“What about?” she asked, distracted by Christine again.
“Why is Dingane so interested when I shower? I thought maybe you might know.”
Her answer shocked me speechless. “He sweeps all the bugs out for you. He heard you say how you hated them,” she absently remarked. “Excuse me, dear,” she continued, heading for Christine.
I walked away in a daze, not believing it. But he hates me. He may be attracted to me, that’s obvious, but he doesn’t care for me.
I hit the dirt outside and made a beeline for the showers, the small outside light illuminating it in the middle of our makeshift village. When I rounded the corner, I shone the flashlight I carried with me into one of the rudimentary stalls. Insects. Everywhere. The wood walls were covered with them. I almost couldn’t believe my eyes. Every inch seemed infested. I accidentally dropped my light and bent to pick it up. That means he’s been waking up extra early every morning and sweeping them out. Why would he do this?
“He likes you, dumbass,” I said out loud.
My lips twitched at the corners and I stood. I practically sprinted to our huts but just stopped myself from banging my fist on Ian’s barely-there door. My hand fell to my side. I couldn’t bring myself to confront him with the evidence. If he’d wanted me to know he was doing it, he’d have let me know. My teeth couldn’t fight the smile plastered on my face. It was time for bed.
o;Yes.”
I chose his face.
“Keeping that object within sight, bring the circle toward your face. The circle should naturally gravitate to one eye.”
“My left,” I told him and he looked up.
“Mine too,” he whispered. I dropped my hands to my side. “That’s your dominant eye. You’ll use that one to align your sights.” He handed me the gun and stood behind me closely, gripping the gun with me. “This is very loaded.”
You can say that again, I thought.
“Acknowledge me.”
“It’s loaded,” I repeated.
Dingane fixed himself hard against my back and my eyes slid closed at his warmth and the feel of his solid muscles. He fixed my stance once more with his feet and I could feel the blood rush to my belly. His mouth rested against my ear and I could hear every breath he took, slow and steady.
“Align your sights,” he spoke against my ear.
I nodded, my target within sight.
“Don’t press yet,” he teased.
“Why?” I barely rushed out.
“Don’t pull. Never pull. Whenever you’re ready, squeeze the trigger until you feel resistance, but let it surprise you. Don’t prepare yourself for the bullet, concentrate on applying pressure directly and let it show you exactly what it feels like the second it releases from the gun.”
I nodded and took several steadying breaths, keeping my target within sight. Time seemed to slow to a turtle’s pace. The world swirled quietly around me; the only significant sound was the deep rise and fall of Dingane’s chest.
My finger left its reclined position and rested on top of the trigger. My body tensed and I could feel his body cull itself tightly around mine in preparation. Two deep breaths and my lungs held still as my finger squeezed the trigger.
The world held still as the bullet rushed from the barrel toward the awaiting stump. The seconds to follow will forever brand themselves in my mind. The bullet struck home, shredding small parts of the stump outward in a halo of splinters, falling and settling onto the bed of dead undergrowth below. The bullet leaving the gun thrust my body against Dingane’s, but he seemed prepared for it, holding me still against him.
When it was all done, the world rushed back to reality around me, the sights and sounds loud against my eyes and ears. I began to breathe deeply and Dingane slowly turned me toward him. I pointed the gun at the earth and faced him, staring directly in his eyes.
“You did well, Soph,” he began softly. He’d never called me Soph before. “Feel all right?”
I nodded, unable to speak.
He kept eye contact but removed the gun from my hand, holstering it and returning that hand to my shoulder. He watched me intently and a deluge of emotions washed over his face. His eyebrows pinched together as if he was trying to fight something. Finally, his face relaxed then both his palms rounded my back and up my shoulders, fisting both my braids.
“They’re falling out,” I finally spoke.
“They always do at the end of the day,” he added, never breaking his stare, inches from my face.