The Woods Ch. 01

All characters are 18 years old or older.

(Mostly set-up here erotic stuff will be added later! This is a rewrite. I will be adding more chapters soon!)

TRIGGER WARNING: This story talks about abuse as a factor of one of the character's lives, though the abuse is not explicitly written about in the story, the characters do discuss them. This is meant to be a story about healing and learning to trust again, but it may not be for everyone.

There is also some animal hunting and murder implied.

Thank you and please enjoy!

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Chapter One

His knife dug into the flesh of the apple, peeling away the outer layer. He watched as little ringlets fell to the floor. The sight of had always reminded him of his daughter, the way her hair curled in ringlets just the same. But she hated apple peels, she'd make him take them off each time she wanted one. Sighing, he placed the knife away and took a bite. It tasted bitter, the flesh dissolving unpleasantly in his mouth.

His daughter always been a sweet child, but all that sweetness she held in life had melted away. Her memory was as bitter to him as anything could be. The man chewed slowly, willing the thoughts of her to fade. He needed to keep alert. The woods were full of creatures, and humans that were not to be trusted.

The moon above was full and glowing magnificently over the trees. The leaves had just begun to fall, and the stars were out. Above his head, there shined a million burning stars in the tar-black sky. Their constellations guided him along his journey back home. His cabin was not far off, but it had been a long, quiet journey. There was little game left to be found. He could feel himself growing weary. Stopping to rest against a tree, he took off his pack, rested his gun beside him, and sighed heavily.

It was then that his eyes fell upon a strange sight. Laying just before him, was a human. Its body was completely still on the ground. His heart pounded with fear. The sight of the limp frame flooded his mind with memories. He'd found his daughter in just the same way only five years ago.

His eyes searched the forest for any sign of others. This could have easily been a trap. When he saw that he was in no danger, he picked up his pack and gun and walked towards her.

As he approached the figure, he began to see her more clearly. She was a woman. She looked young, about 19 or 20 years old. Her body was badly bruised and cut. Her clothes looked like they had been torn from her completely. His heart lurched at the thought. Bending down he checked to see if she had a pulse.

To his surprise, he could feel the vein weakly attempting to pump the blood from her heart to her body. She was still alive. Impulsively he took off his winter hat putting it on her head and wrapping his coat around her frail body. He scooped her up into his arms and carried her.

When he reached the cabin door, he walked inside and set her gingerly on the couch, covering her with a blanket. He went upstairs to find her some clothes to wear when she woke up. When he came downstairs again, holding a large sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants, he saw that she had not moved.

The man carefully removed an arm from underneath the blanket, careful not to look at the rest of her naked body. The cuts did not look too deep. He began to clean her up and bandage her wounds as she slept. He knew that she was likely hurt elsewhere but he felt sick about looking at her, especially after what had transpired in the woods. Instead, he took a washcloth and rested it over her eyes and set a glass of water on the coffee table. She shouldn't be alone, he thought. Sitting down beside the couch, he kept an eye on her to make sure she was alright for the rest of the night.

When he awoke, he found himself on the floor beside the couch. He was still sitting up, his head leaning back against the couch. Still dazed with sleep, he blinked. He'd almost forgotten the events of the night before. Yet, there she was.

The woman was already awake. She was sitting at the far end of the couch, her eyes held a startled expression. Her slender legs were drawn up close to her body. The blanket he'd given her was haphazardly wrapped around her naked frame. Warm sunlight bathed her bruised skin in a golden glow. He was surprised that she did not try to cover herself.

Embarrassed, he looked away. He wasn't sure what to say.

"Those clothes are for you, you know," He said gesturing, still looking the other way.

The girl said nothing but he heard her shift on the couch. He could hear the blanket slide off of her and onto the floor. The sound of fabric rustling followed as she put on his clothes. He waited another moment and then turned towards her.

The little thing was practically drowning in his shirt and the pants went well past her feet. He smiled at her. "I'm sorry I didn't have anything else to give you."

She stared.

"What's your name?"

She said nothing.

"Mine's Henry," he added cautiously, waiting to see if she would respond.

He crossed his arms, unsure of how to go about this. This poor thing. Did she even remember what happened?

"Sit down. I'll bring you something to eat."

The young woman did as she was told and said nothing, but she never took her eyes off the man. When he returned with two biscuits and a mug her eyes followed him from the kitchen door to the couch. He sat a good distance away from her, setting the food down and nodding to tell her she could eat.

It took her some time to decide, but she reached for one of the biscuits. He noticed that she had rolled the sleeves up so that her hands were visible. Her hair was still tangled and matted. There were leaves in it that he had not noticed when he'd found her.

"This must be strange for you to hear." He began, "But, I found you last night. In the woods just a few miles away from here. I didn't see anyone with you, and you looked like you'd been hurt pretty badly. Are you feeling alright?"

The woman stopped chewing. He could see her face twisting from one expression to another before settling into the stoic face from before. She nodded once. Her eyes never left the floor.

"There's a shower upstairs," he said kindly, "You're more than welcome to use it. I don't have much in the way of medical supplies either, but you're welcome to that as well."

She stared at him again. He was a very intimidating figure with broad shoulders and a thick beard. There were a few small, pink scars on his face, and larger ones on his arms. It was strange that his eyes seemed kind when the rest of his stature appeared so brutal.

He could see it now. There was real fear in her eyes, yet he couldn't understand why. He had fed her. He had given her clothes and a place to sleep. He'd barely even looked at her this whole time. He could not imagine her being intimidated by him at all.

Without taking another bite she placed the biscuit down on the plate and pushed it away.

"I'll stay down here until you come down if that will make you feel better," trying to make her more comfortable.

The features of her face shifted from that of fear to skepticism. All the same, she nodded and walked up the stairs.

When she turned the corner and knew that the man could no longer see her, she felt a bit of relief. She walked to the closest door and turned the knob. It was locked. She pressed her ear to the door. Maybe he'd found other girls as well. She looked over her shoulder then bent to look under the crack in the door. There didn't appear to be any movement. Perhaps they were chained up? Why lock an unused room? What was behind the door?

Realizing that he might get suspicious if he didn't hear the shower, she quickly went to open another door. Luckily, it was the bathroom this time. She closed the door and locked it. Before disrobing, she double-checked to make sure she'd locked the door. She pulled off the clothes that were too large for her, closing her eyes to avoid seeing herself in the mirror. She hated seeing herself after that sort of thing. It always disgusted her to still feel the bruises and see the little scabs and scars.

She hated the shower most of all. Hated closing her eyes and being naked. She hoped she locked the door. His warm breath was on her neck. Her eyes flew open and she turned. There was nothing. Just the sound of soft sprinkling water. Quickly, she dried off and put the clothes back on trying to push out all of those old thoughts.

She sat on the toilet with her head in her hands. It could have been him. Easily it could have. Why couldn't she remember the man's face? It had been dark, but she always remembered their faces. She should have been able to do it. Why not this time? She could feel her heart pounding. It was him. He'd made up that whole story and was only acting kind to trick her into thinking he wouldn't hurt her. Soon she would be tied--

No. She shook her head. Willing herself to breathe deeply she told herself that the man had meant her no harm. He had allowed her to sleep on the couch. He had given her food. He had given her clothes, and not so much as glanced at her. That was the strangest thing. She got dressed quickly and walked downstairs. Why had he not looked at her? Was it guilt? Had he really been the one who'd hurt her.

She turned the corner and found no one in the living room. To the left there was a door frame that opened up into a kitchen. Hesitantly, she walked into the new room. The floors were made of white tile. There was a sturdy wooden table and a hutch with intricate carvings.

"Don't think I'm being rude, but can you talk...?"

Her eyes darted towards the voice, then her gaze fell immediately. She shook her head.

"I didn't mean to upset you." The man said, "I just wasn't sure why you hadn't said anything to me."

She nodded as if to say that it wasn't his fault. She gestured using her hands to make a writing motion.

"You need to write something?"

She nodded again. There was something in his voice that made her feel at ease, even if she was unsure about her situation there in the cabin. He left without a word and she peeked out of the kitchen to see him rummaging around in the living area.

He'd returned with a notebook and pen in hand. Surprised, she hesitated before taking it and opening it up.

She had been trained to read. Mother had always wanted to make sure that her girls were able to cook properly and read the proper books, especially if they were being sold off to rich men in need of more intelligent company. Even so, she had not been allowed to write for herself and her vocabulary was very limited. Never, in her entire life had a man given her the chance to write freely. They had always taken her silence as an invitation to mistreat her without fear of repercussions.

Holding the pen in her hand she was overwhelmed. She wanted to spill all of her misfortunes onto the paper, to finally tell the truth and expose what she'd been forced to keep to herself. She wanted to fill the entire notebook with her side of the story. She held back though, afraid that too much information might frighten the man. Better to let him find out her past in bits and pieces.

He waited, somewhat awkwardly for her to write. When she did, she began to introduce herself. She never had a friend before and hoped that perhaps this might change now. Still, she tried not to get her hopes up.

----

The next morning, Henry could hear the pattering rain outside, trickling down the windows and spilling into puddles on the ground. It was a gentle sound. The fireplace crackled peacefully alongside the soft rain. His back against the couch, he stared up at the ceiling.

It was difficult to remember his life before this. The past seemed so distant, as if he'd lived for many lifetimes. Years ago, he'd met her. The beautiful blonde woman was sitting under a tree in her father's garden. He was only 18 then and just beginning to make his way as a carpenter. Her father had hired him to build a large fence that would protect the garden and the daughter who was so fond of it.

Henry remembered how she looked, her straight, platinum blonde hair flowing over her shoulders, her knees drawn up in a way that allowed her to rest her book comfortably on them. The sun shone down above her, but she was shaded by the trees and the flowers that surrounded her. Her eyes were bright blue and always gave her the appearance of being intensely focused. Her slender shoulders were peeking out of her lavish dress, pressed against the bark of the tree.

Every type of plant grew there, and her father used them to make his potions and different magical remedies. There were plants that could cure sickness and provide healing to those who could not see or walk. There were ones that could be used to heal fatal wounds or change appearances. It was speculated that the girl's father was working on many different potions, some of which could even provide immortality. This was why he needed his garden protected.

Henry sighed. There was no use in ruminating on the past. Even so, the young woman he'd found reminded him so much of what was past. He read her note again.

She recounted her story in neat, precise penmanship. Her mother had sold her into slavery and she had been sold to various partners afterward. She did not give details about her owners, she simply mentioned that she was thankful to be rid of them.

It was only after reading her note that Henry began to wonder how old some of the scars on her body were. The poor thing. She had never been given a proper home, tossed around from place to place like an object. He supposed she was an object of sorts. The thought made him sick.

When she awoke, she was resting in the large bed. Panic filled her heart as she scrambled to lift the sheets. She was still clothed. She touched herself. She wasn't sore. He appeared to have left no mark on her. He must have been very gentle, she thought. Or stranger still, perhaps he did nothing.

Confused, she walked down the stairs. The man was laying there with his head on the pillow, covered in a blanket on the couch. Had he really slept there? She wondered.

He told her to sleep in his bed after she had given him the note. She'd supposed he had waited long enough for her already. She'd thought herself very foolish for telling him that she was a slave. When he'd sent her to his room, she was sure that he would treat her as one.

She laid awake, waiting for him. Yet, he never came. The pillows were softer than anything she'd ever felt, and the covers were warm. She couldn't help drifting into a deep slumber.

Now she stood, confused at the situation she found herself in. She walked over to the shelf nearby and looked carefully at the labels. She ran her fingers over the spines, noticing the dust on the shelf. Turning back to look at Henry, she saw that he was still sleeping, and she chose one of the books.

For a moment she held it in her lap. It was bound in leather, clearly an older book. It had been a long time since she had been able to read for pleasure. One of her owners had held an extensive library. Though she was sure he would not have been happy about it, she often read while he was away on work business. She opened the book and began. It had only seemed like a moment passed when she heard Henry's voice asking her how she slept.

She nodded.

"You like to read?"

Another nod.

"That was one of my wife's favorites."

Her eyes widened, just slightly at the mention of a wife.

"She passed away," He said in a dazed tone, "Almost ten years ago. But it hardly feels like that."

The girl closed the book, looking down and starting to hand it back to Henry.

"No," he said getting up, "Read it if you like. It only collects dust up there. Would you like some breakfast?"

Surprised at the man's hospitality, she nodded. He noticed that this time, there was even a hint of a smile curling just at the very corner of her lovely mouth.

*****

It had been days since she was found and still, she had not given her name. She yearned to recreate herself now that she had been given the opportunity. And even if she had, what could she make of herself now? She was 19 and already seen and endured horrific things. Nothing would change that. Even so, the thought of renaming herself was comforting. It would allow her to create a facade, a character whom she could eventually become fully.

Henry had let her read as many books as he had on the shelves. There were many names to choose from among the characters and stories. But that only made it all the more difficult to choose. With a new name, she could change herself into anything she wanted. It was a strange feeling, to have the opportunity to choose and to still be terrified of doing so.

She knew that she was not lacking in strength. She had already taken so much. She could handle pain. It was not intelligence or cleverness that she wanted either. She had both of these in abundance. Without it she could not have figured out a way to escape. Though, she supposed, that had not gone entirely as planned. Despite that, she knew she was brave. Certainly, she was brave, the girl assured herself. How else could she have survived her previous owners?

It was surprising to find a man with so many fairytale books to choose from on his shelves. However, after reading almost all of them, it occurred to her. What she wanted, more than anything, was to be innocent. She wished desperately to be naive, to never see danger lurking around the corner. She wanted to be free of darkness and sadness. The children in the stories were always this way, even when it served to harm them in the end. Reading these stories made her feel jealous. It was a feeling that burned deep inside of her chest as she grieved for the childhood she'd been given. She wished that her childhood had been filled with ignorance and happiness.

When she was reading, she found that she enjoyed one of the books in particular and thought it would be nice to take a name from it as her own. Sometimes, it was easy to get lost in thought as she looked at the illustrations of one of the children's books. She liked to imagine the characters moving across the page as she touched the inked paper. She had never had anything this nice. In truth, she did not have it now; but she relished the chance to borrow such things.

One day he caught her, intently looking at a copy of a picture book. Her face was more relaxed than he had ever seen it. She looked almost peaceful as she ran her slender fingers across the page. Slowly, he took a seat beside her on the couch.

"Do you like that one?"

The woman nodded. There it was, the first smile she had ever given him. She was absolutely dazzling. It was only a matter of seconds before she realized what she was doing and stopped. Resuming her characteristically stoic expression, she nodded again.

"It was one of my favorites. My grandmother used to read it to us when I was growing up." He told her, hesitating slightly he added, "Would you mind if I sat beside you while you read?"

She paused looking at him, then nodded. She watched him closely as he took out a pair of pants that had a rather large hole in the knee. She was surprised to see that he was beginning to take out a needle and thread to patch up the fabric.

He smiled at her, "My father had always thought it was best to know how to fix up a pair of old clothes. Better than having to ask someone else to do it."

The young woman nodded, watching him for a minute or so more as he poked the needle carefully through the fabric and pulled the thread tightly. Soon she went back to her reading and became enveloped in the story.

He placed a hand gently on her knee as her eyes darted up from the page.

"I'm going to need to go to town. It would be very helpful if I could take you with me." He said as he began to stand up.