Chapter Twelve #2
His voice churned with heat as he said those words to me last night.
And the scariest part, what made me run from that room, was that I believe him.
I know I shouldn’t after all the lies and omissions, after all the ups and downs he’s already put me through, but everything in my heart is screaming that he meant it. That he wants me as much as I want him.
But how can I trust my own judgment now, when my heart’s saying one thing, and my brain, my history, and all the voices in my head that won’t leave me alone are ordering me to retreat, to pull up the drawbridge, to shoot all trespassers on sight?
What is right? What is real? And how the hell am I supposed to know?
I have no clue. And now here I am, still a virgin, more confused than ever, and two days away from holing up in a bunker for the rest of this apocalypse, and, maybe, my life.
With Gramps.
I groan into my palms.
After I dress, I hoist my knapsack onto my shoulder, then feel around in my fleece’s pockets for the keys.
They’re not there.
With my heartbeat thudding in my ears, I toss the knapsack down, searching its pockets, then dump it out and riffle through the contents. Still nothing.
I throw open the door, ready to bang against Everett’s, but his is already open. The bed neatly made, all his things gone.
Ice floods my veins. I grab my machete and thunder down the stairs.
“Everett?” I yell. “Everett!”
The house is silent. The kitchen clean and empty. Did he leave me?
Is he trying to get away from me?
I race to the front door and quickly glance through its window, making sure no zombies await me on the steps, then yank the door open.
My rig’s still there, right where I parked it yesterday, and I finally breathe out. But Everett’s sitting in the driver’s seat, the car door open. I jump down the steps, running through the snow, machete raised high.
“Stop!” I shriek like a banshee.
Everett looks up, surprised. “Maisie?” he begins, but then I’m at his door, pushing it farther open with my hip as I brandish the machete at his face.
“What are you doing?!”
Everett raises both hands, his eyes round and alarmed. “Packing the car?”
“You took my keys!”
“They were on the counter, so yeah, I took them,” Everett says, his voice higher-pitched than usual, “to pack the car!”
I stare at him, unsure what to believe. He gestures at the console, where a thermos of hot tea sits, along with a banana and one of my homemade granola bars, my preferred road breakfast. “I thought I’d get us all packed up so we could leave on time.”
I thrust out my free hand. “Give them to me. Now.”
“Did you think I was going to—” His brow furrows, hurt. “Jesus, Maisie.”
“Give them to me.”
He slowly dips into his pocket and pulls out the keys, then hands them to me. I snatch them back, relief rushing through my entire body, and collapse against the car. Chest still heaving, I notice the thermos once again. The dual impulses to cry and laugh battle inside of me.
“You made me breakfast?”
“Yes,” he says, his voice still wobbly. “Could you lower your machete now?”
“Oh, right.” I retreat a few steps, my machete arm going limp at my side. Everett slides out of the driver’s seat and quickly backs away from me.
“Thanks for packing the car,” I offer lamely.
“That’s not an apology.” His voice is sharp. “Try again. Maybe start with ‘I’m sorry for assuming you’re an absolute villain.’ ”
“You took my keys without asking! Your room was packed up, everything was gone. What was I supposed to think?”
“Oh, I don’t know, how about ‘Everett’s trying to help’ instead of jumping to ‘Everett’s trying to steal my car’?”
“I don’t know what you’re trying to do!” I spit out. “I don’t even know you! I know Sandeep.”
“No, you know me, Maisie,” he says, his voice insistent.
“A handful of DMs doesn’t matter after what we’ve already gone through together!
You just don’t trust yourself enough to believe your own feelings.
But that’s not my fault, and I don’t deserve this presumption of guilt you hang over everything and everybody. ”
My mouth drops open a degree. “That’s not fair!”
He pushes his hair off his forehead, holding his hand there. “No. What’s not fair is that I’ve put every bit of trust I have in you, but two minutes ago, you looked ready to skewer me with that machete based on nothing but your own paranoid suspicions.”
I stand back, chest crumpling in. “I wasn’t going to skewer you.”
“Yeah, well, excuse me for taking a blade aimed at my throat as evidence to the contrary.” His mouth forms a thin, grim line. “If all it takes is a few minutes of you misunderstanding to turn on me, I’m the one who’s been wrong to trust you.”
My mouth opens and closes, but no words are forthcoming. Am I the untrustworthy person here? I think back to the last twenty-four hours. The inconsistency, the wild swings of my own behavior, my feelings, the very real machete I was pointing at him very seriously a few minutes ago.
I am untrustworthy. I look up as Everett stomps inside. “I’m really sorry!” When he doesn’t turn around, I yell tentatively, “Where are you going now?”
“To get Chicken, who I’d also never abandon.”
Oh.
The drive to D.C. is filled with an awkward, heavy silence.
I grimace at the barren highway ahead, alternating between bursts of righteous indignation and feeling like a total ass.
Empirically, people are awful, and I don’t trust them as a rule—why should Everett be any different?
Just because he’s kind and funny and thoughtful and a very proficient sex professor doesn’t mean he gets a free pass straight to Trust Town.
My eyes flicker over to Everett’s face, sadder and more serious now than it’s been since we saw Sandeep zombified in the window.
Okay, so he didn’t try to steal my car. My bad.
Was it so crazy to think that he might? The sharp little thought knifes me again, just like it has ever since I saw his empty room this morning.
He wants to get away from me.
That was all I could think when I saw him there, in my driver’s seat, the car all packed and ready to go.
I’ve scared him before. He’s run from me before.
When I came after him with a machete, I didn’t mean to hurt him with my suspicions.
It just seemed like he was already hurting me.
Again. But after I discovered the truth, I did apologize.
Because even if he’s dying to get away from me, he didn’t betray me, and he didn’t deserve to be treated like he had.
I wish I could take it all back.
Everett takes Chicken out of her carrier and holds her in his lap.
When she crosses over to try and sit on mine instead, Everett sighs loudly and brings her back to his.
I’m secretly glad for these last bits of her attention.
I wasn’t lying to Gramps, I will miss Chicken.
Probably not as much as I’ll miss Everett, but it’s close.
Oh, god. I’m going to miss them both a lot, aren’t I? More than a lot. We’re thirty miles from our exit, the clock ticking down the final minutes we have together, and my heart feels so swollen with regret, it’s about to burst.
“Listen, Everett, I…want to apologize again. For earlier.” My voice comes out rusty and thick, and I turn to wipe away the lone tear trickling down my cheek. Not that Everett will see. He won’t even look at me.
“It’s okay,” he says, the words now rote from how many times he’s said them. And yet once again, I don’t feel forgiven.
“Can we not spend our remaining time together like this?”
“Like what?” Everett peers out his window. “Like two people who don’t trust each other?”
“No. Like one person that doesn’t understand how the other person’s never had a friend in real life.”
“Just enemies, right?”