The Lost Hearts (17 page)

“Was that so bad?”
Alexis asked him softly.

Trevor cocked an eyebrow.  “He married her, but…he saw her as little more than a servant of his own selfish needs and whims.”

Alexis stared at her hands.  She had no idea what to say. 

“And like my grandparents, they had only one child.  Me.”

Searching her mind for words of empathy, she said, “At least your mother had you.  It sounds like you love her dearly.”

Trevor locked his eyes with hers.  “She died,” he said flatly.  “She died shortly after giving birth to me.”  He looked up at the sky now, as though reviewing the past against the black screen of the night.  “My father left me with my grandparents just after she passed and I never saw him again.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alexis whispered.  But Trevor put his hand up, not to dismiss a triumphed sorrow, she noticed, but to stem the revival of it. 

“My grandparents died when I was eighteen, and I left the day after I buried my grandmother.  I came here, to New Guinea.  This is my home now.”

Alexis bit her bottom lip and combed the long tresses of her hair with her fingers.  She cleared her throat.  “My mother died when I was young, too.”

Trevor looked up at her, his eyes warm with knowing. 

Alexis nodded.  “She died when I was ten.  My father was doing some research in South America and he took her on one of his trips.  She didn’t make it home.  It…it was just me and my father growing up.”  As she said the words, she was swept up in the peace of sharing them with someone who could understand the immeasurable chasm of losing a parent.

Sighing, Trevor leaned back against his bedroll.  The shadow returned.  As the fire crackled, Alexis curled tightly above her woolen blanket.  Neither of them spoke, but the air was thick, as though for the first time they truly pondered the possibility of each other’s humanity.

Chapter
Fourteen

The horses grunted as they slowly negotiated the nearly impenetrable hills of the Southern Highlands.  Trevor would dismount, wielding the long menacing blade of a machete as he slashed the dense brush until they reached, at painstaking speed, the trodden paths made by clusters of tiny communities.  Though each of the eight days of their journey replayed the same rituals of early mornings, afternoon rests and relaxing nights by the fire, Alexis felt jangled by the mounting physical stress of the trek and the psychological challenge of plowing further into the unknown.

As she religiously committed her daily encounters to her journal, she reflected on the tenuous line of love and hate.  It was the theme of her entire experience, Trevor included.  Just when they would disarm themselves from the frustrating, volatile relationship with heartfelt discussions of their past, some petty ugliness or disagreement would arise and both would seize the opportunity to pierce the other’s point of weakness.

Alexis had discovered by now that Trevor was insecure about his lack of formal education.  Trevor, since day one, had exposed her naivety and insecurity about her lack of worldly knowledge.  He pounced on her every misstep, dangling it before her as he viciously scrutinized her faults.  For this she punished him venomously, almost sadistically, with toxic sarcasm.

Today they rode in heavy
gut-wrenching silence, frequently locking each other into poisonous glares of contempt.  Alexis stroked the wiry mane of her horse, its sides flaring gently beneath her saddle as it obediently trailed the other two.  Above, the sky swirled gray, the bottoms of the black clouds heavy and bulging.  Trevor swatted a mosquito at his neck and craned to look at the sky as the first rip of thunder peeled across the heavens.  She heard him growl under his breath, and finally he slowed until she could see his face below the rim of his weathered hat. 

“What is it?” s
he asked, exerting all self-restraint to manage a tone of civility.

His face was cinched into a permanent scowl, her attempt at diplomacy rejected.  “It’s about to piss ra
in.”  He motioned west, his tan muscular arm flexing as he pointed.  “If I remember correctly, there’s a rock formation about ten minutes that way.  We can set up our tents and hope for the best.”

“There i
sn’t a cave?” Alexis asked innocently.

Trevor snickered, his lips curling disdainfully.  “The timing of the storm doesn’t suit you?   I’m real sorry about that, Red.”

Red.
  Alexis tensed.  They had fought about this now a number of times.  It wasn’t that she had anything against nicknames, just that he seemed to use it at the moments he was attempting to debase her.  The more she complained about its usage, the more he seemed to delight in the word hissing from his mouth. 

Sure enough, they approached a small clearing where gargantuan slates of rock jutted slightly outward from the hillside.  It wouldn’t cover them, but possibly offer some reprieve from the torrential
rains which the sky promised to unleash.  Now that she had watched Trevor over the last week, she knew how to set up camp.  She began pulling the gear from the horse’s side.

“What are you doing?”
Trevor snapped, shooting a look of incredulity.

“I know what to do now, okay?  It’s not exactly complicated, and I wouldn’t dare burden you with the task of babysitting a
woman,
” she snarled. 

Tr
evor gaped at her a moment, then shook his head and threw his hands in the air.  “Whatever you say, Dr. Scott,” he cackled with sharp laughter, gathering the materials to set up the tents. 

Alexis pretended not to notice him as she began the laborious task of assembling the different parts.  She found she hadn’t quite memorized every step of the process, and she shot quick glances at Trevor’s work whenever she thought he was
n’t looking.  Her tent was a worrisome sight, flapping impotently in the gusts of wind now beginning to swoosh through the clearing.  Trevor had unsaddled the horses, covered the supplies, and begun to erect a natural windbreak by his tent.  Alexis looked at him forlornly.  Sensing her remorse, he turned slowly to her, an ecstatic gleam in his eye. 

She lifted her chin, her jaw flexed forward, and she crossed her arms in stubborn defiance.  But as her head
fell back to take in the gaping black mouth of the sky, she understood her foolishness.  All at once, the rain plunged to the earth, gauging an instant river into the soil.  The horses whinnied nervously under the trees as the thunder tore and lighting scarred the atmosphere.  Alexis flinched at the blinding white daggers shooting low and she scurried to her tent, holding the entrance flaps tight in her bloodless knuckles.  Worse than the terror of submission to nature’s fury was the humiliating defeat of her arrogant independence, her feigned expertise, her struggle to dominate Trevor.

She swallowed with difficulty, her eyes dry and raw.  She had imagined her courage, bravery and kno
w-how with fierce conviction.  Huddled pathetically against the canvas walls, pummeled by wind and rain, she knew that she had been as vain as any human being, that she had fancied herself as the heroine of an adventure.  She felt utterly depressed, too deflated to worry that the mud at the lip of the tent began to bubble inside, or that the corners of her shelter began to lift as the air sucked under, pulling ferociously at the stakes she had hammered into the ground.

Her chest suddenly felt
too small to contain the lashing of her heart and she squeezed her eyes shut.  The storm seemed to hurl a squall against the shelter, and the flaps burst open, gutting the tent like a fish.  Alexis watched with horror and she screamed as her arms flailed to catch the canvas thrashing wildly in the wind.  The roar of the downpour drowned out every sound, and she flinched in surprise when she saw a dark figure crouch at the mouth of the tent.  Trevor. 

His hair was wet and matted against his hard face, his eyes black and roiling.  He said nothing.  She
felt his arms snake beneath her and scoop her from the floor.  Instinctively she coiled her arms around his neck and her jaw fell slack as the closeness of his body registered deep in her stomach.  He catapulted to the opening of his refuge and sank to his knees.  For a moment neither moved, her arms still locked around him, their faces just inches apart. 

He reclaimed his arms, and she sank to the floor
and crouched low in the corner.  Alexis chewed her lip, suddenly doubtful of which place was less terrifying.  Trevor unwound his bundle, retrieving a soft thin towel.  Clutching it, he looked at her, his nostrils flaring, his jaw grinding.  His eyes were violent, so much that she almost didn’t notice the apprehension. 

“Here,” he said, his voice gravel.  After she had buried her face in the fabric’s warmth, dried her dripping ringlets, and removed her leather boots, she noticed how sturdy Trevor’s tent was.  She knew the storm had not relented the slight
est, but its bellow was muffled and the walls seemed to disregard the brutal insistence of the wind.  Alexis also noticed, with vexed spirits, how small the tent seemed now with two of them.  There would be no avoiding physical contact if either intended to rest.

Trevor’s eyes followed Alexis’ gaze, and when she glanced at him with this budding thought, a smile curled at his lips as though he understood her revelation.  “It’s going to be cozy in here tonight, Red.”  Stretching theatrically with a wide yawn, Trevor sprawled out
along the length of his bedroll and patted the narrow tract of free space by his side.  “Don’t worry.  I won’t bite.”

Alexis wanted to punish him with an overdramatic gesture of rejection, but she flinched as she felt the burning tension knot inside her as she imagined her body against hi
m in that tiny place.  Suddenly her breath felt short, and the tent suddenly became warmer.  She cleared her throat, obstinate and unmoving in her squat at the corner of the tent.  “Won’t this thing flood?”

Trevor shrugged his shoulders mercilessly, an attempt to hold her in suspense.  He rubbed the black stubble on his chin as he reconsidered, deciding the pleasure of belittling her would be more satisfying.  “As a matter of fact, if you had let me do my job and set up your tent, yo
u might have been spared a long personal evening with yours truly.  However, you decided you knew better when you did not.”  He flicked his hand upward.  “If you noticed, the weather conditions are slightly different than the other nights.  And if you had paid attention, you might have noticed that I dug trenches to keep the water out.”  He smiled, oozing conceit.  “But,” his voice swelled with happiness, “you have all night to think about that.” 

Alexis seethed, scowling at him through narrowed eyes, even as he handed her a mea
ger ration of crackers and hard aged cheese.  They ate in silence, and Alexis noticed with infuriation the smug look plastered to Trevor’s face.  She fought the uncharacteristic urge to slap him, breathing hard to suppress the desire.  She was still curled into a ball at the tent’s corner when Trevor pulled the fabric of his cotton shirt from the snug waistline of his pants.  He’d half unbuttoned it, the collar hanging open over the large expanse of his chest.  Her eyes fixed on the tuft of dark course hair at the center of his torso. 

“What are you doing?” s
he sputtered in a shrill voice of disbelief.

Trevor shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly.  “I’m going to sleep now.”

“You’re taking off your clothes!” she exclaimed.

“Wow,” Trevor gasped in mock astonis
hment.  “Did they teach you power of observation at Harvard, too?”

Realizing he had uncovered
yet another source of annoyance, he continued to unbutton his shirt until she saw the dark hair around his navel trail suggestively below his waistline.  Alexis gulped, her throat dry.  Slowly, he peeled off the garment, and she darted her eyes away from him as he moved deliberately, mockingly. 

“Do you mind?” s
he asked shakily.

“This is my tent, Red.  I suggest you get over it,”
Trevor smirked, stretching wide, and lay with his naked chest to the sky.

An hour passe
d and Alexis’ lids drooped wearily over her dry tired eyes.  Through bleary vision, she could see Trevor’s figure in the dark, his large frame breathing slowly and deeply as he slept.  Her body screamed with discomfort, and she threw a longing glance to the narrow strip of space beside him.  Reluctantly, she unrolled her woolen pad and crawled to the space just beside Trevor’s head.  As she uncoiled, she felt her body melt against the length of his solid frame.

Trevor stirred in his sleep, and he
shifted until his chest melded with the small of her back, and the curve of her bottom hooked against his pelvis.  His arm slid heavily over her.  She felt his mouth open and breathe against her hair.  She was too tired to fight the response of her skin, the pleasure she felt as she sank into his unconscious embrace, and her mind swirled into blackness. When she woke the next morning, he was gone.

The ground was thick and viscous like wet clay, and it sucked at her feet as she gracelessly climbed the rise to spot Trevor.  Wildlife chirped and hummed exuberantly among the brilliant, refreshed greens of the rainforest.  When she reached the crest, she found the brush was too dense to see more than twenty feet.  Alexis returned to the camp and noticed that he had built a small fire for their morning coffee and breakfast.  As she stumbled toward the horses, stroking hers on its long face, she saw that there were only two idling in the shade.

Alexis enjoyed the solitude that morning, hanging clothes in the sunlight to dry, nibbling on crackers as her stomach rumbled with hunger.  She didn’t worry about Trevor’s absence until the fire ebbed and only a small wisp of gray smoke gushed from the white ash of the fire pit. 
Where is he
, she wondered with the sharp edge of panic. 

To
occupy her mind, Alexis set about the task of salvaging her tent.  She gathered its tattered remains, and after a grueling hour of rummaging through their supplies, managed to find a small sewing kit.  She sat under the shade of the boulders, and only when the searing light of the afternoon sun crept insidiously over her crossed legs did she become aware of the hour. 

Alexis shook her head in confusion.  Of course they had exchanged bitter words, but the previous evening wasn’t unlike any other.  She could accuse Trevor of many despicable things, but
to abandon her?  No.  Yet her rationalizations did anything but assuage her feelings of dread.  If he hadn’t deserted her, then he must be in some sort of trouble.  Sucking in a short breath, her hands released the canvas material and she shot upward.  She ducked behind Trevor’s tent, threw up the tarp, and dragging the cumbersome, leather saddle to the horse, hoisted it atop the beast.  Clumsily her fingers tangled and fumbled as she attempted to secure it tightly to the bowed sides of the horse. 

She pulled uncertainly at the cantle, and sighing with false courage, hooked her boot in the stirrup to mount the animal.  Behind her, she heard the muddy c
lop of hooves pounding sluggishly toward her.  Her head snapped and she gasped.  Trevor clung limply to the horse’s back, his clothes ripped, the horse’s side caked with blood.  The vacant black of his eyes against his ashen skin was a morbid contrast that made Alexis shudder.  She cried out indiscernibly, ran toward him, and her arms opened to catch him as if she thought she could.