Nervous, I felt the friendly expression crinkle back into something far less welcoming, matching his reaction.
“That’s good,” he replied, shaking his head once before returning to his firewood duty.
“I…I’m sorry for how I treated you before. I was a little…harsh when I should’ve been thanking you profusely for saving my ass,” I insisted, trying again to garner some information from him.
“Don’t worry about it,” the man insisted, seeming to be purposefully reserved. He didn’t look back at me as he spoke and even moved closer to the other side of the cabin when I spoke to him, as though he was trying to keep his distance. “You’ve been through Hell. I can’t imagine the shit that must be going through your mind. And, to wake up here…” He shook his head again, seeming genuine in what he was saying but kept by how he spoke and what his reactions looked like.
I was confused at this and I wondered if I had said or done anything that had caused him to feel particularly uncomfortable.
However, I didn’t want to bring it up, because I was sure that wouldn’t help anything. So, instead, I tried to garner information in a more blatant fashion.
“Well, thank you. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you there.”
“Don’t mention it,” he huffed, chancing a look in my direction, and speaking with an unnecessary amount of seriousness, “Seriously. Don’t. It’s no big deal.”
Afterward, he looked away again, giving me the impression that he didn’t want to speak anymore.
Even though I wanted to know more about him and I was determined to get something useful out of this conversation, I didn’t push him for further information for a while.
He finished with the firewood and went into the closet, bringing out a First Aid bag.
When he came into my field of vision, I was finally able to focus on him.
The man before me was tall and striking, though his massive amount of hair dulled that appearance slightly. His beard was so long, it covered his chest and his hair was shoulder length. The brown hair was curly and straggly, but it didn’t look dirty. In fact, the hair seemed to suit him, making him look older than the early thirties, I estimated his actual age to be. His skin was tan, thoroughly baked by the intense sun and the mountain elements, but the weathered look only added to his allure. His eyes, however, were a piercing emerald, which stood out starkly from the rest of his face. While morose and serious, his eyes were the only part of him that looked his age. Despite their expression, dimmed by whatever issues had made him live out here in the first place, the youthful light refused to be doused.
This
realization made me feel slightly more comfortable with him.
His clothes were torn, but not completely dirty. His jeans were worn, and his shirt looked like it was meant to fit a man without such a defining muscular build, which made me wonder exactly how long he had been here.
Still, despite the disheveled appearance, the roughness of his appearance intrigued me.
I found that I was instantly attracted to him, though I tried to blame it on the dream. Surely, my mind was playing tricks on me.
“I need to check your head, is that okay?” He asked, nearing me with caution, almost as though he feared I was going to bite him. His voice was gruff and hardened, as though he wasn’t used to speaking so much, but he didn’t sound nearly as angry as he had before.
“Yes…I mean, you don’t have to, but thank you,” I replied, trying to figure out exactly what this guy’s angle was. Obviously, he was out here alone, but since he seemed to be doing his best to take care of me, I wasn’t afraid of him. I couldn’t justify why he would be putting all this effort into helping me heal if he was another psycho with ill intentions.
Since you aren’t a psycho, you wouldn’t know that. I thought to myself but was drawn away from my thoughts by the sound of him snickering.
“You wouldn’t say that if you saw it,” he answered snidely.
I felt my stomach topple over, thinking of all the terrible things that could’ve happened.
Was I horribly mangled? Did the man who attack me hack my brains out with a rock? Do I still have a skull?
Maybe that’s why he doesn’t want to talk to me. Maybe I’m too ugly to look at…
While I was still out of it enough to have all of these strange thoughts, I thankfully, was not crazy enough to actually say anything I was thinking.
Instead, I mumbled, “Is it really that bad?”
The man stopped to study my face, which I could tell was drained of all its color, but he seemed slightly amused at this.
“Oh, it’s not that bad. You still have a head…”
The man sat the First Aid kit on the table next to the bed and opened the box. He pulled out a small mirror and handed it to me.