Rain fell in torrents. The intensity of the sideways downpour staining the thin single pane window to a myopic blurr of the ocean in glimpses through trees sent to twisting pivots by the winds. The maelstrom of the west coast weather in late January beating the walls, and unable to penetrate the calm indoors. Sleeping still and lovely on the old pine bed buried under heavy blankets, is Shayla. She is tall, soft in features and her dark brown hair spills about her shoulders over the pillow and her bangs shade her eyes. The covers twirled over her body, she lays curled on her side facing away from the raindrop timpani against the morning window light, as gray as it is. Facing her body more towards the dying light and heat from the small open woodstove. She stirs as the creaking of the iron door hinges strain from too many seasons of use. Jay pokes the embers and lays careful tinder on them, blowing at them until the radiant life regains deep within them and the fire sparks to yellow flames once more. He eases the door closed but the squeaking opens Shayla's eyes. She stretches and lets out that sound, a sigh mixed with the torment of leaving sleep and stiff muscles from a night of passion on a too soft mattress.
"Sorry." He hushes to her. She only rolls over and her extended bare arm lays flat against the pillow that was his.
"Hmmmm what time is it?"
"Nearly seven, go back to sleep."
She lay on her back now and stared at the forgotten city of cobwebs joining the cedar rafters together, the engineering spiders long gone to hibernation or where ever spiders go in January. She coughs and yawns, stretches once more as Jay comes to sit on the edge of the bed, gazing down at her squirming form and the mess of blankets.
"I'll need help with that sweetie." She blinks, her green eyes smile, and she gestures gently with twitching fingers for him to come to her.
He leans down bracing on one elbow and they kiss lightly. Her hand caresses the back of his neck, holding him to their embraces and then she travels over his shoulder, tracing the firm curve of it. She pulls slightly away from his lips, sliding her mouth over his cheek and whispers softly.
"What?" Jay sits back up and her hand trails down his torso in a gesture of defeat at his reaction.
"I love you." She whispers to him, hoping the storm's heavy metal band noise will drown her voice from the real world out there. Safe in her cocoon with Jay, the fire, the surf and the forest.
"You really do? You love me, me...that way?" He stutters and stands, pacing to the fire and back again. His feet freezing on the wooden floor poorly insulated by the savaging the mice have done to the pink insulation under the floorboards.
"Jay, sweetie, I do love you. More now than ever...um, I have always loved you, but now." Her voice became shallow and lost. A voice of her little girl inside came out needing reassurance after such a bold announcement. She wanted to be back in daddy's arms.
"I have too, but...This trip, our choices so far, it is so fast. Last night here, with you. It was not what I planned to happen. Not what I expected Shay. I mean, I knew we were coming here for a reason, that one! But love?" He talked now more to himself it seemed than directing his mutterings to her. Shayla sat up in bed. Her bare breasts visible to him. Her nipples a burnt sienna tone. She ran her fingers through her hair to straighten it and brushed her bangs from her eyes, and they fell naturally back into place. No matter what she did sitting in bed, the disheveled appearance of a girl made love to several times in the night was clinging to her skin, hair and expression.
"You are just saying this because of how you feel now. After what we did together last night. In a week, that will go away and you will hate me." He shouted.
"No! no, I love you more now and will never hate you for what you did. What we did. Remember Jay, I asked you to come here with me. I asked you to do that to me. I asked you to take me, to um, to rape me! And you did. I wanted it! It was my fantasy, love. It was the only way I could let it happen between us, and now, well, not Jay it will be easy to let you."
"Shay!" he turned to the window and sighed.
Shayla got up from the bed and padded over to stand beside him, her hand clasping his and they stood watching the storm beat outside. She squeezed his hand and remembered how it felt to have it on her skin. Her memory fell backwards to the evening before.
His hand clasped her wrist hard as they ran from the car to the front door of the cabin his family owned since the 1970's. Then it was one of many small hippie dwellings that were scattered up and down the stretch of shoreline now occupied by hotels and luxury resorts catering to the year-round tourist trade that extended into the winter months exploiting the new phenomenon of storm watching. Jay's cabin was all that remained at the edge of lost times and bordering on the new ones. The rain had begun an hour before arriving and now the southeasterlies had risen to full strength. Inside the cabin Shayla found no power, only a few candles and a wood stove, a bed and shelves lined with books. Bobbles and shells and other orphaned foundlings from the sand and surf in rows on the window sills. The floor creaked from every footstep. The door slammed shut behind her. It was nearly dark and though not near sunset the dirty clouds had made it feel that way. It was a gloom she would remember to the last of her days, as was the slap that stung her cheek. She had not expected that, but it was now part of the game she had begun weeks before. He pushed her to the bed. Shayla immediately stood up and was slapped once more.
"Stay there!" he shouted, pointing to her. Her heart trembled and she wondered what she had started, and if she could truly now, in the face of it, go through with it. She sat, her face stinging slightly and fighting a tear that naturally began to form on her eyelash. She tried to swallow hard but her throat was too dry. He lit one candle in the corner and then threw a glare towards her. She could not tell if it was play, or if she was seeing the resentment welling up inside of him. He turned and opened the stove door making it scream and in no time had a small fire brewing. He slid the vent open and closed the creaking iron door shut with a clang, then turned to her. He stood and walked to the bed. He grabbed her by the hair that was almost too short to gather in his fist and tugged her to her feet. She stood in front of him and his hand raised again to strike her, beating fear into her soul without laying a finger on her. She started to cry, sobbing low and softly. His heart broke and all he wanted was for this to stop.
"Shaya!" he said loudly over the din of the storm.
