Dylan
Waking up on your fucking own never feels good. Even after what feels like an eternity alone in this cabin, I’ve never gotten used to it.
Feeling the warmth of the sun on my face is enjoyable as it should be for once, because I’m waking up to the awareness of the beautiful body and beautiful soul making my bed a little less big and a lot less fucking lonely.
That enjoyment dies the moment I open my eyes and see that she’s not there.
“Emma?” I ask, my arms still stupidly stretched out to her side of the bed.
Her side...the bed feels emptier than ever.
“Emma!” I call loudly, listening for any evidence that this whole thing hasn’t been the crazed dream of a lonely, isolated mind.
Last night seems like a dream now—the best damn dream I’ve ever had.
All I hear is the chirping of distant birds and the usual silence from the rest of the cabin.
Was I going fucking mad now? Had too much fucking time on my own finally taken its fucking toll?
The pillow next to mine looks like it’s been slept on, though. My heart starts beating faster when I notice the single long, blond hair on the pillow, glistening in the sun.
I’m considering whether to call Emma’s name again or to just get out of bed and find her, when I finally hear a sound drift through the room.
I lie still, concentrating. Where the fuck could she be? No sound is coming from the kitchen. And then, I hear a strange noise coming from somewhere outside my bedroom.
Given my present circumstances, there’s a lot that could be happening, and I need to deduce everything I can about the situation before I take fucking action.
It only takes a second or two for me to realize that what I’m hearing is Emma sobbing softly.
I don’t think I’ve ever leapt out of bed so fucking fast.
Waking up alone is one thing—and bad enough in a way—but waking up to the sound of Emma crying is a million times worse.
Once I’m up, I can hear Emma in the bathroom. The door’s slightly ajar. I approach slowly.
The sound of Emma bawling is too much for me to bear. I open the door, ready to do anything for her.
She’s standing in front of the sink with her back to me. Her shoulders are heaving lightly as she weeps.
“Emma?”
She turns towards me when she hears my voice. Her eyes are red and full of anguish, tears running down her face.
“Emma...”
That’s all I can say. I want to take Emma into my arms and get rid of her pain, anything to make her feel better.
I start with a gentler approach, taking a step closer and placing a hand on her shoulder.
“I’m ugly!” she exclaims before dissolving into another series of sobs, and I’m suddenly very confused.
“Emma...what?”
I give Emma a moment to gather herself, because I’m at a serious fucking loss for words.
“I-I got a good look at myself in the mirror with no makeup, and I haven’t done any of my skincare regimen for days, and this is how I look, and I’m so ugly.”
Emma wipes away a tear with the back of her hand. She looks calmer but still utterly disheartened.
“Emma, Emma, Emma...”
So far, all I’ve said today is her name. The problem now is I’m still stunned speechless.
“I can’t believe you’re serious,” I say and quickly add, “but you clearly are.”
Emma looks at me for a long moment, trying to buy into what I’m saying. It looks like she needs more convincing. I can definitely do that.
“Emma, you’re so beautiful it’s almost painful. You’re so beautiful that it defies belief. I’ve always felt that way, and I’m right.”
“No, not today you’re not.” Emma shakes her head, her eyes cast downward.
“Especially today, Emma.”
She looks at me. The sadness in her eyes is persistent, but it’s faltering. This is what she needs to hear.
“But…how?”
“What makeup do you use, Emma? Foundation? Lipstick?”
“Yeah, of course.” Emma’s eyes are cast downward again. I’m losing her. “Lots of others, too.”
“All that crap is a pale imitation. That’s my opinion, at least.”
“Dylan…what the hell does that mean?”
“Emma, when you’re excited…aroused, or when you have an orgasm, there’s this natural glow about you. It’s beautiful, Emma, and it’s all without cosmetics.”
Emma looks at me quizzically. “I have that kind of glow?”
“Emma, after all those orgasms…how many was it?”
I see a flash of a subtle smile on her lips. “I don’t know—about a trillion, a trillion and one. It’s somewhere in that ballpark.”
“That sounds about fucking right. And after all that coming, you’ve still got that glow. In fact, you’re fucking glowing so much you look radioactive.”
Emma looks back into the mirror, and I see her eyes take in the reflection.
“I don’t know.”
Does she really not see the captivating image staring back at her? Emma turns her eyes towards me again. I see her sadness finally starting to fade.
“That glow is still there, Emma. But that doesn’t even matter. Glow or not, you’re still ridiculously beautiful. And hot.”
“Ridiculously?” Emma eyes me skeptically, with a touch of playful mockery on her face.
“It’s absolutely ridiculous how beautiful you are.”
Emma rolls her eyes slightly, but the tears are gone. She turns around to look in the mirror.
“I don’t know about ridiculous.”
“Emma, your beauty is staggering.”
“Even now?”
“Right now. And always, but especially right now.”
Emma watches me hug her from behind in the mirror, and I watch her reflection break out into a captivating smile.
“That’s a bit dramatic, Dylan Westmont, but I’ll take it.”
“Dramatic? I think I’m holding back.”
I tilt my head down over Emma’s shoulder to give her a kiss on the cheek before whispering in her ear.
“You look so fucking hot I can hardly even fucking believe it’s true.”
Emma’s blushing and beaming, as she looks down over her other shoulder.
“I’m still feeling that glow, since you mention it. But I’ve had enough looking in the mirror for now.”
“Not me. I could look at you all day.”
“Does it have to be in the mirror, or could you look at me while cooking breakfast?”
“Maybe, although I might get distracted by how fucking hot you are and end up accidentally burning down the cabin.”
“How about looking at me while I eat breakfast?”
“That’d probably be safer.” I kiss Emma once more on the cheek.
“Probably. Now let me wash my face.”
Emma doesn’t mind me staying in the bathroom, absorbed in her beauty, while she washes her face and spends a minute considering her reflection.
After Emma finishes, I remind her of how painfully gorgeous she looks.
“Ridiculous.”
“What?”
“And staggering.”
“Oh, that.”
Emma and I leave the bathroom together to go downstairs for breakfast.
“I like staggering,” she says with a grin. “Stick with that one.”
Emma and I stop at the top of the stairs and regard each other. So far, it’s the happiest moment I’ve had in this cabin by a wide fucking margin.
“Are you going to cook me breakfast, or what?” Emma smiles, all traces of sadness gone.
“Fine, I’ll hurry.”
I bound down the stairs, taking two at a time.
“Don’t try this at home,” I say.
I’m also thinking about breakfast, mostly about preparing it quickly but also making it the best breakfast Emma’s ever had. It’ll be a challenge, but I can do it.
At the bottom of the stairs, I start making a mental list of the ingredients I can get to quickly—flour, brown sugar, maple syrup, eggs, of course…
“What the... Dylan, were you robbed?”
The very words send me into a total fucking head spin. Emma’s behind me, still slowly walking down the stairs.
Her question triggers parts of me that lie dormant but are always close to the surface—like the part that knows danger is just around the corner.
All thoughts of breakfast leave my mind as soon as I see several bins and bags of sugar, flour, and oatmeal strewn on the floor in front of me.
“Is somebody here now?” Emma asks, her voice tense and low. She stops walking down the stairs entirely.
There’s a shuffling sound coming from the kitchen, and I start walking towards it. No one. “No, there’s nobody here,” I say.
Suddenly, there’s a loud crash and the sound of glass breaking. Emma gasps.
“Actually, let me clarify that: there’s nobody here that we don’t know.”
I hear Emma take a tentative step down the stairs.
“What?”
“It’s just our new friend, Emma. He’s also interested in breakfast, and he’s taking matters into his own hands.”
He must know we’re talking about him, because the bear walks up to us as soon as I start cleaning the mess.
“I’m afraid breakfast will be a little delayed this morning,” I call to Emma, shaking my fucking head. I knew it was a fucking mistake to bring the bear here.