Guilt.

A relentless pest latched to her shadow, inseparable and ever-present. Its presence prominent at the blow of a gun, the final hitch her father drew. But this?

This sort differs. Greatly.

It gnaws at her conscience even at the utmost quiet, harmless interactions. When her build royally tilts to yours, endowing heed to your lips' bows, it's there. When she tours through the wilds, it's there.

And when Travis lip-lock his with hers, it's there.

It's wrong, she knows, to envisage an Adam's mouth to an Eve's ideal plush—to crave another while being off the market. But, to heighten the flames? She yearns that other to be her boyfriend's sister.

"Got anything today?" Your query is the first voice to welcome her crisp-leafed boots into the cabin. Frankly, a face she listed as numero uno to greet.

"No luck." Sameness as twenty-four hours ago. Sparing a gander over her deltoid accentuated her simple response to a naked fact. A gospel truth that nothing beyond her tail resembles an iota of protein. Just air, a chunky sea of decaying foliage, and its underbrush trampled by a sulking Travis.

Rifle ready in one fist, empty-handed other poised in smacking the door shut.

"Seems like my dear brother hasn't apologized to you." Sarcasm oozed from your median word. "Need me to knock some sense into him?"

Can you ever shove back his condescending words? For something so stupid about the past—over goddamn Bobby Farleigh.

"No need for that. It's an issue..." Nat abandoned the gun in search of that permanent scowl, "that needs to be between us."

"You sure?" You palm her shoulder, igniting her gaze to reconnect—coated with flickering surprise.

"Y-yeah," a stutter that mere touch rendered. Calm yourself.

"You know, should we go for a smoke by the lake?" offered she, a secret pitch only you can register. "Like old times. Just really stressed with all this... bullshit."

"Plus I could use the heat," an excuse for her reddened midface. Definitely to blame on the gust. "It's freezing out there."