The Last One

sixteen

"It's not your fault I was taken."

He nodded slowly. His eyes were trained on the ground for the space of a few breaths. "No. But if I had been paying attention to you -"

"What? I do not expect you to babysit me. I was outside camp, alone and unarmed. I was foolish."

He squinted his eyes. "Even still. When I found the blood.. and you were missing -"

"But you found me," I interrupted. I didn't need to hear him finish that statement. I didn't need to hear him say that he was scared, worried, freaking out. It would make it all real.

He nodded softly, his eyes rose to meet mine. "I did."

I thought about how I almost bashed his brains in with a rock in the cellar and shuddered. I had been prepared to die for my escape, but the Gods granted me favor and sent him instead. "I would have killed you." I stated it so calmly, but the thought that I could have murdered someone I cared about made me incredibly sad.

He snorted. "Unlikely."

"I was about to bash your head in with a rock."

"You were about to try," he snickered.

"Oh? Because from where I was standing, I had the upper hand."

He rolled his eyes. "Red, please."

I scoffed. "You mean goat!" I tossed a blackberry at him playfully.

"I literally tracked you down and rescued you," he reminded with a slightly condescending tone.

I rolled my eyes. "Just to bully me?"

"Well, that's not the only reason."

The playful banter between us lifted my mood a good deal and made me temporarily forget my ailments and problems. Being with him often had that effect on me in various ways. I was smiling to myself about the silliness of our interaction when he spoke again.

"I.. like being around you."

"Yeah?" I looked at him again. Did he want to elaborate on that a little more?

"Yeah," he smiled.

Guess not.

"And?" I pressed. I crossed my legs carefully, trying to avoid provoking the injury.

"And?" He shot me a look. "That's it. I like spending time with you. I do not feel I need to pretend when it's just us. Our conversations feel natural, and your presence is comfortable."

That might be the most he had ever said to me all at once. His voice echoed in my head like the melody of a song, and I got lost in it as he spoke. When he stopped speaking, I wanted nothing more than for him to play the melody again.

"And," he chuckled, "I want more."

"More?" I looked at him again. His eyes were like little fireballs as they reflected the flames of the campfire and the desire in his eyes that mingled within.

"More than 'just sex'. I want more."

The realization of his words started to settle over me, and I felt nervous to explore this option. What if it went wrong? That was the question that burned through me now. I didn't know what to say, and I realized I was just staring at him in shock. I looked at the fire and tried to settle myself into a calmer train of thought.

The truth was I did want more. I wanted to spend more time with him and more time around him. I wanted more joking and more innuendos. I wanted more of his hands on me. I wanted more of his voice in my ears. I wanted more of his body. I wanted more of his attention.