20. Oarus

20

OARUS

Yvonne has been acting strangely. The way she retreated from the coastline during a spear fishing lesson, then later recoiled from my sight not only once, but twice, was not very reassuring. I left her to her devices as she chopped wood for the fire, but a storm began to stir and she returned back to our lair.

That was the second time that she recoiled from me. I hadn’t attempted to sneak a look at her nude form. Though I longed for it, I wasn’t going to betray her privacy or sentiments. The look in her eyes was one of despair, and it puzzled me beyond comprehension.

I made a note in my mind to not flee from the confrontation. We have been building a life – courtship, as she referred to it – personalizing the lair and adding what she called ‘flair’ to its usual bleak ambiance. I thought that she had been enjoying the process.

I had attempted to bridge the distance between us in the hot spring, presenting my trophies with pride. But she thwarted my bids and fled once again. The withdrawal was disturbing and something that simply cannot go on.

“Speak about what?”

Yvonne stands with her hands cupping her breasts as darkness descends on the cavern. It is dim, and I have yet to spark the light of the hearth. I can see her amber orbs simmering with defiance.

I avoid my natural inclination to chastise her and simply shake my head, peeling the apple languidly. I am not smiling, but I am not scowling, either. I want to placate her, but the truth must be spoken.

“I think you know, Yvonne. Come, get dressed, and we will discuss.”

I turn and give her the comfort of the shadows she is longing for, returning to the campfire with some logs in tow.

I consume the remainder of the apple and toss it into the abyss of the tunnels, a treat for far less dangerous critters. It thuds hollowly.

Yvonne emerges from the shadows as I strike the match, and the blaze swells. We gather up our meal as thunder rumbles outside.

She remains quiet as we prepare supper, slicing the remainder of the scoured fruits, nuts, and casein I speared a mere few hours before. We kneel next to one another, sharing the dull knife we found on the shoreline. I reach across her chest to retrieve it, and she draws back as if a buzzard has soared by her ear.

I pause, unsure about the sentiments that flood my system. She shifts away as if sickened by my presence. It is as if she has regressed back to the terrified, withered woman I rescued from certain death.

My speech is intense, but I remain tender, the application of wrath futile by this point.

“Do I repulse you?”

Yvonne stops slicing up the berries, her fingers stained a deep purple. She closes her eyes, and I notice her body is poised.

“No Oarus, I’m not, I’m…” She stumbles over her words, rubbing at the bridge of her nose with restraint. “I’m sorry I’ve been acting this way. You don’t repulse me. I’m just afraid.”

I am unnerved by her words. I shake my head, at a loss for how to respond.

“Afraid? I thought you were no longer afraid, Yvonne. I have no desire or plans to hurt you. You must know this.”

“I do, I do,” she says, shooting up to her feet. “That’s not what I’m afraid of, not anymore.”

Yvonne folds her arms over her chest. She is wearing an oversized shirt that swallows all of her curves. She rises and begins pacing in front of the fire, casting a silhouette of tedious agitation.

“Then what is it that you fear?” I ask gently.

Yvonne pauses, and her fingers crawl up to her lips. She has an unfortunate habit of peeling the skin along the edge when she is bothered.

But I wait. Her eyes find me again, her fingers resting against her chin.

“I fear growing too comfortable. I am feeling an uncertainty looming over my head that when I submit to you – physically, I mean – that you will return to… Well, how you were.”

She nearly trails off with the last few words, but my echolocation hearing catches them. I gaze at her sullenly, not cross but still incredibly bamboozled.

“You fear my kindness will dissipate once we lay together?”

Yvonne nods without hesitation. I cannot help but scoff and rise up to my feet. She watches me closely, the way she did when she first arrived. Like prey ever vigilant of the predator.

I make my declaration firm and unwavering.

“I have no intention of devolving, Yvonne. I long to be with you physically, but that will not alter my state.”

She is not convinced. Her fingers return to their nervous picking.

I approach and lay my palm over her wandering fingers. She realizes what she is doing, lost in reverie, and tucks them back under her armpit. She cannot look at me again, instead deciding to gaze toward the fire.

“Is this what you desire, Yvonne?” I ask, my voice a faint whisper in the gloom. “Is this the life you would like to continue with me?”

Yvonne dodges my inquiry and shoots a look back at me. She does not appear angry but somewhat irked by the implication of my question.

“I need to know what you want first, Oarus. That is what I am struggling with. I do not want my body to be the prize at the carnival game of courting. You are vastly different from me. I need to hear your longings first.”

I am stumped. She notices and delves into more detail.

“What are you feeling about me? About this life with me? Are you still going to want it after we have sex? What do I mean to you?”

I stand there in silence, the fire snapping as dusk washes through the caverns. Thunder has given way, replaced by muted threads of pink lightning.

My body and mind are a tangled web of practicalities and emotions that I cannot comprehend. I see that she is waiting for me, waiting for reassurance, but her patience falters and I fear I have missed the mark.

“Yvonne,” I murmur, raising a hand to her chin. “This is all so strange…”

She cuts me off by pushing my hand away. It is not aggressive, but it is firm. Her eyes are glassy, and she blinks incessantly.

“I’m sorry I didn’t help you with the hunt today. I will do more tomorrow. I’m exhausted from the chopping, so I am going to sleep now. You can have your dinner without me.”

She approaches the bed. She lays down on it, facing away from me and the fire, and mutters into the black.

“Thank you for everything.”

My heart pounds between my rib cage, and something like a heavy rock feels pinned against my throat. Her cadence is rough with grief and jaded exhaustion. My mind continues like a tsunami of torrid thoughts.

“Goodnight,” I whisper.

Yvonne does not respond.

I make dinner as quietly as possible, storing extra should Yvonne wake hungry in the night. I am wide awake and cannot possibly rest. So I let the fire die out, leaving a flicker to guide me back, and escape back out into the evening.

The stars overhead blink steadily. The storm has come and gone, traveling fast over the coast to share its chaos elsewhere. Nighttime is often my oasis. The sea twinkles and the hum of waves are a sacred lullaby. I come out here to muse when I cannot rest, or simply to meditate upon my never-ending life.

Yvonne has changed it all for me. How can she not see this? A monster saved her, nearly forcing her into the identical circumstances of her previous abuser, but a true noble being emerged from it. That did not occur out of happenstance. It was her doing entirely.

It is true that I crave her. But she does not want to hear this from me. What else does she want?

Courting is a new idea for me, but I enjoyed it all. I showed her the crevices of my world and she revealed to me the turmoil of her past. That was the intangible intimacy she sought after. What must come next?

I brood under starlight, muttering my qualms aloud. The root of our discord is something I cannot grasp, but I will do anything to mend the rift between us.

I cannot avoid this issue with Yvonne. It must be remedied, or I risk losing this magically flawless human altogether.

I return to the cavern, creeping in slowly so as to not wake sweet Yvonne. She is in the same position as when I left, her breathing shallow and soft.

I lay next to her as the fire sinks to undulating embers. My hesitation toward sleep feels familiar, and I try to cast away the memory. Loneliness threatens me once more, should Yvonne choose departure or bargaining.

The sea lulls me to doze, my arms empty without Yvonne’s touch.