Day 25
Her
We’re heading toward the national forest today, but we each keep stopping whenever we see anything on the side of the road. I thought we raided the camping store for all we could possibly need, but the closer we get to a week in nature, I realize I could use just a little more preparation.
He mocked me for combing through the aisles of a Target until I found my favorite shampoo and hair conditioner in travel-sized bottles, but I need something familiar, and I know the scent will bring me inner peace. I just wish it was as strong as I remembered it. Maybe they changed the formula.
Yeah, I’m distracting myself with pretty much anything right now.
“Anything else we might need?” he asks when there’s less than an hour left until we reach the trail’s parking lot.
We’ve ditched the convertible for a truck, because between us, we’ve racked up too much equipment.
In my defense, most of it is guns and ammunition, which he insisted on stocking up on, as though preparing us for some kind of foreign invasion.
If that’s his way of reassuring himself, though, I won’t rain on his parade, but I did make sure he knows he’s the one who’ll have to carry it all.
“I don’t think so.” I tap my pen on the open journal. I even got some extra pens. “And anything else we add would only slow us down.”
He’d made sure to point that fact out when I was adding bottled water and canned goods to our bounty, which was why I needed to find miniatures of everything for this trip, so it’s only fair he gets the same reminder.
Our backpacks are stuffed to the brim, and I try not to think about how heavy they’ll be to carry.
At least he was gentlemanly enough to place the heavier items in his bag instead of mine.
Something tells me that’s about the most cordial move I’ll get from him.
“It’s probably best to start the hike in the morning, though. Get one good night’s sleep before.” He throws me a look from the driver’s seat. “You aren’t going to get all princess-y when we’re out there, right? We’ll be sleeping in a tent and everything.”
“Wait, really? I thought we got it just for show,” I snark.
“Don’t worry, I’ll be just fine.” I look out the window.
The view’s already turning greener, and I try to imagine the next few days in preparation.
Questionable culinary choices, maybe, and grueling walking days, but at least the view will be nice.
Thinking about our upcoming meals has me a little apprehensive.
“We should eat well today, too.” My eyes zero in on the map.
“As much as possible with whatever’s not spoiled.
” I try not to sound too depressed about it.
The situation could be much worse, all things considered, but I wish we didn’t need to check items for rot.
The mushy, darkened vegetables in the last few grocery stores had my stomach turning.
“Don’t worry about it.” He tries to sound encouraging, which surprises me. Maybe he doesn’t want my pessimism rubbing off on him. “There are still some things left to enjoy.”
“Oh yeah?” I sigh. “Like what?”
He turns down a side road, my brows lifting up as he deviates from our route.
“Well, all your talk about things rotting got me thinking.” The corner of his lip twists up. “How do you feel about a cheese hunt?”
I blink. “A what?”
“Oh, god,” I groan as I sprawl on the mattress.
“Come on. Admit it.” He plops down on the bed next to me. “Best idea ever.”
“Your best idea, no doubt,” I relent, and his satisfied grin makes something flip in my stomach.
Or maybe it’s the cheese.
The genius explained, as we drove to a deli, that soon we’ll no longer be able to have anything dairy, but that the harder, fancier cheeses should still be good for now.
Which is how we ended up binging cheese on the small patch of grass outside the motel we’re currently squatting in. The impending hike must have us both on edge, because we went all out. Bread from the deli’s freezer, warmed in the oven. Jams. Wine.
And of course, cheese. More than I’ve ever consumed in my lifetime, it feels like. I’m honestly not sure if I’m tipsy from the screw top Riesling or the food.
“Are you drunk?” His goofy smile makes him look so much nicer than he’s ever been to me before.
“Of course not,” I protest, flipping on my side. I blink a few times to force myself to stay awake.
“You’re a little flushed.” His finger pokes my cheek, and I startle. “Yeah, definitely drunk. You’re such a lightweight.”
“I drank almost the entire thing by myself.” I say defensively. “Not a lightweight.”
“I drank wine and whiskey and I’m still less drunk than you.”
“You’re a boy.”
He looks down at his crotch. “Well, yeah.”
“Boys have more… mass,” I try to explain, but my head is swimming. “Body mass. So it makes sense.”
“Aha.” He nods with a grin. “Perfect sense, yeah.”
“Shut up. You know what I mean.” I flip on my back. “Ugh, I’m gonna miss cheese.”
I’m vaguely aware that there’s another bed in this motel room, but his weight still dips the mattress next to me. “Same.”
“And pizza.” I pout. “The frozen ones aren’t the same.”
“Oh, I’d kill for a Domino’s.”
“I even miss salad,” I lament.
“At least the alcohol will stay good.” He nudges the heavy bottle in my direction, and I take a swig and pass it back.
“Fast food in general,” I add. “Not having to worry about the next meal.”
“I’ll raise you,” he counters. “Music. I’m not ready for life without playlists.”
“Or for carrying everything we own around, too.” I sigh.
“Staying in one place in general, yeah. Could be nice.”
“Home,” I let out without thought, the word crashing over me like a tidal wave. Without permission, tears well in my eyes. “I miss home.”
There’s a beat of silence before he turns on his stomach to look at me.
“Don’t give me that look.” I wipe the corner of my eye.
“I’m not giving you a look,” he tries, but it only makes me scoff.
“Yes, you are. Like I’m being an emotional wreck.
” My voice strains in an attempt not to break and I sniffle back the tears.
“I’ve been calling my family every day, and I…
I think—” I shake my head, huffing. God, this is fucking pathetic.
I’m crying to him as if he gives a fuck.
“Sorry, I’ll just step outside for a sec. ”
“You don’t have to.” The touch of his fingers on my arm stops me, and when I dare to look into his eyes, they’re careful but earnest. “Seriously. You are being emotional, but it’s understandable.”
“Really?” I quirk a brow even though my eyes are still flooded. “Nothing about me being whiny? No threats to ditch me in the woods if I start crying?”
“This world is fucking depressing,” he states, and the way he articulates it almost makes me smile. “Crying is pretty damn reasonable.”
“You’re not crying.”
“Because I’m a man.”
“Ew, toxic.” I make a disgusted face and he chuckles. “If you do want to start crying, now would be a great time. It’ll definitely make me feel better.”
“If I could cry on command, I promise you that I would.” He sounds honest enough for me to believe him, and somehow, it manages to make me feel a little less shitty.
“Thank you.” I’m not sure what else is there to say, so I don’t.
Poor guy. He’s known me for less than a week, and in that time I’ve already cried twice, jumped out of a moving car, and screamed at him on at least three different occasions. But then again, I guess this world does bring out the worst in us.
“I’d ask if you want to talk about it, but…”
“We shouldn’t get to know each other,” I chant, sighing. “I remember.”
“I was actually going to say that I don’t think it’ll help.
” He shrugs. “Best case scenario, they’re safe and sound out there somewhere.
Worst case, they’re gone like everyone else, but either way, it’s not something you can control.
” His words are both practical and comforting as he studies me.
“Maybe you shouldn’t dwell on it, as harsh as it sounds. ”
Weirdly enough, it’s helpful. His calculated words. The way his icy blues are focused on me. They’re as bright as a blizzard, but they feel just as hard to see through, and I glance away before I get pulled in too deep.
“You’re right,” I find myself saying. “That’ll just be a sad conversation, anyway.”
He nods. “We should get some sleep.” He lifts himself from my bed, turning away. “I’m waking you up early tomorrow.”
“Do it before six and I’ll be crying again,” I retort, but it’s mostly a joke, and his huff of amusement tells me he appreciates it.
If self-deprecating humor is the only way I stop myself from crying, I think as I discreetly dry the rest of my tears, then so be it.
Denial will only get me so far, but I’m not yet ready for the alternative.