Page 9 of No Strings

Shane, Beau and Davis come running in.

“Morgan, hey, fuck. hey it’s me, Rhys.” I pat my chest. “Rhys.”

Her scared eyes settle on me and as soon as they do they go from scared to ablaze with the same fire that she was always aiming in my direction when we were younger. And oddly I’m proud that it seems to still be there.

“I know who you are you fucker, you scared me.” She throws a pillow at me.

“Just letting you know dinner is ready.” I shrug, turn on my heel, giving her my back and part my way through the three men standing in the doorway. Shane looks pained, while Davis and Beau look amused.

“Hey, I’m Beau, and this dickhead is Davis.” Their voices fade as I walk away.

“Morgan.”

Chapter Two

MORGAN

Dinner is uneventful. I met Beau and Davis. They seem like a couple of idiots, but they’re alright. Then the owner Brent, and his daughter Molly. It’s sad really, Brent took over the station for his dad, married his high school sweetheart, Shelly. They had Molly, and when Molly was two, Shelly passed away. I didn’t ask how, just listened to him explain how it’s been just him and Molly for the last three years.

Single dad, while running a half million-acre cattle station and managing these morons. Which would be a full-time job on its own. He said they get a lot of backpackers who need work to maintain their visa, so that helps with the work load. He seems really nice, but I’ve been wrong before.

Every time someone moved too quickly around me, I flinched, and it didn’t go unnoticed. Shane almost hit Beau, who tried to poke fun at the situation. Rhys actually did smack him up the side of the head when he pointed out the bruising.

Davis didn’t say much. He did look at me, a lot. He seemed pained every time he did.

I met the couple that help run the caravan park; Dani and Miles; and a couple of the backpackers, but Rhys said they constantly change.

There’s a few other people. Cook who does, well, the cooking, and Shirly, who does all the cleaning. And if you ask me there’s a little something something going on between those two.

Rhys mentioned they’re getting a tour bus tomorrow. There will be a mix of backpackers and as they call them city slickers. Something I am now I guess, or used to be? Beau and Davis light up about that. Rhys told Shane he’d get him laid, and because the last thing I want to think about is my brother and his dick, I called it a night.

So here I am laying in my bed, looking up at the roof. Unlike the day, the night is bloody cold. Desert things, I guess.

I don’t have phone reception, which is fine because I don’t really have anyone to be in contact with. Ethan did a good fucking job isolating me from everyone.

How did I not see any of this? Even now, I’m still noticing the things he did. Controlling prick.

I can’t sleep, and even if I wanted to, it would all be plagued by Ethan’s harsh hands and words. They were just words and words mean nothing. I laugh to myself. If they were just words, why are they constantly in a loop taunting me?

Getting up to sit at the desk, I open to a random page and decide to write all the things Ethan once said to me. As the pencil glides over the paper, it quickly fills.

You’re not good enough.

Useless.

Just a warm hole for my cock.

You’re so ugly.

You can’t do anything right.

You don’t deserve to be happy.

You’re so predictable.

And my favourite,I love when you think you can fight back, whore.

I continue to write. Maybe this will bring some peace and be cathartic or whatever.