.

  I’m barely breathing. “For what?”

  “For everything.”

  I want to turn to her, but I don’t. My body’s locked in place, and my mouth can’t form the words. My response is barely a grunt… if that.

  Dropping the flashlight, I tighten the grip on my utility knife.

  And then, to sleep… I succumb.

  Trevor

  Sleep doesn’t appear to last long. I’m uncomfortable. My arm is killing me. I don’t know how much time has passed, but I know it’s not close to morning.

  I passed out because of exhaustion. I woke up because of exhilaration.

  It’s not that I’m… happy. More like high.

  My body is on pins and needles. My thoughts are little Mexican jumping beans, and my heart is hopping rowdily just to match their rhythm.

  I can’t get Kat out of my head. I lie as stiff as a board, thinking.

  It’s her. Her.

  How the fuck did this happen? What are the fucking chances?

  I should have asked to see a picture. Should have demanded to see a picture. I never knew. I didn’t even guess that she’d… look like that.

  What the hell is she doing here?!

  I tell myself to calm down.

  Calm. The. Fuck. Down… Trevor.

  But I can’t.

  Every part of me is aware of her presence in the tent; my every nerve ending is on high alert.

  I move when she moves, sigh when she sighs.

  If I thought that I was captivated by this girl before, I was wrong. Our small introduction has me enthralled, and I’m wondering how I can maintain my cool from here on out.

  I almost need someone to blame. But who? Myself? Chris? God? Ridiculous.

  Go to sleep. Just go to sleep.

  I beg for a reprieve from my own mind, but that night… peace never finds me.

  ***

  When I wake up from the fifteen-minute nap I’ve squeezed in during the morning, Kat is gone. She’s outside of the tent, rustling through something or another.

  I trust that she’s not going to cut out on me. Take my shit and run.

  Or would she?

  I hop up quickly, throwing the flap door open. My steps crunch underfoot as I search for her.

  I find her facing the ground nearby, sunglasses on her face. She’s got her clothes back on, and she’s crouching over a map. My map.

  She looks up when I’m close enough, flipping waves of hair backward. I expect an excuse from her, but get nothing of the sort.

  “You look like shit,” she states brusquely, followed by a terser and smaller “sorry.”

  I start to grin at her candor when my initial issue reemerges.

  “What are you doing?” I ask plainly.

  “Looking over your map of Tennessee.”

  “And does it make any sense to you?”

  “I’m from Tennessee,” she scoffs.

  “What part?”

  “Memphis.”

  I snort. “That’s not Tennessee. Well, not this kind of Tennessee. Not the rough and tumble, wild kind of Tennessee.”

  She raises an eyebrow. “And are you familiar with this Tennessee?”

  I shrug. “Not particularly, but maybe close enough. I hope.”

  “Well, I know something, at least. We used to take field trips to eastern Tennessee when I was in my early teens. I know we’re close to some national parks.”

  I crouch beside her, taking a look at the map myself. She offers up her glasses, but I decline.

  “I’ve got my own. I’m ok.”

  “Well, aren’t you a regular Boy Scout,” she quips dryly.

  “Former camp counselor,” I smirk. “But close enough.” I concentrate harder, trying to pinpoint our location. If Damasc
us, Georgia was the last city I remember being in, then we may not be too far from… Or wait, was New Town the last? Where were we when I fell asleep? I thought that was it…

  I stand suddenly, my stomach growling.

  “I can’t concentrate like this. Let’s get some breakfast. And while we eat, we can try to combine my knowledge of this type of terrain with your familiarity with Tennessee. We’ll see if that’s enough to wing our way out of here.”

  I turn towards the bags, and when she follows, I stop.

  “Oh,” I continue. “And I look like shit because I got exactly zero sleep last night. A giant pile of dog shit isn’t how I normally appear in the morning.”

  A smile breaks on her face briefly before she covers it with her hair. When she uncovers her face, the smile is gone.

  “I figured,” she responds. “I was so exhausted that I just passed out. Wild animals could’ve assaulted us, and I probably still wouldn’t have woken. I was just taken aback by how tired you still looked. No offense.” She shakes her head, zipping her bag open.

  “None taken.” I unzip my own bag and break open the Trail Mix. “Don’t eat too much for this meal. We’re going to need to ration pretty quickly. We don’t know how long we’ll be out here.”

  “Hey, ease up there, cowboy. I don’t need instructions on how to eat my food.”

  “Maybe you do. Because both of us are pretty fucking hurt, and we don’t know the way back to any highways. Even if we did, we’d have to travel on that highway to the nearest phone. This could take days.”

  “Days? What?! No way. And besides, I’m not hurt that badly. Speak for your goddamned self,” she says, her voice rising as she tries to stand. She falters, reaching a hand out for balance.

  “Ok, so that limp you’ve got going on, that’s just your normal swagger? Because if it is, it’s real fucking cool, Pimp Kat Daddy.” It may seem like joking jabs, but my voice is dripping with derision.

  I’m not fucking amused; in fact, I’m getting pretty goddamn pissed. I know; I know that we’re both irritated: the accident, the lack of sleep. It’s wearing on us, but still…