Total pages in book: 205
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 204377 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1022(@200wpm)___ 818(@250wpm)___ 681(@300wpm)
Does she not understand how seductive her stories are? How exotic every minuscule detail is to our inexperienced ears?
Everything she shares is extraordinary.
And uncomfortable.
Uncomfortable to watch her struggle with feelings we don’t understand. We don’t have firsthand experience with things like poverty, racism, and drug addiction. We’re lucky in that way.
But we’re intimately familiar with abuse.
“Your sad little heart is showing.” Leo rolls his neck as if the whole conversation isn’t affecting him.
“Your prostatic utricle is showing.” Her eyes flash.
“My what?”
“Your uterus.”
He opens his mouth, and I know whatever is about to come out will send her into a rage. So I lean around her and stop him with a cutting look.
I’m too damn tired for their fighting. Besides, it’s not every day that an outsider sits down and talks to us like we’re human beings.
“You’re right.” Her shoulders lift. “The state of the world makes me sad sometimes. But amid all the strife, there’s so much beauty.”
“Like what?” Wolf grumbles, trying to hide that he’s far more interested than he’s letting on.
“There’s beauty in the art and music we create. It’s in the love between a mother and her child. It’s in the ruins we preserve in ancient lands and the war memorials we erect to remind us—”
“That humans are evil.”
“Humans aren’t evil. The situations we’re put in are evil. You want to come out victorious? Fight the wolf to protect the lamb.”
“Are you the lamb?” I ask.
“Depends.” She tilts her head. “Are you the wolf?”
“When I’m hungry.” I lick my lips.
She swallows and straightens her spine.
“The wolf eats the lamb.” Leo bares his teeth. “And the lion eats the wolf.”
“Boring.” Wolf feigns a yawn and nudges her. “Are you a servant of God?”
“Uh…” She blinks. “I don’t need a god to follow the golden rule.”
He groans. “That sounds so rehearsed. Come on, gingersnap. Spill the tea. Tell us something juicy that will blow our sheltered little minds.”
“All right.” She rubs her chin. “Are you familiar with social media?”
“Of course.” With a wave of his arms, he gestures around the room. “But without cell service or internet, it sort of puts a damper on social me.”
“You’re not missing anything. Except maybe…” She makes a face. “Okay, there are platforms where users upload short videos, and other users can follow and like and comment.”
I know what she’s talking about. While we can’t interact with these things, we stay current on the constantly changing world.
With every supply run, Denver brings us the latest magazines, films, literature, and podcasts. Social media is prevalent in everything we read and watch, and Wolf devours it, studying the evolving cultures, trends, and modern slang like his mental health depends on it. Maybe it does.
As long as Wolf shows interest, Denver will continue to supply it. But he won’t reveal his sources. He can’t be stealing this stuff. The inventory is too organized and thorough. I suspect he has someone on the outside doing his shopping. But who?
Just one of many mysteries that has always eluded us.
“What dirty shit are you watching?” Wolf arches an eyebrow.
“It’s…” She bites her lip. “There are some interesting videos out there of people doing gross things. Like popping pimples.”
“Popping pimples?”
“Blackheads, puss-filled cysts, gushing, squirting lumps…What?” She chuckles at our expressions. “Hey, you wanted juicy, and I’m a nurse. This is my jam. Tell me you don’t want to watch people remove ingrown hairs, rotting toenails, and built-up dental tartar.”
“Oh my God.” Wolf’s eyes bulge. “You’re repulsive.”
“It’s not my zits—”
“I love it.” He claps his hands, his jovial mask back in place. “Tell me more.”
She launches into tales about all the weird shit found on the internet. With her green, deep-set eyes connecting so firmly with ours as she talks, I find it harder and harder to break the spell she weaves.
You don’t know what you’re doing, Frankie. Look at you, playing with your hair, rubbing your thighs together, and talking about things we’ll never experience. You have our attention. That’s for damn sure. And you’ll regret it. You’ll wish you’d done what the others had done and kept your head down. You’ll wish you’d given up. That would’ve been easier for you. Less painful and drawn-out than this game you’re playing.
“I don’t understand,” Wolf says in response to something I missed. “What’s the point?”
She elaborates on the mystery of video gamers watching videos of other video gamers playing video games.
I don’t get it, either. How do these people stay in shape? I have broad shoulders, thick arms, and a heavy chest, and it’s not from sitting around, watching videos.
Life off the grid keeps me in fighting form. There’s something to be said about that deep physical exhaustion at the end of each day. To see the results of my work—the finished pelts, stacked lumber, flourishing greenhouse, and smokehouse strung with meat—I take pride in it.