Cabin of Axes - Bea Paige Page 0,5
minutes, I remain seated with my back pressed against the front door, hoping to God the Torben brothers return so that I can at least beg for something warm to drink and maybe borrow some clothes.
But they don’t appear.
Shuffling against the door to try and get comfortable, I manage to knock over the statue of the girl. She tumbles over, the sound of her hitting the deck lost between a rumble of thunder and flash of lightning.
“Shit,” I exclaim, picking her up only to notice that she’s hollowed out in the middle. Something catches my eye, and I reach inside her body, my fingers touching something cold and hard. Grabbing the end between my finger and thumb, I pull the item out.
It’s a key. A door key.
“Oh, thank God,” I exclaim, relief washing over me. It’s a good hiding spot, and I never would have considered looking inside had I not knocked her over. I debate for all of a few seconds about whether I should open the door and decide that this is a life or death situation. I’m hoping the Torben brothers will agree when they eventually return to find me in their home.
With shaking fingers, I unlock the door and step inside the cabin. It’s warm, so warm that my muscles instantly relax with the heat. It smells beautiful too, of polished wood, patchouli, and honeyed oats. An unusual mix, but comforting all the same.
An unexpected wave of relief washes over me, and I have to clamp my hand over the sob that wants to escape my mouth. I don’t know why I feel so utterly relieved to be standing here in this house, given the occupants are strangers, but I am. Maybe it’s the fact that I’m inside and safe whilst a storm rages outside, or perhaps it’s because the owners of this house mean something to me, or at least the me before I lost my memory. Something about that rings true, though it could just be wishful thinking.
Standing in the entrance, I wonder what the fuck I should do now. I don’t think I’m the kind of person who trespasses in people’s homes on a regular basis, then again, here I am. The drip, drip, drip of water falling from my clothes and hair onto the shiny wooden floor makes me instantly feel guilty. Not only have I entered this house without an invite, I’m now causing a mess. Removing the leather jacket and my muddy work boots, I place the jacket on a hook by the front door and rest my boots beneath it. My toes instantly curl in bliss as the warmth of the underfloor heating permeates my cold feet and damp socks.
“Hello?” I call, secretly hoping that one of the brothers is home and I can explain why I’ve let myself into their property. I know it’s unlikely, but I call out anyway. “Is anyone there?”
Stepping gingerly into the open space, my gaze roves over the interior. Outside the storm rages and another flash of lightning illuminates the sky followed by a huge clap of thunder, making me jump.
“Jesus Christ,” I mumble, edging my way through the open space. My fingertips run along the back of the sofa, loving the feel of the soft leather. To my left is the kitchen island, and set on the counter are three covered bowls with spoons set out beside them. With my interest piqued, I pad over to the counter, a natural curiosity getting the better of me. I have a feeling that this curiosity gets me into trouble on a regular basis. Lifting the lid covering the first bowl, my mouth immediately waters. The bowl is filled with porridge oats that’s warm and enticing, a huge dollop of honey floating on the top. My stomach grumbles even though I’ve only just eaten. Biting on my lip, I throw caution to the wind and scoop up some of the porridge. The moment my lips wrap around the spoon, I know that it’s way too sweet for my tastes, but I swallow regardless. I don’t think about why the porridge is still warm, I don’t think about the fact I’ve let myself into this house without permission, and I don’t think about the consequences either. Hunger and a curious need to taste what’s in front of me takes over.
I uncover the next two bowls and dip my spoon in the middle bowl, swallowing the porridge quickly and regretting it immediately.
“Oh, yuck!” I exclaim as my