The Cabin - Part 3

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Mike peeled his shirt back, revealing a strikingly solid chest, covered in a blanket of thick, wet hair. He dragged it down his muscular arms and set it on the back of a wooden chair next to the fire. Rain water dripped from him as he kicked off his boots, removed his socks and tugged at the zipper of his pants, and only when they reached his ankles, did the man turn around to find Ollie gawping at him.

“Are you deaf?” He asked, eyeing the teen. “You’ll catch your death in those wet clothes, get them off and I’ll dry them”.

The young man looked awkward. Beads of water rolled down his face as he stood, unmoving, until Mike turned around fully, and raised his arms.

“What?” He asked.

Ollie’s eyes slowly surveyed the half naked man, before sheepishly moving across the room. He opened his mouth to talk, but closed it again before Mike waved his hand.

“Hello?” The man said, “am I speaking Chinese?”

“I’m fine like this” he replied, wiping more rain from his eyes, “I should get back”.

Mike’s eyes narrowed. The rain had become even heavier outside, and the wind was now howling thorough the trees. The fact that the lad had even made it this far was surprising enough, but he most certainly wasn’t making it home.

“Ah” Mike eventually said, a smile brewing on his handsome face. “I get it”.

Ollie looked back at him. The warm glow of the fire had betrayed him, illuminating his red cheeks as he remained in place.

“Want me to turn around?” Mike asked, almost teasingly. Ollie didn’t answer him, but Mike chuckled to himself anyway, and turned back around to the fire, warming his tough hands. “There’s a dry shirt on the back of the door” he said, without looking back, “you’ll probably get lost in it, but it’ll do until your clothes are dry”.

Again, the eighteen year old remained silent, but Mike could hear the damp clothes being stripped from his body, and smiled to himself. He’d never been particularly modest, and had always been baffled by younger generations who seemed to forget that they all had the same body parts, but what business was it of his? A few minutes later, Ollie shuffled back into the room, with a large shirt wrapped around his body. Mike couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’s like a dress on you” he said, studying the shaking young man. “Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Your clothes are fucking soaked. How long have you been out there?”

“A while” Ollie shrugged, sinking into the sofa.

Mike picked up his glass of whiskey and lifted it to his lips before stopping and taking another glance at the lad. He looked miserable, with his hair matted to his head and his body trembling from the cold. “Here” he said, handing him the glass.

“Oh, I uh… I don’t usually drink”.

“And I don’t usually take strays into my house, but here we are, now drink. It’ll warm you up”.

Hesitantly, Ollie reached over and took the glass in his shaking hand. He sniffed it first, like a curious animal, and eventually took a sip before squirming as it burned his throat.

“That’ll put hairs on your chest” Mike laughed, swigging from the bottle. Ollie pulled the front of the shirt out and looked down at his bare chest curiously. Mike rolled his eyes. “It’s a saying” he explained, and Ollie sat back.

There was something nice about the pounding patter of rain on the timber of the cabin. It reminded Mike of his childhood, and whether it was the whiskey or the warmth, he felt himself settle for the first time since he arrived.

“So” he eventually said, and looked over at Ollie whose eyes were pinned to the burning logs in the fire. “What’s the deal with your mom?”

The question seemed to physically hurt the young man. He didn’t look at Mike, but Mike could see the pain in his eyes.

“You don’t have to talk about it” he said, “but I can’t imagine there’s many people around here who’ll listen”.

“Hank listens” he replied, referring to the senile old man from the store.

“What about your father. He still around?”

Ollie shook his head.

“Brothers, sisters?”

Another head shake.

“Aunts, uncles?”

“Nobody” Ollie said, “just Mom”.

Mike exhaled. The kid had been a pain in his ass from the moment he met him earlier in the day, but he couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. Mike couldn’t even begin to imagine how he would have survived his childhood in a place like this without his old man around.

“Hungry?” He asked, when Ollie’s stomach growled for the third time in as many minutes.

“Oh, uh… No, I’m um… I’m good. I should probably get going. My mom, she uh… She worries”.

“You’re eighteen, right?” Mike said, and Ollie nodded. “Let her worry”.

Grilled cheese sandwiches were much more difficult to make over a fire than Mike had expected, and after ten minutes of failure, Ollie finally laughed and took over.

“You gotta get the pan hot first” he said, taking out the soggy bread. “Otherwise it won’t work”.

“Is that right?” Mike said, and sat back whilst the young man cooked up two sandwiches. “Quite the chef” he nodded, as they both tucked in.

They ate in silence for the most part, with Mike refilling Ollie’s glass after a few minutes, and gulping enough for himself, too. By the time they were done, the effects of the alcohol had become evident on the teen.

“She doesn’t actually hate me” he hiccuped, sitting back on the chair as the shirt fell away from his torso, exposing a smooth, slim chest. “She forgets her meds sometimes, that’s all”.

“That’s not your problem” Mike growled, remembering his own mother and her many issues over the years. “You don’t need that shit in your life”.

“She’s my mom” Ollie said, somewhat defiantly. “She has nobody else to take care of her”.

Mike squirmed at the words. He looked over at the half naked young man and for a moment, he saw himself. The image was a bitter one to take in, but if he knew back then what he knew now, perhaps his life wouldn’t have turned out the way it did.

“You’re not her carer, kid” he said, “it’s not your job to keep your mother sane. She’s a grown woman”.

Ollie didn’t answer him for a moment, and finished his whiskey before reaching for the bottle. He was unsteady in his movements, and becoming visibly more drunk by the second.

“I think you’ve had enough” Mike said, pulling the bottle away.

“Come on, man” he slurred, “I’m fine”.

“You’re drunk” Mike told him.

“So? Just give me another one and I’ll go”.

“You think I’m letting you walk home like that?” Mike scoffed, and got to his feet before returning the bottle to the cabinet. “You take the bed, I’ll give you a ride home in the morning when the weather picks up”.

He closed the cabinet door and slowly turned back, only to find Ollie on his feet, fists clenched and shirt, gone.

“I want another drink” the young, underwear clad man said.

Mike watched him for a moment as he swayed back and forth. Without clothes, Ollie looked even slimmer, and it was almost comical to watch him trying to be tough.

“Bed” he said, taking a step toward Ollie, who looked a little less confident now that a six foot four, three hundred pound, half naked man stood before him.

“I… I don’t want to” he said, and Mike sighed.

“So, what do you want Ollie?” He asked, placing his rugged hand on the lad’s warm, smooth shoulder. “You want to go back out there? You want to drown yourself in the rain? Get your ass blown through the forest, huh? Is that what you want?”

Ollie looked up at the man before leaning in and pressing his warm lips to Mike’s. For a split second, chills ran through Mike’s entire body. The last person he’d kissed was her, and the feeling of it made his heart race in his chest. He almost forgot where he was, then his eyes flicked open, and he grabbed Ollie by the arms.

“What do you think you’re doing?!” He gasped, jerking him away. “Are you fucking insane?!”

Ollie looked as shocked as Mike did. He blinked rapidly as tears began to form in his eyes, and before Mike exploded, he took a long breath and looked up at the ceiling.

“You’re drunk” he nodded, because that was the only explanation he could muster. “My fault” he said, turning Ollie by the shoulders and walking him down the hallway and into the bedroom. “Sleep it off and we’ll forget this ever happened”.

Mike pulled back the blankets and watched Ollie crawl into the bed. He walked back toward the door, knocked off the light and just as he was about to close it, Ollie responded.

“What if I don’t want to forget it happened?”

Mike squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head. “Goodnight, Ollie” he growled, and closed the door behind him, but even as Mike lay down on the uncomfortable sofa, his body continued to tingle.