Роберт Уилсон - Days Since... - Thomas - Day 758

“Couldn’t miss it. It looks like he can handle it too.”

James nodded.

“Doesn’t seem like they’re formally trained,” Thomas said, “but they may be able to handle themselves. In the meantime, keep doing what you’re doing. Don’t do anything that might draw attention to yourself.”

“Alright.”

Thomas walked along the curb, hunks of mud scraped from the bottoms of boots hung from them like a well-used welcome mat. This crowd is definitely larger than yesterday. I bet this place just grows as more people catch wind of it. Where the hell are these people coming from? His thoughts continued to drift. A few women may have said something as he passed by the rustling tents—past the quiet banter and sensual moans that came from inside.

“What’s your story?” A woman, raven-haired with rugged beauty, reached out, pulling Thomas’s hand into her own. She began stroking his palm with her fingertip. “Care to share?”

“Not really.” He could see how some men got carried away with this. She was pretty and had that effect of a woman. Her soft voice could make a man feel important and needed for something much more primal than their usual responsibilities.

Thomas knew she didn’t care what his story was—that she would forget anything he told her the second he left. He needed to pull his hand free— Mission first —but the slide of her fingertip along the ridges of his hands prevented it. It felt good to be wanted, desired, even if he knew deep down that it was all a farce. He felt himself falling into this trap. Play along. Maybe she’ll prove useful in other ways.

“How much?” Thomas wasn’t sure that it was an act at this point, his lower half beginning to get the better of him. He bit his lip, but quickly released it.

“How much you got?” She leaned back, causing him to snap hold of her to prevent her from falling. “Those strong hands could hold a lot of chits—a lot of quality time.”

“You like to play games, huh?” Thomas bent an awkward smile to her. “I’m not falling for that. What’s your time worth?”

“I can’t tell you what my time’s worth if I don’t know what you’re wanting to do.”

“Let’s start with talking.”

“Then let’s start with a chit.” She smiled.

Thomas hesitated. He took his hand from hers, slipped it into his pocket, and shuffled the chits between his fingers. “Will this do?” A chit rested in his palm.

“You’re focusing on the wrong things right now.” She pulled her elbows in toward each other, pushing her breasts up and in. Thomas couldn’t help himself but look. “There we go,” she said, as the chit slid from his hand.

“This one yours?” He pointed to the red and gray tent behind them.

Retaking his hand, she pulled him toward it. “It’s yours now.”

She unzipped the door and pulled it to the side, wafting an overwhelming plume of floral perfume from inside—an obvious attempt to mask the underlying foulness. The stench straightened Thomas up before he poked his head into the slumping tent. Cautious—his feet mindful of the filth wrapped in a heap of blankets and pillows. Plastic shells of water bottles littered the back. A few crusted bowls. He sighed. A creeping sense of indecency rose from the nylon floor of the tent and along his spine as he finally placed both feet inside. The woman followed. She let the door drop back into place, and the rolling sound of the zipper sealed them inside.

Thomas kicked the blankets to the side, and with a loath descent onto the floor, he perpetuated the ruse. Any desire he had felt toward this woman and her coerced need to please him quickly evaporated, dissolving within the burst of perfume the woman just released from a tiny, heart-shaped bottle. She smiled, put the bottle down, and took some lotion from a plastic stand. She worked some of it into her hands. “How does this do you?” Her hands inches from Thomas’s face as she lay down beside him, both of them on their sides.

He inhaled, and not surprisingly, it smelled of lavender. “Fine.” Thomas forced a smile as she put the bottle back.

“Just fine?” She placed her hands upon his chest and ran them down his front, stopping at Thomas’s belt, using it to pull them together, her chest now heaving into his own. “Is this fine?”

A thin line of sunlight squeezed its way through a partially uncovered window. It fell across her face, highlighting her scar. His nerves began to get the best of him. This isn’t for you. She began to undo his belt, but his hands grasped the buckle. She released him, her eyebrows knitting as she did so.

“I told you I just wanted to talk.” He fed the belt back through its buckle. “I wasn’t lying.”

She shook her head with a confused look, dejected, but he sensed some relief in her eyes. “I’ve heard that before, but never… I’ve never had anyone actually stick to it.”

“It’s just been awhile for me.” She smiled from the explanation. And while that was the truth, it was far more complicated—Thomas couldn’t bring himself to subjecting these women into this form of slavery any further. Play the game. “I can’t jump into something like this without… I don’t know.”

“No, it’s okay.” She retrieved his hand once again, holding it within both of hers. “Believe me, it’s okay. I’m here to do what you want. If that’s all you want, then I’m good with it.”

Thomas exhaled. “Good.”

“Let’s just talk then. I’m Cindy.” Her finger traced the veins on the top of his hand as she brought it into her chest. She then kissed it lightly, leaving a smudge of pink lipstick. “And you are?”

“Can’t you stop for one second with this crap?” He jerked his hand away. “This isn’t you!”

The woman’s eyes went wide—her body wriggled away from him as swiftly as she could. Thomas raised his hand to reassure her, but she covered her face in defense. “Please!”

“I’m not going to hit you.”

A period of silence. She gradually removed her hands to see Thomas’s concerned face.

“I…” He stared at her. “This was a waste of time, I’m sorry.”

She rolled onto her back and followed him with her eyes as he moved toward the door. He took the rest of his chits and threw them across the tent. “This isn’t my thing.” He hated leaving her there, knowing within the remaining daylight another man would be here with no other purpose than to defile her. “It won’t always be like this. I promise. You’re worth more than these stupid pieces of metal.”

The woman said nothing, her fingers worked obsessively to scrape the coins from the floor. As Thomas had guessed, it seemed nothing he said matter. She got what she wanted. These women are lost.

Thomas curled back around the tent as he exited, his feet trudging through mud and toward a dense area of trees. The thick growth overhead exposed the ground to very little direct sunlight. Only a few scraggly weeds and the occasional run of ivy broke up the endless swaths of drying mud. Exposed roots seemed to grab at his boots as he continued, his head on a swivel. There has to be some other guards out here.

He did his best to appear lost in case someone stumbled across him. Still have my stupid badge. Good! He backtracked every so often. Occasional pauses—scratching the back of his head. Finally, he came upon a ridge. The western service road below him. A gradual drop beyond that which led to a gulley flowing underneath a small bridge.

Crouching down, partly hidden behind a tree while untying then retying his laces, he observed the service road for a moment. Both ends of the road were clear. He heard nothing—not even a bird calling. Down the face of the ridge, he took choppy steps, skiing slightly, creating slip marks on the steep hill. His boots were now heavy with mud stuck within their treads. He scraped them across the asphalt while crossing.