Chapter 11 #2
Mum makes a sleepy noise, confirming I haven’t disturbed her. Oh, to be able to simply close my eyes and sleep – but then when would I have my imaginary arguments with people I’m too scared to confront in real life, eh? If not while staring into the darkness when really I should be resting.
I ease myself out of bed, slip on a dressing gown – making sure to tighten the belt – and slip out into the corridor.
The yacht is quiet now and the lights are low, like the whole thing has been switched to sleep mode.
It’s only as I get closer to the living area that I realise I can hear a noise.
It’s faint but distinct. Is that… gunfire? I think it is.
Not real gunfire, obviously, though for half a second my anxious brain sends a signal to my body and it tenses up. It’s coming from the living area, sharp and tinny and accompanied by… moaning?
Long, low moans. It sounds like someone is watching something seriously dodgy.
I pause in the doorway, worried about what I might walk into. Daring myself to peek, I see Nico sprawled out on the sofa, controller in hand, shooting zombies on the TV. Oh, and he’s got a McDonald’s meal laid out next to him.
It’s hard not to notice that he’s only wearing his boxers, and the way his reclined position shows off his abs.
The TV flashes wildly, illuminating his face. And then he notices me.
‘Oh, hi,’ he says, his attention quickly turning back to the screen.
‘Hi,’ I reply. ‘I just came to get some water… Is that a Maccies?’
Obviously I know that it is – and it answers my earlier question about if there’s a McDonald’s here.
‘Yeah,’ he replies. ‘There’s one right by the marina. I was still hungry, so…’
His voice trails off and his expression changes as he – I don’t know – encounters a particularly hard-to-kill zombie or something.
‘Do you want a fry?’ he asks.
‘Hmm?’
‘Do you want to share my fries?’ he says, still engrossed in the game.
It’s not that dinner wasn’t nice, or that I’m especially hungry, but you can’t beat McDonald’s fries, can you?
‘Thanks,’ I reply, sitting down next to him, popping a chip into my mouth.
Mmm. So good.
I can’t help but clock the way his biceps flex as he frantically hits the trigger buttons. I’m trying not to think about how good he must be with his hands, because that’s not a helpful thought to have right now, is it?
I tighten my dressing gown belt, cautious it might be easy to fall out of now I’m seated.
‘So this is what you do for fun,’ I say, an observation, not a question.
‘Yep,’ he replies. ‘You’re up late.’
‘I could say the same to you.’
‘You could,’ he says, his attention still on his game. I notice his tongue poking out, just a little, as he concentrates, and I’m not sure if it’s cute or an ick.
I look at the TV to see a zombie lunge out of a doorway. Nico shoots it like it’s second nature.
‘Couldn’t sleep?’ he asks.
‘No, it’s hard to drift off when your mother’s knee is pressing into your thigh and you’re quietly fuming about the situation she’s landed you in…’
‘Yeah, I can’t say I love this either,’ he replies. ‘You could leave.’
‘So could you,’ I clap back.
He just laughs and, for that, I take another couple of fries.
‘My mum wants me here, so we’re just going to have to be mature about it,’ I insist.
‘You’re up to that?’ he checks.
‘We’re adults,’ I remind him. ‘We keep it civil, polite, and avoid each other where possible. Are you up to it?’
I ask the question in a tone that suggests I think he might not be.
‘I’m mature,’ he insists, exploding a zombie’s head with a shotgun.
‘Clearly,’ I say sarcastically.
That gets his attention. He turns his head slightly, eyebrows lifting.
‘This is a highly skilled and strategic game.’
I look pointedly at the television just as his character smashes a zombie in the face with a baseball bat.
‘Sure,’ I reply.
His mouth curves, and for one annoying second I realise I’m enjoying the bantering, just a bit. Sitting next to him, teasing him, eating his food. For a silly second it feels like we could be a couple – if we didn’t dislike each other.
Fortunately, I am extremely sensible. I’m not easily won over with chips or lust-struck by abs.
Most of the time.
‘Well,’ I say, pulling myself to my feet, ‘good luck with your skilful and tactical bludgeoning.’
‘Cheers.’
‘Try not to save the world too loudly. Some of us are trying to survive sharing a double bed with a parent.’
He laughs.
‘I’ll keep the apocalypse down.’
‘Appreciated.’
See, we’re being mature already… sort of.
I start back towards my cabin, then hear him call softly after me.
‘Night, Sammie.’
I glance back. He’s already turned back towards the screen again, but he’s smiling.
‘Goodnight, Nico,’ I reply.
By the time I slide back into bed beside Mum, my side feels even smaller than it did before. Mum murmurs something incoherent and shifts closer – ah, my side is smaller. I gave up territory and Mum claimed it in her sleep.
I lie down, on my side, and listen. I’m trying to work out if I can hear Nico’s game, any shots, any screams, any skulls exploding.
I don’t think I can hear a thing but it’s like I want to, like I’m searching for a reason to be mad at him, something I can go back out there and have a pop at him for.
But why? Because I’m that annoyed at his presence that I’ll pin my anger to anything?
Or because I want to see him in his boxers again?
I dread to think which one it is. Probably better to switch back to plan A: willing myself to sleep.
I’m sure it will be fine. Nico and I can simply avoid each other politely until it’s time to go home.
I don’t know what will happen after that – I need to try not to worry about it.
Perhaps, as Mum and Hank get to know one another, they’ll realise they don’t like each other as much as they first thought.
Or maybe my joke about him being my next dad wasn’t so silly after all.
I just need to take it one day at a time – and protect my own sanity.
But if Mum is spending all her time with Hank, and Nico and I are both sharing what feels like a relatively small space, we’re bound to wind up spending time alone together eventually, aren’t we?
And it’s in that moment where one of us ending up overboard might be a genuine possibility. Assuming I’m strong enough to push him.