Page 14 of Wild Life (STEAM-y #2)

Two Lost Souls; One Shared Memory

Maris

Spoiler alert: I didn’t find the beach.

As a matter of fact, I’d wound up in the same empty bed, completely naked.

Déjà vu all over again.

Except I knew exactly where I was. And I knew who had carried me there and cleaned the mud off my skin. And who had left me a tattered T-shirt that was about three sizes too large to wear instead of my wet, soiled clothes.

It had been the man who was sitting next to me, teaching me, the least crafty person ever, how to weave baskets.

I was never getting out of here. I was destined to stay and watch Mr. Silence complete an entire inspiration board of crafts without ever looking me in the eye again.

Last night had made him uncomfortable.

That made two of us.

Tension wasn’t new between us—we irritated the hell out of each other—but last night in the hut, with him naked in his bed and my heart bleeding out before him, that tension had gone to my head. I had almost done something that I would have regretted.

This had to stop. I couldn’t go around sleeping my way through beds to be whole. I was weak, and if I stayed here any longer, I would just cover up my issue with another Band-Aid instead of exposing it and allowing it to heal once and for all.

I needed to get home and fix my head. The first person I was calling when I set foot in Washington was a therapist because I was certifiably fucked up.

I tucked my legs under me, and the hem of my worn-out tan T-shirt flared out like a dress. My guess was that it had been white a long time ago. The screen print had nearly faded away, but I could still make out the block lettering that spelled out “Bob Marley and the Wailers.” At least it was a legendary artist, although I didn’t think Cryptid even knew who Bob Marley was.

Underwear was no longer necessary under such a billowy shirt. It only got in the way and chafed more than anything. Soggy, tight clothing wasn’t practical in this tropical environment. Plus, he was always staring at my boobs anyway, so modesty was pointless.

My craft tutor deposited the basket he had started onto my lap. Long, waxy leaf tails poked out of the circumference of the frame, made of dried straw-like twigs. He already had another one started for himself and lifted it for me to watch his method. His fingers worked more quickly than expected, catching leaf tails and weaving them over and under through the straw frame he had fashioned. He must have weaved hundreds of baskets to work as expertly as he did. His movements were far too skilled for me to follow. Or, rather, my mind was far too cluttered to pay attention.

I lifted a tail and stabbed it between the grates of straw, but the leaf bent, creating a kink I could no longer thread through. I tugged the tail, undoing the weave, and the leaf remained disfigured.

I can’t even thread a fucking leaf over and under. How could I survive here? I’m fucking helpless.

“Fuck!” I screamed, throwing the basket skeleton over the unlit fire pit, nearly hitting the pig, who was flopping on his back in a puddle of mud. He scrambled to his feet and let out a haughty snort at me, rivaling my scream.

“I can’t do this!” I clutched my head in my hands, bringing my knees to my chest as I huddled into a ball on my ass. Hot tears pricked at my vision. I rocked back and forth, anxiety bubbling to the surface and overflowing out of me as sobs.

Cryptid remained seated and placed his basket on the ground, watching me fall apart.

“I want to go home.” My voice shook and the tears poured out. I wanted my old life back… It had been far from perfect, but it had been mine. And the normalcy of it was the only thing that had kept me from flying off the deep end from my longing for affection.

Here, nothing was normal. Every smell, sight, and sound was new, constantly triggering my nervous system and overstimulating me. This place was driving me mad.

Cryptid rubbed circles on my back, his palm taking up a large surface area to radiate warmth through my shirt. His strokes were gentle and soothing, far from his tough exterior. I closed my eyes, falling into his surprising touch.

My sobs slowed after seemingly a lifetime, and still, he patiently waited them out with me. He didn’t have to console me. He could’ve just given me his infamous side-eye and grunt and trudged off in search of another jungle craft, but he had stayed and given me the space to pour out my frustration.

His hand left my back, and my spine rolled, as if searching for his tenderness again. Cryptid retrieved a basket that he’d already completed and filled it with random items like he was shopping at the grocery and checking off a mental list.

Slabs of firewood. Small rocks. Black rubber tubing.

Oh God, he’s going to make me build something else. I swear I will lose my shit if he makes me build a water fountain.

“Listen,” I said, my voice hoarse from crying, “as fascinating as I think it is that you’re a closet engineer, I’m not very crafty. I don’t think I’m the right person to be your intern.”

Unimpressed with my argument, he took my hand in his and pulled me to my feet, the basket tucked into his other arm. The pig scuffled on his hooves, excited to find out our next moves. And I was curious, too.

Gently, Cryptid guided me, his big hand swallowing mine. Our difference in size was complementary. I shifted, and he stilled my fidgeting, interlocking his fingers with mine.

I had never held hands like this with another person before. As a devout member of the anti-relationship religion, I had made it a point to never do so with anyone. It wasn’t because I hated it or was repulsed by it. On the contrary, I had always yearned for that type of touch. To have that connection with someone while doing something completely menial like walking. I had never wanted to encourage something more permanent from the men that I’d hooked up with, and the gesture would clearly have sent the wrong message.

It was only the third time he had held mine, but it felt different. When he’d done it the first time, he had been dragging me through the jungle like I was a child. The second time had been last night, and that was in the heat of lust.

As we walked together, we moved as equals. As two people traveling to the same destination willingly, though I didn’t know where it was. I was too tired from the tears I had shed and allowed him to lead me.

We walked in silence until my legs hurt. The pig struggled to hobble along for the journey. I stopped, the fire in my calves unbearable and my feet stinging from the harsh brush.

I doubled over, holding my waist. “I can’t walk anymore.” The pig collapsed at my feet in agreement.

Cryptid shot us a hard glare, as if we were the most pitiful beings he’d ever seen. He continued walking through the dense trees.

I dropped to the ground, sitting next to the pig, careful to keep my thighs shut since I was sans underwear. While I had let Eli the Bug Guy inside my vagina, I would be damned if I let actual bugs inside.

The pig nestled his wet snout between my shin and the ground. I rubbed his ears, and he let out a contented huff. “You hated that walk, too, huh?”

His large eyes stared back at me as if wishing to agree.

“I think he forgets that not everyone is made of stone like him.” I glanced to where Cryptid had disappeared.

My hand moved to the pig’s exposed belly as he lay on his side. He lifted his hind leg in enjoyment. “You’re a giant puppy, aren’t you?” I said in a baby voice. “When I first met you, you scared the hell out of me, but now I see you’re simply a ball of mush inside.”

Just like your human companion. I smiled at the thought. The two of them really belonged together.

Interestingly, the pig cuddled into me as if he knew exactly what I was saying. He seemed incredibly aware of human mannerisms and emotions, like a magical animal in a fairy tale or something.

“We’ll wait here ’til he gets back. What do you say?”

My nose drew in a faint smell. It was heavy and astringent, coating the back of my throat. I choked on my acrid breath, covering the cough with my hand.

The pig perked up, his nose vibrating in the air, too.

“You smell that?”

The scent strengthened, like a thick blanket around us.

Smoke.

It was coming from the direction of where Cryptid had headed.

I leaped to my feet, and the pig followed. The jungle was on fire, and I didn’t know where Cryptid was. What if he was trapped? I needed to find him.

The pig ran ahead, covering his companion’s tracks, and I followed. The brush thinned considerably as we moved.

The dirt under my feet changed, softening, and my feet sank with each step. More daylight shined through the trees. The landscape was morphing with each stride. My heart pounded in my chest.

Then, suddenly, I stopped running and stood in awe.

There were no more trees. Only sunlight shining on miles of white sand for as far as I could see. Blue waves painted the horizon like a masterpiece. They roared in my ears with the promise of freedom. Water. The ocean.

I stumbled through the sand, dumbfounded that I’d finally made it to the beach.

And there was Cryptid, standing in front of a fire. The pig ran to him.

My feet carried me to him, attracted as if by a magnet. “You…How?”

His eyes darted to the fire that he’d started with all the items he had packed in the basket, the flames crackling voraciously.

“You did this? For me? To help me get home?”

He nodded.

Tears pooled, but this time, they were happy ones. I was nothing to him except an inconvenience. He could have let me rot away with starvation when I had shown up here. Despite his grumpy exterior, he was always finding ways to help me. To care for me.

This fire was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for me.

I launched into his arms and he caught me under my thighs. I wrapped my legs around his waist, gluing myself to him with my arms around his neck. I buried my face into him, inhaling his distinct, rain scent. “Thank you,” I whispered against him over and over again, my lips grazing his neck with those two little words.

He held me tight, his arms wrapped around my body in a bond that only our lost souls could understand. His nose buried into my hair, and his chest rose as he breathed in—breathed me in—almost like he was committing my scent to memory.

The time we had known each other had been short, but he would always remain a part of my life, even if I never saw him again. I could never forget my savior who had given me the most important gift—the chance to not only to be found, but to find myself.

And from his embrace, I knew this man would never forget me, too.