She looked at his shirt at the place over his heart. "But not like you," she whispered. "You are warm," he wanted to reach for her. He wanted to hold her and tell her that nothing cold would ever touch her again. But he knew with a sickening certainty that if he touched her now, he would be no different from them.
She was not seeing him. She was seeing a protector, a source of heat. She was a half-drowned woman reaching for a log, and he could not let her mistake that for love. He stood, but he did not move toward her. He kept his hands at his sides, clenched into fists.
"You are safe here, Tyen," he said, his voice rough. "I told you that I meant it. No one will hurt you. I am not hurt," she said, looking up at him. "I am safe, but I am not warm."
She turned and went back to her room. And this time he heard the wooden latch slide firmly into place. A week later, the storm came. It was not a winter blizzard, but a violent spring squall, the kind that brought the sky down to the earth. Rain and hail hammered the roof, driven by a wind that shrieked like a grieving woman.
Thunder cracked overhead, so close the cabin shuddered. Daniel was checking the door latch when a bolt of lightning struck a pine tree on the ridge. The explosion of light and sound was simultaneous. The cabin was lit white for a second, and the crash was deafening. The door to Tyen's room flew open.
She stood there, her eyes wide with terror, her hands pressed to her ears. The storms of her childhood, the thunder of guns, the violence of men, it was all one and the same to her. "It's just lightning. Tyen, it's all right," he shouted over the wind. She ran to him, not to his chair, but to his c where he had been preparing to sleep.
She scrambled onto it and buried her face in his blankets, her body shaking violently. Daniel sighed. He sat on the edge of the cot, rubbing her back in a clumsy, paternal way. "It'll pass. It's just a storm."
"Hold me," she whimpered, her voice muffled by the wool. He hesitated, but the cabin shook again and she cried out. He slid onto the cot, pulling her back against his chest, wrapping his arms around her as he would a frightened child. He was still fully dressed, his boots on the floor. He pulled a blanket over both of them.
"See, it's just noise," he said, his voice rumbling in her ear. She slowly relaxed. Her trembling subsided. They lay like that for a long time, the storm raging around them, the sound of the rain, a deafening drum on the roof. He could feel her breathing, feel the warmth of her back through his shirt.
It was a simple, profound comfort. He had not held another person in 5 years. He had forgotten what it felt like. He thought she had fallen asleep. The storm was easing, the thunder rolling away into the distant mountains.
His own eyes were heavy. Then she moved. She turned in his arms, her body flush against his, her face inches from his in the dark. "Daniel," she whispered. "It's all right.
Go to sleep." "No." She pressed her hand flat against his chest over his heart. He could feel the warmth of her palm. "I want to feel what women feel."
His blood went cold, then hot. He knew exactly what she meant. "Tyen, no." This is not "I want the warm," she insisted, her voice no longer frightened, but full of that same direct, honest curiosity. She pushed herself up, her lips near his.
"I want to know." He stopped her. He gripped her shoulders firmly and held her at arms length. She was a shadow in the dark, but he could see the glint of her eyes. "Listen to me," he said, his voice low and urgent. what those men did.
They took something from you. What you're asking for now, it's not just the warm. It's not just to know. Do you understand me? She stared at him, confused.
This, he said, his grip on her shoulders gentle but absolute. This between a man and a woman. It's meant to be more than just heat. It's supposed to be a choice. It's supposed to be about about tenderness, about safety.
Not just safety from a storm, but safety with that person. He let out a breath. How could he explain this? "You deserve more than just heat." Tyen, you deserve a choice.
A real one. Not one you make in the dark, during a storm because you're scared or because you're grateful I'm not them. It has to be more. I will not. I will not be just another man who takes from you.
She was silent. He could feel the resistance in her, the incomprehension. She was offering the only thing she had, and he was refusing it. He felt her pull away. She slid off the cot.
She stood in the middle of the room for a moment, a silhouette against the fading storm. He could not read her expression. He had heard her. He was sure of it. He had rejected her.
Without a word, she went back to her room and quietly closed the door. He did not hear the latch. Daniel lay awake until dawn, his body aching with attention that was both desire and shame. He had done the right thing. He had protected her even from herself.
But as the first gray light filled the cabin, he felt more alone than ever. He must have drifted off because he woke to the smell of coffee and smoke. He sat up, his back stiff. The storm was gone. The cabin was quiet.