Alaska's Illicit

XXIII

Chapter 23 | EIGHT YEARS

The rest of the day passes by slowly, and all I do is lay on the cot and read, listening to music. Vaughn only comes back once and a while, usually to warm up by the fire that I keep going. He never says anything, so I don't, either. He even ignores whatever song is on when he walks in each time.

The next time I glance at the clock on my tablet, the time reads 9:17 pm.

Before I can make any move to get up, however, Vaughn swiftly walks through the front door and over to his cedar chest, taking out some clothes and a towel. He doesn't even glance in my direction as I watch him turn around and walk outside.

I would love a nice shower right about now.

Getting up, I pour some water from the kitchen faucet into a mug.

Because I only have four water bottles left in my bag, I figured I should start saving them. I can just drink the snow water as Vaughn does, it's not that big of a deal.

I go back to reading for a while, and before I know it, Vaughn's returned, hair damp and slicked back, a few water droplets dripping down his face.

He's wearing a simple black hoodie and black sweatpants, and I don't know why it is, but it's odd seeing him in casual, comfy-looking clothes. I suppose it's because these past couple of days I haven't seen him in anything but jeans and a warm black jacket.

He glances at me for a split second after tossing a handful of clothes in a wooden basket on the floor. "If you want to go use the sauna, you can."

I nod, drinking some water first. "Okay, thanks."

Nothing else is said as I walk to grab my duffle bag, and he puts down the futon, laying on it.

So...I guess that means he's sleeping in here tonight. I wonder what made him choose to trust me more. Did he honestly think I was a cold-blooded killer at first?

Part of me understands how he can think like that, another part of me is very annoyed at him for it. I'm the teenage girl here; he's the 6'6" giant of a man. He could be the murderer for all I know. How does he expect me to trust him and be able to sleep in the same room as him when I don't even know his favorite color?

At least when we were in the cave, Moose was nearby, not that I knew at the time, but still. And for some reason, knowing Moose is around makes me feel safer.

Speaking of the dog, anyway.

As I stand up and turn around, I ask: "What about Moo-Moo?"

Vaughn, who lays with his eyes closed and hands intertwined beneath his head, sighs through his nose at the nickname. "What about him?"

"Why don't you let him sleep in here?"

"Because I don't want the whole room to smell."

"But it's cold out."