Horus
“Did you deflower my sister last night?”
Deflower? It took me a tick to decode Matthew’s question. I haven’t heard the term since my Brit lit class in undergrad. I can’t help but chuckle at his archaic language on our way to the latrine.
“Not that it’s any of your business,” I reply. I soften my tone because fighting with Matthew could upset Millie. Would she want me to protect her privacy, or fight for her honor? My ego screams to protect her at all costs, but her dream to be seen trumps my selfish desire. “Your sister is an adult who deserves a romantic life. She’s also a lady and wouldn’t allow me to impose further than she deems decent. Have more faith in her.”
“Incredible, you slept in her nest without any funny business,” he says, shaking his head.
I chew on his odd response as we separate into the two tiny outhouses. Matthew disappears behind a door decorated with painted pink hearts—most likely Millie’s bathroom. Matthew’s latrine has a rain barrel in the upper corner, a shelf of toiletries halfway down the side wall, and a raised platformbelow. A cracked toilet seat sits nestled in the wooden planks.Only the best creature comforts.
If I live through this, my first stop won’t be the cops. I’m heading straight to urgent care for a tetanus shot. I’m long overdue because my autoimmune diseases flare when my immune system is taxed…like when I sit on a cracked toilet seat in the middle of the woods. Funny, I haven’t had a colitis flare since my kidnapping. I ate a meal without a run to the bathroom at the conclusion.
I open the spigot at the bottom of the rain barrel. I can’t imagine cleaning a blowout with this setup. If my intestines flare out here, I’d have to wait the duration in a creek. I chuckle at the image of myself, hands tucked under my arms to ward off the chill from a waist-deep creek. No way. I’ll stick to ambient temperature rain barrel water. Colder than a witch’s tit! Under the trickle of freezing water, I scrub my hands, face, and glasses. When I’ve stopped shivering, I bend over to wet my hair and rinse my pits.
As my teeth chatter, I mull over the logistics of installing a hot water heater in the middle of the forest. Pipes attract attention. Why contemplate a bathroom remodel for a place I’ll never visit again? Why does my chest ache at returning to a life of luxury? Surely, my body—more than others—appreciates a gold-plated toilet in a lavish bathroom with an eight-jet shower. Designing my future mansion’s bathroom comforted me during my proposal to Amber. Why does the same dream bring down my vibe this morning?
“Thanks for escorting me,” I mumble to Matthew at the base of the rope ladder. Wait, I’m a scientist. Time to collect some data to sort out my feelings. “Can I ask you why you assumed I didn’t have sex with Millie last night?”
“You answered by reminding me of her virtuous nature instead of puffing up yourself like a blowhard. I predicted you would have said you were too chivalrous to take advantage of her or bluff about a wild night. If you took advantage of her, you would be defensive in response to my questions. I know my sister, and it’s cool you do too.”
“I’d never hurt her,” I say when he gestures for me to climb up first. “She’s a sweet lady.”
“Don’t misunderstand,” Matthew says, joining me on the ladder. I’m motivated to climb faster when the treehouse ledge strains to hold our combined weight. “My temper’s hotter than a squirrel’s feet crossing an eight-lane highway because you climbed up there in the first place. I had nightmares of you pinning her onto a board in a laboratory and studying her under a giant microscope. Just know I’ll fight to my death if someone tries to take her.”
“Me too,” I reply, offering him a hand off the ladder. I’d also fight for another morning where I wake with her soft, sleepy body nestled in my arms. Matthew carries a giant hunting knife, so I keep my thoughts on his sister’s squishy curves to myself.
He stares into my soul as I lift him up. Once he’s on solid ground, he claps my back. We nod in understanding. Matthew proves himself a bumpkin by trusting my word easily. I suspect the traitorous nature of the human race hasn’t hurt him yet. He’s not isolated in the treehouse, but his assessment of me is troubling. Doesn’t he realize a person’s word means nothing these days? People will look you in the eye while stabbing you in the back.
“Y’all finally saw the light,” Millie says from the grease cloud at the stove. A frilly apron covers her green mini dress, but that’s the only down-to-earth thing on her. Betweenher emerald-green hooker heels, fluffy wings, and lofty aqua-net bangs, she reaches the stratosphere. Outrageous and unapologetic, I can’t help but admire the honesty she radiates. Her beauty shines from the inside. “My boys are friends!”
“My boys, really, Mills?” Matthew grumbles as he plops into a kitchen chair.
“Excuse me, I’ll finish freshening up,” I say and cross to Matthew’s room, where I should have slept last night. Millie’s an innocent ray of sunshine. I’m a stranger. I have no right to bask in her light. Not just my pessimistic view of the world will bring her down, I’m falling for her. How long can I dismiss the longing to spend more time dancing, listening to music, or just talking on the rooftop? Worse, I want more than a second rooftop date.
Delicious smells coming from the beautiful woman at the stove, her face alight with joy to see me, are too much. She’d make a wonderful wife to someone…worthy. How can I even enter their picture of domestic bliss without a boulder of guilt crashing down on my head? I yank my comb through my hair with violence, as if self-flagellation could absolve me. I’m engaged to marry a bitch! I signed a million legal documents dooming me to a life with Amber. Deodorant and fresh clothes can’t cover the stench of my predicament. Have I sold my soul?
Scooping the contents of my bag back into their container, the memories of last night’s silent disco haunt me. I could have slept with her—probably had the best sex of my life. What stopped me? Her. I didn’t miss how Millie’s eyes lit up at my description of my one-night stand with Amber. Millie couldn’t be a one-life stand because I’d never get enough. The best way to save our hearts from misery is to escape as soon as humanly possible.
My place at the kitchen table lies between the two silent siblings. Millie’s stare shoots daggers at Matthew, so I suspect they fought, and my troubled thoughts drowned them out. Her lips close around a forkful of potato cake and salsa. She chews the anger out of her system.
Matthew’s chin rests a centimeter above his plate. To shovel in food, or is he cowering from the moth lady’s glare? Not to attract her ire, I tuck into the fried potato cakes. Please let me eat this fried food without a flare…just once digestive system…please do your job without bitching. My eyes roll back in bliss as salty, sweet, and greasy ecstasy fills my mouth. The salsa is a mixture of tomatoes, peaches, peppers, and herbs. I chew and wait for my intestines to complain. Usually, an embarrassing rumble or whistle from my belly follows a bite of something so decadent.
Silence.
“Why aren’t I sick?” The words explode from my mouth amid a shower of herbal crumbs.
“Vegan food?” Matthew asks between bites.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Millie says with a giggle.
“No, you misunderstand,” I sputter. “All food makes me sick. Eating is like walking through a minefield.”
“I grew everything on your plate,” Millie replies. “No preservatives, artificial colors, hormone-laden meat, or irritating dairy. Without fertilizers, insecticides, or vehicles driving over the property, the soil is clean.”
“Amazing,” I say in awe before eating another bite. I never thought about the extras surrounding my food. I’ve kept food journals my whole life to find the diet that will keep the flares at bay. Preservatives and soil conditions never entered theequation. “Thank you, Millie. If nothing else, I’ll never forget the incredible feeling of enjoying food without worrying about the consequences.”
“The soil won’t stay pure for long if we don’t do something about the bulldozers,” Matthew says, dropping his fork onto his clean plate.
