Chapter 5

Five days later,on Friday morning, I wake up earlier than normal.

I've been sleeping until Jimmy gets up, which is always right as the sun is rising. But today I wake up before he does. He's still sleeping in the bed beside me, so I'm trapped between him and the wall.

I don't mind. I almost never need to get up in the middle of the night, and there's something safe and secure about being tucked away here. Like this, with Jimmy's big body blocking the rest of the world from me.

He doesn't snore, but he does breathe heavily. I hear his slow, steady inhales and exhales. We haven't had baths since Sunday, so he's smelling kind of strong. He washes up pretty well every evening before bed, but he also does a lot of very physical work every day. I'm already used to his smell. It's distinct. Familiar. Not even all that unpleasant.

It smells like Jimmy.

I don't know why I woke up so early. I still feel tired. Heavy. Hate the idea of having to get up and start working. Every day this week, I've worked my butt off, trying to learn basic chores like mending clothes and deboning rabbits. I've done pretty well with the cooking and cleaning, but even that takes a lot of energy. And the problem is there's never an end of work that needs to be done.

The one positive about my work this week is that it's been more satisfying than working for the Carlsons. At least my tasks here are only for me and Jimmy. They feel more personal and purposeful. And they're not going to increase exponentially. There's even the hope that I'll eventually learn to do them faster so I might get a little downtime.

I've been working most of the day on one thing or another, from dawn until after dinner. Then I usually have an hour or so to read or rest before it's time for sex and bed.

We've had sex every night except last night. That's the one responsibility that hasn't felt too onerous. While I'm obviously not even close to an expert yet, I feel like I'm getting better at it. I like making Jimmy feel good. It gives me a possessive thrill of success. I still haven't been able to come from intercourse, but he always makes sure I have an orgasm from his hand.

The evenings have been undoubtedly the best part of my days this week, and afterward I always sleep like the dead.

The only reason we didn't have sex last night is that I was so tired I accidentally fell asleep before he got in from using the outhouse.

I really don't want to move, to get out from under the cozy covers and my safe spot against the wall. But I need to pee, and now that I'm conscious of it, I can't think of anything else.

With a sigh, I sit up, wondering if I'll be able to crawl over Jimmy's big body without waking him up.

I haven't devised a strategy yet when he makes a huffing sound and blinks up at the ceiling.

It's still mostly dark, but it must be around dawn because the window is letting in some grayish light.

Jimmy turns his head toward me with a jerk. "Whatcha doin'?"

"I was thinking about getting up to go to the bathroom."

His eyes move lower than my face, and his face heats up a little.

I usually start the evening naked because Jimmy will always just take my nightgown off. Then after we have sex, I put on my gown and a pair of socks. But because I fell asleep so fast last night, I'm still naked this morning. He's staring at my bare breasts.

I really do need to pee, but I like that particular look in his eyes. It's not just admiring. It's hungry. And also kind of entitled. Like what he's looking at is his.

Responding to instinct, I adjust my position and crawl toward him. When I push the covers down from his chest, he lowers his eyebrows.

"Whatcha doin', girlie?" The tone of his question is different this time. Hoarse. Excited.

I don't answer him with words. I move down his body until I can grab his half-erect cock.

Without wasting time on preliminaries, I lower my head and take him in my mouth. He grows and hardens all the way in almost no time at all.

He holds my hair back in a big bunch so it doesn't fall into my face, then pushes down the covers so they're not in the way. He lifts his head from the pillow.

He likes to watch me do this to him. That much I've learned this week.

I'm still not anything close to an expert at this activity, but I've figured out a few things since I give him a blow job every time we have sex. I take as much of his cock in my mouth as I can without triggering my gag reflex, and I suck rhythmically as I massage his balls.

Soon he's grunting and rocking his hips in time to my sucking. And it's not long before all the muscles in his body clench up and then jerk in spasms as he comes hard.

I can tell when it's about to happen now, so I let him slip out of my mouth and come on my chest. I don't like trying to swallow down his semen, and he doesn't seem to care if I don't.

He's gasping as he lies back afterward, his body hotter and softer than before. "Thank you for that. Not sure what I did to deserve it."

"You missed out on last night." I straighten up and stroke his chest—firm flesh and coarse hair—and his not-quite-flat belly. I don't actually know if he likes me to pet him like this afterward, but it feels like I should.

He frowns slightly. "That wasn't a problem. You were tired. I was too."

Well, that's a relief. There's no way not to believe him. He must not be holding it against me that I couldn't stay awake. "Okay. Good. I still wanted to do it."

"Well, it sure made my day. Not sure how I'm expected to get my ass out of bed after that."

I giggle, still caressing him. My hand moves down to one of his thick thighs. His penis has softened back to its regular shape. I feel a flicker of interest in playing with it, but I resist.

I wait until he's fully recovered and breathing evenly before I start to climb over him and out of the bed.

"Where you goin'?" he demands, lifting his head and shoulders.

"I told you I've got to pee."

"But I was gonna do somethin' for you."

I pull on my bathrobe and smile at him over my shoulder. Part of me wants to see what he has in mind, but the rest of me knows I have a long day of hard work in front of me. The longer I delay in bed, the longer my day will be. "All I need right now is to pee."

* * *

We go through our morning routines—washing up quickly and getting dressed, then Jimmy heading outside to tend to the animals while I start working on breakfast.

Breakfast is the easiest meal to figure out since we always have plenty of eggs. I try to do slightly different things each morning so Jimmy doesn't get bored.

Today I make egg and cheese sandwiches, grilling them with butter after I put them together. We've still got some good milk, so I pour him a glass and set it on the table next to his sandwich just as Jimmy comes back in from outside.

"Looks good," he says, perking up at the sight of the food. He waits until I pour a glass of milk for myself and take it and my own sandwich to sit at the table across from him.

We eat in silence for a few minutes until he says, "Remember I got to go to my folks' place this morning to help my dad repair that barn."

"Oh. Yes. That's right." I'd actually forgotten about it. He told me a couple of days ago, but it feels like ages have passed since then. "Will you be back here for lunch?"

He's chewing a big bite of his breakfast. "This is real good," he mumbles as he swallows. "I don't know how long the work will take, but I'll plan to eat with them so you don't have to mess with lunch."

"Okay. That sounds good. Do you need me to do anything for you while you're gone?"

"Maybe look in on that one pig with the dark rear end. He was acting kind of droopy this morning."

"Oh no. I hope he's okay. I'll definitely check on him." I frown, hoping nothing is wrong. I know the pigs aren't pets. I know that eventually they'll be slaughtered for food. But still… I really like the big, noisy creatures, and I don't want any of them to be sick.

After a couple of gulps of milk, he says, "I was gonna do some fishin' this afternoon when I get back. Maybe we can have some fish to eat this weekend."

"Okay. That sounds good." My stomach twists in nerves. Another thing I don't know how to do. "I might need a little help in prepping the fish to eat. I've never done that before."

"Oh sure. I'll show you how. It's kinda gross but not too hard."

I've done plenty of other gross things in the past five weeks. I'm sure I'll be able to handle the fish too.

"What you gonna do today?" Jimmy asks after another minute. He's done with his sandwich already.

I have about a third of mine left, and I'm already full so I pass it over to him.

The first few times I offered him my leftover food, he quizzed me to make sure I wasn't still hungry, but he must have realized I only give it to him when I'm actually done eating. He accepts it with a mumbled thanks and takes a big bite.

"I've got to bake bread this morning. I used the last of what we had on breakfast. I checked and we have all the ingredients. You've got a big sack of flour you've barely used."

"Mom kept telling me to make bread with it, but even if I knew how, I never had time."

"That's what I figured. I'm pretty sure I can do it on my own since your mom taught me."

"Okay, that'll be good."

"What's the weather look like today?"

"Pretty good. It didn't even frost last night, and the sky is clear. Think it will be sunny and mild."

"Perfect. Then I'll work on laundry too since the sun will be out. I hate hanging it up inside. The clothes always smell smoky and kind of musty. Do you mind changing out of those jeans before you leave? They really need washing."

He looks down at himself in surprise, like he wasn't even aware of what he's wearing. He's probably not. He's in the habit of grabbing whatever clothes are closest when he gets up in the morning, so he's been wearing the same jeans all week. "Oh. Sure." He pops the last bite of sandwich into his mouth and then polishes off his milk before he stands up. "I'll do that right now."

* * *

The day is long. Very long. And it seems longer because Jimmy is gone for most of it.

My first attempt at bread is a definite flop, but I try again, and the second time I manage to come up with two fine-looking loaves.

While they're baking, I start the laundry, working on the back deck because the sun is out and it's not too cold for early December. And this way I won't slop water all over the kitchen floor.

I get going, scrubbing each piece of clothing from our hamper against the washboard and then rinsing and wringing them out.

I barely remember to get the bread out of the oven in time and am relieved when I set them out to cool.

They look and smell just right. Thank God I'm capable of doing something well.

Then I have to return to the laundry. By the time I finish all the washing, it's midafternoon. I completely forgot about lunch.

I'm scrambling around to find the clothespins to hang the wet clothes and towels on the line when a voice surprises me.

"Chloe? Chloe, I'm back!"

I run out of the spare room with the pail of clothespins and see Jimmy in the doorway, looking pleased and relaxed. "Oh hey. How did everything go?"

"Good. My dad had plenty of help, so it wasn't too hard. Then we had a good lunch and hung out for a while."

For some reason—for no good reason—I feel a sharp pang of hot resentment in my chest. He clearly had a good day. He had some easy work, which apparently he wasn't even really needed for, and then what must have been a long, leisurely lunch. He's not even out of breath, so he obviously didn't hurry on his walk back home.

And I've been slaving away, stressed and exhausted, every minute of the day so far.

I don't express any of my internal response. It's not fair. Jimmy regularly works very hard, and his labor and his family's help are the only reasons I'm safely housed and fed at all. He's allowed to have a slightly easier day occasionally.

"You okay?" he asks, frowning and ducking his head slightly to see my expression since I've looked away from him in an attempt to hide my reaction.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Just in the middle of laundry."

"Oh, okay. I won't get in your way then. I'm gonna do some fishin'."

"That sounds good."

"You mind if I open the windows? It's such a nice day, figure we can air the house out. It always gets real cooped up in here durin' the winter."

"Oh yeah. That's a good idea."

I should have thought of that myself. Maybe he's wondering why I didn't.

The kitchen is a mess because I didn't have time to put everything up after making the bread. And I've got a huge basket of wet clothes sitting out on the deck, waiting for me to hang them up.

I force a smile at Jimmy before I head outside to finish the laundry.

I clearly made a tactical error. There are too many clothes in the basket, and they're exponentially heavier because they're wet. I can barely lift it, so I have to drag the darn thing off the deck and toward the line.

The container of pins I set on top, but they fall off from the bump off the deck. I bite back a groan of frustration and just leave them there as I keep hauling the basket.

When I finally get it to the line, I'm hot and sweating and out of breath. I straighten up, stretching my back and breathing deeply to get myself back together because I feel like I might start crying.

It's just my first week here. And it's been only five weeks that I've done any of these chores at all. I couldn't possibly be an expert yet on all this.

Hopefully Jimmy won't be too disappointed.

He'd have been better off with Laura. She's been doing all these things since they lost power and water and infrastructure after Impact. She'd be doing a lot better job than me.

When I've controlled myself, I turn back around toward the house since I need to collect the clothespins I dropped.

Jimmy is already there, bending over as he picks up pins and drops them back in the pail.

I hurry over and take them from him. "Thank you. Sorry about that."

"What are you sorry for?" He's frowning and peering at me again.

"I dropped them. I'll get the rest."

I really want him to go away since I'm embarrassed by both my clumsiness and my near breakdown.

For some reason, his presence is making it worse.

He doesn't turn away or pick up the fishing pole he laid on the deck. His eyes have narrowed as he keeps trying to see my face. Half my hair slipped out of my ponytail hours ago, so I'm able to use the loose strands to hide behind. "You need help with the laundry?"

"Oh no. I'm good." Shoot. He must know I'm not doing a good job. Maybe he's feeling sorry for me. "I don't have much left to do. You go ahead and fish so we'll have something for the weekend."

"Okay." He sounds dubious, and he won't stop staring at me.

It's really getting on my nerves.

Stifling a frustrated sound, I turn away and walk back to the clothesline. It takes longer than I expect to hang up all the wet clothes and towels, and my shoulders are aching when I'm finally done.

I didn't plan this day well at all. The sun is still out, but there's probably only a few hours left of daylight. These will never be dry by then. It doesn't look like rain anytime soon, but with my luck it will freeze tonight and the wet fabric will get frozen stiff.

I should have done the laundry first and gotten it hung up by midmorning so it would have most of the day to dry and then baked the bread in the afternoon.

Why the heck didn't I think of any of this sooner?

I feel like crying again as I trudge back to the house. Nothing to do about it now. I just have to hope tonight isn't too cold.

Jimmy is settled on the edge of the deck with his fishing pole.

I always loved fishing with Grandpa. I'd love to be able to sit around and fish this afternoon.

But I still have the damned kitchen to clean up.

Maybe it won't take too long.

My hopes are completely dashed when I get inside and look toward the kitchen.

There's flour scattered all over the floor.

I know I didn't make that huge a mess earlier, and when I get closer, I see what happened.

I didn't close the sack of flour well enough and the breeze from the open windows blew the top layer of flour out and spread it all over.

All over.

It's not just on the floor. It's on the counter and on the cabinets and even on the table and chairs.

I stand frozen for a moment, looking at the mess. That same swell of exhausted frustration rises and expands in my chest. My throat. Pushes out against my eyes. I wrap my arms around my chest and squeeze, trying to fight the shaking of silent sobs.

I hate this.

I hate all of it.

And I can't do anything right.

Two months ago, I had a perfectly good life with my grandfather. Now he's gone. He's never coming back. All that's left of him is a newly dug grave in a field nearby. I didn't even have a rock or a wooden cross to use as a marker.

He was the last of my family, and now I'm living with strangers. They're not mean. None of them. But they're not mine.

Not even Jimmy.

He's out there having a grand time fishing while I'm in here falling apart.

Bastard.

The least he could do was notice.

I swallow down that thought since it's completely unjust. He asked if anything was wrong, and I told him no. How the hell is he supposed to read my mind?

Instead of holding on to this new flicker of resentment, I push it out of my mind and make myself start to clean up.

It takes a long time. It feels like forever.

My back is killing me, and my knees are aching, and my lungs are burning as I'm on my hands and knees scrubbing the last of the flour off the kitchen floor when Jimmy comes in, carrying a bucket.

"Got some good ones," he says cheerfully before he sees me in the kitchen. When he does, he jerks to a stop. "What you doin'?"

"Cleaning."

"Why you cleanin' the floor? You already did a ton today."

Nice of him to finally notice. "There was flour everywhere."

"Flour? What do you mean?"

"It blew out of the bag." I wince as I stand up because my back catches. I take a deep breath and step over to the big sack of flour. I closed it earlier, but I check to make sure it's securely tied. "I took care of it."

"Okay good. Well, I got these. We can work on 'em tomorrow since it's kinda late." He looks around. "What were you thinkin' 'bout for dinner?"

There's nothing—nothing—he could have said that could have made me angrier. It's almost impossible for me to push down. "I… don't… know," I manage to grit out, hefting the sack of flour and putting it back in the cabinet under the counter where it belongs.

"You don't have somethin' planned?" He sounds light. Genuinely curious. Not annoyed or judgmental.

But it doesn't help improve my mood. "No." I pick up the rag I was using and scrub the counter with it, rinse it off, and wring it out. Wring it out very hard. "I've been working all day and haven't had a chance to figure out dinner yet."

"Oh. Okay. You want me to?—"

"No. I don't."

I am trying—I really am—to moderate my tone, but the words come out harshly anyway.

"You mad about somethin'?" He steps over and puts a hand on my shoulder, turning me around so he can see me.

I jerk away from his hand. "No. I'm not."

His frown is deepening. His shoulders stiffen. "Sure seems like you're mad."

"I told you I'm not. I'm tired. I've had a long day."

"I asked if I could help you. You said no."

"I don't need your help to get my chores done. I can do them myself!"

His expression is changing. It's not just questioning anymore. He's definitely looking annoyed. "I never said you couldn't do 'em. Why the hell you actin' this way?"

"I'm not acting any way!" That was an outright lie. I'm shaking with upset and indignation, and there's no way I can contain it all. "I just said I hadn't figured out dinner yet."

He breathes heavily as he stares at me. Rubs at his beard. "If somethin's wrong, you gotta tell me what it is, Chloe."

"I don't have to tell you anything!" The words snap out before I can stop them. Then I hear them. Hear my angry tone. And am slammed by a wave of fear.

What in the world am I doing? Putting everything I've gained at risk in some sort of irrational temper tantrum.

"I'm sorry," I blurt out, suddenly desperate to fix things. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I think I got too tired. I'm fine. It's all fine."

His expression relaxes at my altered tone, but he's still frowning deeply. He looks utterly baffled. "What did I do wrong?"

"You didn't do anything wrong. I promise. It's all me." I cover my face with both hands and stifle an almost uncontrollable sob. "I'm really sorry about the whole thing. I'll do better."

"But you're upset."

"I said it's fine. I'm just tired." If he doesn't shut up soon, I'm going to burst into tears right in front of him.

"Okay." He takes a few more loud, long breaths. "Well, if you're tired, you should take a break. Why don't you sit down for a little while?"

"I've got to make?—"

"I'll clean these fish and grill 'em up. We can have 'em for dinner with some of your bread. Looks like it came out good."

He's trying. I can see and hear that he's trying to fix things. Fix me. And it makes me feel worse. A tear slips out of one eye, but I swipe it away—hopefully before he noticed it. "But it's my job to make dinner."

"Why is it your job?"

"Because I do the inside stuff. That's what we agreed."

"You don't have to do everythin'. Why would you think that? Who d'you think made me dinner before you got here? I can manage to make somethin' basically edible."

"But I?—"

"Damn it, Chloe," he says with a growl in his voice. "Sit down right now and take a break."

I suck in a sharp breath at his authoritative tone. There's no way I can answer it. I walk over to the couch and do as he said. When he brings me a glass of water, I drink it.

He explains he's going to clean the fish on the deck so they don't stink up the house, so then I'm left blessedly alone.

I curl up on my side in the fetal position and cry for just a minute.

I hope he's not too upset with me. I hope he's not questioning his choice of partner. With more time, I think I can get better at this. I don't want him to dump me before I get the chance.

I manage to pull myself together fairly quickly, and I'm calm when he returns to grill the fish. I even find the energy to get up to slice the bread and set the table.

He doesn't say anything as he works, and neither do I.

I really hope he's not mad at me.