6.

Belle

"Let me do that," I murmur, taking the plates from Arcade, walk over to the sink and start scrubbing. The water is cold, because I don't think he has warm water.

The rhythmic motion of washing and rinsing helps with the anxiety I feel. Sooner or later, he's going to force my secrets out of me. Arcade sits at the table, watching me with those intense eyes of his. The silence between us is thick, almost tangible.

"Have you lived out here for long?" I ask, trying to break the silence with some small talk.

"A little less than a decade," he replies, his voice husky. He doesn't elaborate, just continues to watch me.

I nod, rinsing a plate and setting it aside. "Do you ever miss the city?"

"Never," he snorts, his tone making it clear he's not much for small talk. I can feel his gaze on me, heavy and assessing.

"But don't you ever get lonesome?" I try again, hoping to make him understand how unsustainable his situation is.

"It's nothing I can't deal with," he replies, his answers short and clipped. It's clear he's not used to company, not used to talking.

Inwardly, I sigh because I want him to see that he can't stay out in the swamp forever. He's like a wild animal, wary and cautious. The roughness in his voice, the way he holds himself, all speak of a man who's been isolated for too long.

"Maybe if you gave the city a chance again, you'd like it more if you see it with fresh eyes," I say, turning to give him a small smile. "Civilization might not be as bad as you made it up to be in your mind."

"It has nothing I want," he grunts, his eyes never leaving mine. "You're here. I'm here. Besides, the wild is now in my blood."

Frustrated, I want to throw my hands in the air and ask why he has to be so stubborn, but then I suddenly flinch. A movement outside the window just caught my eye. My heart jumps into my throat as I see a shadow between the trees. Someone's watching us.

"Arcade," I whisper, fear creeping into my voice. "I think there's someone out there."

He's on his feet in an instant, moving with a protectiveness that surprises me. "Stay here," he orders, his voice firm. He grabs a rifle from behind the door, his movements quick and practiced.

"Wait, be careful," I say, my voice trembling. The thought of him going out there alone terrifies me.

"Don't worry about me, I can take care of myself," he rasps, his eyes meeting mine for a moment., as if he secretly likes that I worry. But there's also a steely determination in them, a promise that he'll protect me. "Stay inside and lock the door."

I nod, my heart pounding as he steps out into the night. The door closes behind him, and I'm left standing in the dimly lit cabin, the silence pressing in on me. I move to the window, peering out into the darkness, straining to see him. The bayou is a different world at night, the darkness deep and the sounds can be eerie.

I wait, my breath coming in shallow gasps, my mind racing with possibilities. Who was out there? Why were they watching us? The fear gnaws at me, but I force myself to stay calm. Arcade knows this place, knows how to handle himself.

But the waiting is torture, each passing second stretching into eternity. I grip the edge of the sink, my knuckles white, praying that he'll be alright. He's rough and gruff, but there's a strength in him that I've come to rely on, even in this short time.

He'll be fine. He has to be.