Day 21
Him
I now have a partner.
I watch her as she sleeps. I don’t intend to, but I woke up with the sunrise like I usually do, and she’s taking her sweet time sleeping in.
The knife is clenched in her fist—I’d have to get her a normal one at some point, because it’s just so damn large for her delicate hands.
I appreciate her apprehension, though; at least she possesses some sense of self preservation.
For someone who claims to have no survival skills, she seems pretty calm and collected, all things considered.
She was practical and efficient last night as she tried to make sense of our situation, and even if we didn’t come any closer to figuring it out, I hope I’m at least getting closer to figuring her out.
You’d have stood a better chance if you didn’t assert all those rules.
She stirs a little in her sleep, turning to face the other direction, and her hair spills over her face like a curtain.
The rules are a good idea. They’ll keep us both safe, and safety is more important than my curiosity, despite my mind’s treacherous demands to get to know her, to understand her inside and out, well enough for me to be able to dismantle and reassemble her like one of my weapons.
Knowledge is control, and I crave both more than anything right now.
I wish she was a little easier to read. An archetype.
A cliché. It would make my life so much simpler if I could just place her in a predetermined, neat box; a troublemaker like me.
A spoiled rich girl. A nerd. But she fits none of those, and it irks me that I can’t figure it out.
She’s about as easy to see through as the thick fog drifting outside the motel’s window.
Not that it matters who she used to be, anyway. That’s the entire point of the rules. Who we were before doesn’t matter. It only matters who we are now and who we will be.
I drag myself to the shower when she doesn’t show any signs of stirring. Maybe the sound of it will wake her up.
I wonder what her name is. She was so close to saying it, before I cut her off.
It’s for the best that I don’t know it, I think bitterly as I step beneath the thankfully warm water. It’s barely been a day and I’m already obsessed. Attaching a name to my obsession will only make it worse.
We eat a few pastries for breakfast—I can’t deny that her neat little trick regarding the frozen items in bakeries is admirable—and then I raid the motel’s reception for various types of maps.
She follows along, picking up other things she deems useful; pillows, blankets, and an ancient stack of CDs.
I spread the largest US map over the hood of her car, and after we both walk the other through the paths we’ve taken, we decide it’s best to head south. Neither one of us covered New Mexico, Texas, Oklahoma or Arkansas, so those are the first destinations in our journey.
“We can try and head further east when we find someone else,” I add as I fold the map back up, grateful that just like me, she doesn’t bring up what happens if we don’t find anyone else.
She puts up less of a fuss than I thought about ditching her car, but I do let out a snort as she rolls a giant suitcase out of it.
“It’s what I had available,” she crosses her arms defiantly.
“Right.” I eye the size of it. “I’m sure it’s all essentials, too.”
“I don’t want to carry it all on my back like you do,” she points out as she shoves it into the back seat of a big Jeep we find in the parking lot, the keys tossed on the driver’s seat. “Your shoulders must hurt like a bitch.”
She’s right, but there’s no way in hell I’m admitting that.
“On the bright side,” I start, ignoring her very true statement, “you can grab yourself any clothes you’d like while we’re on the road.” I motion toward the car’s dashboard, at the screen that’s showing the map of our planned trip to Santa Fe.
“Seriously?” She gives me a harrowing look. “It’s the literal apocalypse, and you think I care about shopping?”
“I’m just offering.” I shift gears and start what should be a five-hour drive. “Raiding a Chanel store doesn’t do it for you?”
She doesn’t even honor my question with a reply, and I scratch off ‘spoiled rich girl’ from my mental list.
Most of the drive passes in silence after that.
“I know we aren’t friends,” her voice rings out after we’re almost halfway. “But maybe we can at least pass the time talking? It’s fucking depressing in here.”
I huff with dark amusement. “Talk, then.”
“How old are you?” I can feel her eyes on me as she leans an elbow on the window.
There’s no real harm in sharing some dry facts, so I indulge her. “Twenty-one.”
“Same,” she says, even though I didn’t ask.
I don’t reply.
“I can always talk to myself,” she adds threateningly. “I just know you’re not going to like it, so I’m inviting you to participate.”
“I told you, I don’t want to get to know you.” The words sound harsh, but I tell myself it’s because they’re the truth. “Not more than necessary.”
“What’s necessary, then?” I spot her crossing her arms from the corner of my eye. “Please enlighten me.”
I sigh, realizing that the sparring is bound to give me a headache if we keep going like this. “I have a good variety of weapons in my duffle bag,” I gesture to the back seat. My black equipment bag looks so odd near her bright blue suitcase. “Do you know how to use a gun?”
“No,” she admits with resignation.
“I’ll teach you.” I glance at the navigation app. Still two and a half hours to go. “You’ll need to get a different knife, too. The one you have is way too big.”
She’s biting her lip when I glance in her direction. “I didn’t realize size mattered.”
“It does.” Why do her words summon the childish urge to tease her?
It’s the second time that my inner teenager is screaming, that’s what she said, over her simply participating in conversation.
“Your hands are small, and it’ll be hard for you to lift it as quickly as you’d need to.
” After a moment’s thought, I add, “Either way, a gun is better. You’ll get the hang of it quickly. ”
“I really don’t want to shoot anything,” she remarks, her voice queasy.
“Well, until we find people, or animals, you won’t have to.”
“I found you,” she points out. “I hope that finding doesn’t equate to killing for you.”
“Maybe it does.” I press harder on the gas pedal. Speed limits aren’t a thing anymore, I guess, and it’s not like there’s any other cars that I need to worry about. “Or are you forgetting I had a shotgun to your throat less than twenty-four hours ago?”
“You weren’t actually going to kill me.”
I stay silent.
“Right?” she adds, her voice smaller.
I shrug.
“You’re full of shit,” she protests. “No way. You’re not a murderer.”
“Not that you know of.” I enjoy her fear a bit too much to stop now. “But then again, you don’t really know anything about me, do you?”
“Are you always this charming?” she bites out, but her nervousness seeps through. Maybe I should be nicer, but getting under her skin is just too fun.
I gesture toward the empty road. “The current condition brings out the best in me. Don’t take it personally.”
“Of course I won’t,” she huffs and I can hear her eye roll.
She doesn’t ask any other questions, and I let my mind wander in the silence.
She’s not wrong; there are things we should probably know about each other, that are both relevant to our partnership and irrelevant to the people we were before this, but somehow, I’m coming up blank on what could possibly fall under both categories.
I like it when she’s a little scared of me, I realize after some intense staring through the windshield. Just like making her angry, making her afraid gives me some kind of twisted pleasure. This new empty world isn’t too entertaining, so I’ll take what I can get.
I wonder what other emotions would look like as they cross her face. Hurt is something I don’t think I want to witness. Her fury is one thing; frustration, too; but I find myself realizing I don’t want to make her sad.
Maybe I have more softness left in me than I thought.
“Do you think someone is looking for us?”
I glance over at her in the passenger seat. “Huh?”
There’s a pensive look on her face as she stares out the window, but there’s melancholy to it, too. Something is haunting her and I don’t know what it is. My hands tighten around the steering wheel.
“Maybe they’re out there somewhere,” she says faintly, the words barely leaving her lips. “Maybe our families are looking for us.”
“Not mine,” I huff without thought.
I can feel her eyes zeroing in on me. “Why not?”
I clench my jaw, pressing harder on the gas, and she sighs, looking away again.
“If my mom is out there, she’ll be freaking out. My dad too. They’re… protective.”
I hum in response.
“We lost my sister a few years back,” she says without warning, and my head snaps in her direction. “Don’t worry,” she adds dryly to my stare. “I’m not going to turn this to a therapy session—fuck, watch out!”
I hit the brakes before I even see the brown blur on the road, swerving in a wild spin.
I manage to avoid whatever was in the middle of the road, but before the car has even skidded to a full stop, she’s already bolting outside.
I don’t actively make the decision to pull the handbrake and leap out the car to follow her, but somehow, I’m out the door, rushing after her scurrying figure.
“Hey, slow down,” I call after her. “Stop!”
She whips around and she’s crying—no, sobbing is more like it, her voice hysterical as it claws out of her throat. “What—” she gasps for air between sobs. “What the fuck was that? What was that?!”
“A deer? I don’t fucking know.” I try reaching out for her, but she shakes me off.
“It was wrong,” she insists, swallowing a sob. “Its face was fucked up. Didn’t you see it?”
“I didn’t get a good look.” I grab her arm. “Chill out.”
“I’m not going to chill out!” she shouts.
“When I was alone, I spent an entire day chasing the sound of a dog barking. I could hear birds chirping but I never saw a single one.” Her insistence is like fire, underlining her words and threatening to consume her whole.
“The first animal we see in days, and it just happens to appear in front of the car? You don’t think that’s odd? ”
“Maybe? I don’t—”
“You didn’t even see it!” she yells, jabbing a finger into my sternum, right where my dog tags rest beneath my shirt. “Why didn’t you have your eyes on the fucking road?”
My hand reaches behind her head and grabs her skull in a deathly grip. “Calm the fuck down,” I instruct, her hair bunching up between my fingers.
“I’m driving,” she declares, heat in her glare.
“Like hell you are,” I snap. Her chest is heaving so hard, it presses into mine with every inhale. “Now calm down, or I swear to god, I’m leaving you here on the side of the road.”
Either my grip against her scalp or my harsh words work, because despite her dark glower, she slowly starts to breathe instead of gulping in air, and her hands leave my vest.
When did she grab me?
“Watch where you’re driving,” she grits out. “I don’t want to end up wrecked in a ditch.”
I fight the urge to huff a bitchy reply. There aren’t even any ditches around us.
We’re silent as we get back in the car.
“You said its face was fucked up,” I murmur after ten silent, tense minutes. “What did you mean?”
She doesn’t reply and I think she might be shutting me out, punishing me, but when I risk a glance at her direction, she’s just… breathing. Rhythmically, like she’s trying to compose herself.
“One eye was hanging lower. Much lower. Like it was misplaced on its skull.” Her voice is steadier than I’d expect, especially considering her next words. “And a part of its jaw was missing. I’m not talking a wound or a gash. It was like its face was cut in half.”
I take it in, mulling over it for a few moments. “Are you sure—”
“No, I decided to make this nightmare fuel up,” she sneers. “Of course I’m fucking sure.”
Great. Back to square one in the bonding efforts.
“Just drive,” she huffs, leaning against the window. “Carefully.”
I don’t reply, because as I focus my eyes on the road, replaying our sudden stop in my head, I realize that the moment we stepped out of the car, the animal was nowhere to be seen.