40. CHAPTER 40
T he inside of Eden's truck is hotter than an oven, and I feel like I'm being cooked alive.
It was only a few days after all the shit in the Pacific North West hit the giant fan in the sky that Eden started venturing out.
It hurt, at first, that he was willing to break our promise, though I understand now why he had to.
Tek finding out the way he did—at the time—felt like the worst thing that could have happened, but having a month to cool down before Eden was back in his chair at the shop was actually a blessing in disguise.
Carey forced a meeting between them and Reeze last week and I'm glad I wasn't there to witness it.
To say that Eden took his frustrations out on me after he returned would be an understatement, not that I minded.
But as for me going anywhere? I've been happily avoiding everything.
I know it's bad, but living off-grid for so long has honestly been amazing.
Being forced to deal with boredom, hunger, and frustration all without the temptation of the internet at my fingertips for a quick distraction, has been almost as freeing as flipping the bird to college and my parents' expectations of me.
I knew it was never going to last forever, but I still feel like this is cheating.
I don't care for the reasons behind it.
I don't care if Eden and Tek think it's for the best.
Right now, I don't even care that they are talking again. I'm still furious at my brother.
I'm thankful he never told my parents where I was, and that he held out on mine and Eden's relationship status until yesterday, but it's no secret that I've never really known who he is.
All the things I've learned from Eden are proof of that.
Still, I never expected to hear words as hurtful as the ones he used directed towards me.
Yes, I know I was never the one he was mad at.
Yes, I know Eden was the one he wanted to hurt.
Yes, I've gotten fifty texts from him every day since he barged into the cabin apologizing for what he did and said. But it's still too soon. It was only two weeks ago.
I'm still not ready to see him.
And I definitely don't want to see them…
Eden reaches over and takes my hand, forcing my balled fist to relax and accept his comfort. It's only small, but just like everything else he does it's minimum effort maximum result.
I slouch down and let my head fall back on the top of the bench seat.
The sky is so full of clouds that it feels like late afternoon instead of mid-morning.
Everything looks grey; the road, the wide expanses of land beside it where trees used to be before they were cleared away for new developments, and the scattered houses on large properties that are growing more and more frequent the closer we get to Daintree.
A gas station comes into view. There's a family with a caravan. Two kids are running around, stretching their legs while their father fills up the tank of their truck.
Three cars pass us in the opposite lane in quick succession.
That's too many.
I squeeze Eden's hand tight. "I don't wanna do this."
"I know," he says, squeezing mine back. I hold out, hoping that he'll say something more.
Maybe suggest that we keep driving straight through Daintree to the coast. We can spend the day there.
The beaches this far north are usually deserted this time of the year.
It would be the perfect intermediate outing.
We'd be getting out without having to actually see anyone in close enough proximity that we'd be forced to interact.
Nothing planned about it. Just the sound of waves crashing on the rocky sand over the mounds of driftwood; the pebbles scratching together beneath our feet as we walk.
No car horns, or indiscriminate chatter of people I don't care about.
No pressure.
No confrontation.
No looks of disappointment bearing down on me.
"Don't do it," I whisper when I see the turnoff sign for Daintree.
Eden's hand slips from mine to grip onto my thigh.
The truck turns, and I feel my body being pulled to the side as my future is once again dictated to me.
Within seconds there are roadside buildings popping up out of nowhere.
Now I can only see the mountains in the rearview mirror.
Eden's fingers feel like a vice on my leg.
I grab his wrist and tug his hand from me.
I pull my feet up onto the seat and hug my knees.
"I don't want to do this."
"I know," he says, but keeps on driving.
"Eden, please."
He gives no response.
I look to my left and see him gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white.
"If you don't want to be here either, all you have to do is turn around."
I watch him shake his head. His long hair gets caught behind his shoulder, accidentally revealing his spider web tattoo.
I shaved that patch of hair a few days ago because I missed seeing it, now I hate it again.
It's such an easy thing to hate.
It's dumb and frivolous, and I'm allowed to despise it.
Like he knows my thoughts, Eden runs his hand through his hair, bringing it over to the other side to hide the tattoo.
I hate that spider, but I don't hate him.
I'm certain I love him one-hundred percent more each day than the day before.
It's overwhelming, but good. Like being surrounded by dense humidity.
I feel it from my head to my toes, and in everything I do.
The only problem is that, right now, the pair of us are also radiating so much nervous energy that the truck cab is a pressure cooker of anxiety, and I can't feel the love anymore.
I know it's there.
I know he's beside me.
I know he's doing this all for me, but— "I need to get out."
"We're almost there."
My feet slam back down on the truck floor. "Stop the truck, Eden!"
He reaches for me but I swat him away then spin to grab the door handle.
"The parking lot is a few hundred yards away."
I don't look at him, my eyes focusing on the handle. "Please."
Again he doesn't respond, and I know he won't stop until he reaches the small parking lot behind Daintree's main street. So I pop the handle.
Frigid wind rushes into the cab, slamming against the side of my face.
It sounds like a jet engine in my ear.
I feel Eden grab ahold of my sweatshirt, but I refuse to close the door.
The truck slows, and when it's close enough to the curb, I push the door further and pull myself free of Eden's grip as I jump out—slamming the door closed behind me.
I catch his eyes in the rearview mirror as he drives away.
He knows trying to get me back in is a pointless endeavour. If he expects me to be at that cafe, he needs to give me this time on my own.
A baby cries behind me and the reality of yet another of my rash decisions hits me at full force.
It's like those scenes in movies where the camera pans out really fast, showing just how big the area around the character is and how truly small they are in comparison.
There's nothing to protect me here. I don't even have my phone.
My head whips around and I look down the road we just came along as though running back out of town is an option.
Turning back around, I stare forward—my eyes instantly dropping to the sidewalk when I see how many people are on this side of the street.
It makes no sense. It's barely past nine in the morning on a freezing Tuesday in February. Why the hell aren't these people at home?
I quickly look to the other side. It seems empty in comparison.
I step off the curb and onto the road.
I wait for a VW Bug to pass, then I'm jogging across.
I wrap my arms around myself, and walk.
A few years ago I came here with my mother to pick up a gift for one of her friends.
A handbag from a local leatherwork designer.
I remember the shop smelt amazing. We walked up and down the entire main street, my mother commenting on the window display of every shop, but refusing to enter any of them until reaching the cafe where I'll meet Eden.
We had a nice lunch, and talked a lot about not much at all.
It was easy. It was nice. But things were always nice when the conversation was light.
I hope Eden waits outside for me.
Or better yet, I hope he'll wait at the truck because I don't think I can walk towards the cafe on my own.
I actually can't do any of this on my own.
Why did I get out of the truck?
My pace quickens and I hug myself tighter.
Just one more block and I'll cross back over the street and cut through to the parking lot.
Stores pass by me; one, two, three.
A labrador on one side of the street barks at a maltese on the other.
That baby is crying again.
The bell above a shop's entrance rings loudly in my ear.
"Jeon Jintae."
I take another step, but high heels quickly click-clack on the pavement to get in front of me.
"Jeon Jintae," the voice repeats. It's not a yell, but it's far from quiet.
I'm frozen in the middle of the sidewalk.
I can't hear the dogs or the baby anymore.
I stare at my mother's hands—both gripping the strap of her Chloe handbag, the one she only brings out when she wants to look important. But it's not because I refuse to look at her. It's because I can't.
My gaze and my head are weighed down by guilt.
It's why she's so good at her job.
It's why I spent six months in college.
It's why I went there in the first place.
Unable to move forward, I creep back. She comes with me, matching every step I make. It's like she's inside my head, knowing my movements before I even do. Like she's controlling them.
Like she always did.
Each time I gathered up enough strength to confront her about college, her heel was already grinding my rebuttals back into oblivion, so I know that no matter what I say to her now, she won't hear me.
Even if I had a running start, even if Eden was right beside me, it would make no difference because when she's in this state, it's her way—the highway isn't even an option.