Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 106646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106646 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
"Nowhere," I pant. "I'm good. This is fine. I'm one hundred percent all better now."
His laughter feels like a caress. "Stubborn little kaari," he murmurs. "Why are you so against asking for help? Why do you not want anyone to see your weaknesses?"
I shift on the blankets. "Because they'll use them against me."
"You think I would do that to you?"
"Yes," I say immediately. Haven't we both said things we didn't mean in the heat of an argument right in front of everyone in camp? That's part of the problem. There are no secrets in the encampment, and our business becomes everyone's business when a voice is slightly raised. I know I've argued with intent to hurt, using words to draw blood, and I know he has, too. It's one reason we're no good together.
"That wounds me," A'tam says, and he sounds sincere. "I never wish to cause you pain."
"I never try to hurt you, either, but somehow we keep doing it."
He says nothing to that, probably because he knows I'm right. Instead, he rubs my shoulders again, working tired muscles in such an effortless, soothing way that I close my eyes, relaxing into his touch. "I saw your pottery," he says softly. "It broke again."
"I know. I'm so disappointed." I feel morose every time I think about my pottery. It's been over a month of lost sleep and sifting clay from water, slapping mud and making slow-burning fires to bake pot after pot, only for them all to turn to garbage at one step or another. There have been so many times I've wanted to walk away from the cave and never look back. After all, I'm doing pottery in secret, so no one can know if I can't figure it out, right?
But every time I feel the urge to give up, I hear my mother's sharp voice in my head. You give up on everything. You'll never amount to anything. You're stupid and willful, just like your awful father. I should be grateful I never got saddled with him. Hearing that bitter voice in my head makes me all the more determined to give it another try. To make one more pot, to try one more fire. "I can't get the temperature right," I complain to A'tam. "The pots do okay for a while, but then they break. I don't know what I'm doing wrong."
"Hm." A'tam is quiet, and I know he's thinking. "They cool too quickly. The fire does not stay hot long enough."
"So how do I fix that? Did your mother do anything in particular?"
"I do not remember. I will think on it." A'tam rubs my shoulders again, his hands soothing and comforting. "There is an answer. We just have to find it."
"'We,' huh?" I rest my cheek on my folded hands, smiling as I relax into the massage. "When did my pottery turn into a 'we' project?"
He chuckles. "I enjoy spending the time with you. And I help, do I not? I bring you mud and help sift it to find the clay. I bring you snacks and make sure that you are not cold while you work. I keep you company. These are important things."
I know they are. Without A'tam's support, I probably would have given up weeks ago. But he's so utterly confident that I can figure this out that I want to, just to show him that I can. So I tease him a little more. "I stand corrected."
A'tam's big hands splay across my back. "No. You should not stand at all. You must rest."
I get the giggles at that. He doesn't grasp that it's a figure of speech, and for some reason, it strikes me as adorably cute. I chuckle, and when he joins in, I keep on laughing. It feels good to let out some of the tension after such a long, miserable day.
"Are you laughing at me?" he asks, but he sounds amused, as if my giggle-fit makes him happy.
"Not at all," I snicker, smiling at nothing.
"Naughty," he murmurs. His hand glides down my back again and then to my surprise, he leans over me and nips at my shoulder, teeth grazing my skin.
I suck in a breath, because just like that, all the tension between us has returned, and all of it is sexual.
He waits for me to react, and when I don't, he leans over and nips at my shoulder again. "Soft," he murmurs. "You are so soft, little kaari."
I bite back a moan, because I knew this would turn sexual. I just knew it. And yet…I can't help myself. It feels good to be touched by him. When he strokes his hands up and down my back again, pressing his lips to my skin once more, I don't tell him to leave me alone. I don't ask him to stop. I just sigh and enjoy.