Day 29 （hike day 4）
Her
He’s looking at me funny.
I don’t know what else to write; I don’t know if I should even write at all, since I’m not sure he doesn’t read my journal while I’m sleeping. As I shut the notebook and shove it back into my bag, I vow to start tucking it underneath my head at night.
I don’t know why, but since yesterday, he’s been… weird. I can’t really blame him, since I did ask him to feast on my corpse and everything, but come on.
I try to shake off the sensation of his eyes on me. We’re heading out soon, and I need to finish getting ready.
We don’t speak as we roll our sleeping bags back up, and my mind wanders to yesterday’s dip in the lake. I could feel his eyes scouring me, but somehow never managed to catch him in the act. The bikini was bold, but I don’t think that’s why he was staring.
I’m pretty sure it was the cannibalism offer.
I don’t know what I was thinking, but I don’t regret it. Objectively, and as callous as it sounds, no, I won’t care if he uses my remains to survive, and somehow the thought of him forever owning a piece of me almost feels euphoric. Even if it’s in death.
Sharing anything is an act of trust. His voice echoes in my mind as we disassemble the tent we’ve been sharing.
Him killing me will be unfortunate, but if I die by his hands, wouldn’t that be the ultimate act of trust?
Sharing my last few breaths with him, knowing that a part of me would still live on, even if only in memory, or through my cells as he feeds on me and they merge with his own?
Am I officially going off the rails?
Maybe. I’ve never told a man to eat me before—not that kind of eating, at least—but then again, I’ve never been in an empty, semi-apocalyptic world with nothing but a grumpy, unnamed male partner before.
I try not to think of said male as we douse the dead embers with sand and hit the road again.
We’ve developed somewhat of a routine in the mornings; there’s no coffee to start the day, but we choose easy foods to munch on as we walk, washing the makeshift breakfast down with water.
Granola bars seem to be a winner, and they usually sustain me for long enough until we pause for some actual food.
These few hours in the morning are precious. When noon approaches, it can suddenly get too hot to keep up our quick pace, and if we mull around, half of the day will be gone before we know it.
“Listen,” he starts, his voice awakening me from my musings.
“What is it?” I ask, distracted, throwing him a look instead of watching my steps. He’s wearing a light gray compression shirt, today, and the color brings out the silvery-blue of his eyes.
Before he can form a reply, my leg catches on something below me. A yelp escapes me and my eyes snap shut as I brace for impact—
Impact that doesn’t come, because something stops my fall.
He stops my fall.
I’m so stunned I can’t even speak, half expecting him to laugh or drop me on purpose or shake me off, but my hands are gripping his biceps and his palms hold onto my waist, my body a little too close to his own thanks to the faceplant I almost took to the forest floor.
And horrifyingly, I realize, I don’t hate the feeling of his arms around me.
“Got you,” he breathes out, and even though it’s more automatic than an attempt to comfort, the words wash over me warmly.
“Thanks,” I huff out, my fingers still clutching his arms, and something thickens the air between us, the weight of it coiling at the pit of my stomach.
He lets me go before I stand a chance of naming it.
“Watch where you’re going,” he says, his tone casual, back to business. “I won’t always be around to catch you.”
I roll my eyes with a huff, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I note that he could’ve been much meaner.
“You were saying?” I keep walking, my eyes trained on the ground to avoid the roots and rocks littering the path.
He’s two steps ahead of me, so I can’t see his face as he continues. “I wanted to ask if there’s anything else I should know about you.”
He doesn’t offer any other explanation, so I give the only reasonable reply. “Huh?”
“You know, anything relevant that you want to share.” He doesn’t look my way when he talks. “Things that are important for our partnership.”
“What, you’ve decided to keep me around?” I cross my arms.
“After the crazy shit you spewed yesterday at the lake?” He throws me a glance, and his eyes are narrowed, but there’s a hint of a quirk to his lips. “If there are any other people around, I’d be doing them a favor if I keep an eye on you.”
“I’ll make sure to inform them of your sacrifice,” I retort dryly, but I like the fact that I intimidated him. He might downplay it now, but for a moment yesterday, he was afraid of me.
Good.
But, I observe, not afraid enough to want to ditch me. If he was planning on doing that, he wouldn’t be asking me about myself.
“Not sure what I have to offer that is relevant to our situation,” I add after some thought. “You already know I’m not great with weapons, but…” How do I phrase it without saying too much? “I can probably patch us up a bit if necessary.”
“That’s good to know,” he encourages. “Anything else?”
“That’s useful?” I rack my brain. “I can cook, I guess? When I have the ingredients.” It’s a necessary addition, considering the jumbled mess our meals have come to.
We can no longer trust any fruit or vegetables—not ones that didn’t come from a can, at least—but I still try to make the best use of what we do have.
“And you know how to operate a bakery oven,” he offers.
“Trust me, it took a few tries when I was on my own.” I try to look ahead—there should be a ridge coming up in front of us, but all I see are more and more trees. “What about you?”
“Not much of a cook, but I can get by with the basics.” He taps his shotgun. “I can make up for it with hunting, though. I have a pretty decent aim.”
“If we can find anything to hunt.” I sigh.
“I’ve been trying to spot tracks as we walk,” he says. “Or nests. Nothing so far, but maybe the animals are used to keeping away from the trail.” He sounds hopeful and I try to let it infect me. “I’ll take a closer look when I’m chopping wood tonight.”
That just reminds me of our first night out here, when he went to do the exact same and left me alone for two hours, and I can’t hold back my tongue. “Maybe I can come with you this time so it’ll be faster.”
“I already told you it wasn’t that long.” He’s clearly thinking about the exact same thing. “I needed to get—”
“I checked my phone.” I cross my arms, even when it makes the buckles of my bag straps dig painfully into my ribs. “You were gone for more than two hours. It’s not a big deal, it was just pitch black and I was—”
“I couldn’t have been,” he protests, but he looks more distraught than spiteful. “I didn’t have a watch, but I didn’t even go that far. I could swear that it wasn’t longer than thirty minutes.”
“It doesn’t really matter either way,” I sigh.
“We don’t have to be attached at the hip or anything.
I just—” My fingers fidget with the straps.
“I usually journal when I’m panicked or overwhelmed, but I couldn’t in the dark because you had the flashlights, and I wanted to save the battery in my phone. I was getting restless out there.”
I expect him to mock or tease or even ignore me, but instead he looks almost interested as he asks, “Have you always done that? Or is it just here in this… End-World?”
“I picked it up after my—well, when I was in high school.” I correct myself just in time. “I haven’t been doing it as much these past few years, but it felt… necessary now.”
His gaze turns a little more sympathetic, which is surprising in itself, but not as much as his next words. “Did your therapist suggest it?”
“My—” I’m lucky there isn’t a root or a rock to trip over this time. “How’d you know?”
“Mine did, too,” he replies as if it’s no big deal. “Could never get in the habit, though.”
I almost ask something stupid, like, ‘Why did you go to therapy?’, but then I remember that’s not relevant whatsoever to our situation.
Teasing him about going to therapy to begin with feels a little mean, even for me; I have no idea what he’s been through.
Just like he doesn’t know what I’ve been through, either.
“Maybe you should try.” Is what I end up saying, knowing I can’t really add much more. “I was skeptical too, at first, but it helps.”
“I never got the point,” he shrugs. “Life sucks, anyway, right? What’s the point of repeating that on paper?”
“It’s not about repetition. It’s about an outlet.” I think back to my family’s grief counseling and how the therapist explained it. “It’s about… processing. It doesn’t change reality, but it helps to come to terms with it. Even when it really does suck.”
He looks at me for a long moment before nodding, and I once again wonder if I said too much in my attempts to say nothing at all.
“I never really looked at it that way,” he says after a few more silent minutes of walking. “I guess I always thought you were documenting.”
“I am,” I huff as I follow his footsteps and climb a rock. His longer legs ate up the height without a problem, but I have to use my hands to hoist myself up. “Mostly, anyway. But that’s because the situation demands it.”
“And you still find it relaxing?” He gestures around him. “Documenting this?”
I contemplate for a moment. “Grounding is the word I’d use. But hopefully it’ll be helpful, too. Even if not right now, maybe it will be useful in a few months from now.”
The words die in my throat when I realize the meaning of them; that it could be months, not days or weeks, before we find other people.
Judging by the expression on his face, he’s thinking the same thing.
We don’t talk for the rest of the afternoon.
As usual, he’s the one to stop us for the day when he decides it’s getting too dark. We tried covering some distance after nightfall, but we were quickly discouraged by our inability to trudge safely, even with the flashlights.
We set up camp together, this time; he gathers some wood from around the clearing instead of wandering off into the trees, and I don’t know if it’s because of our talk, but nonetheless, I appreciate it.
“There’s a vantage point right here.” He gestures out to the darkness in front of us. “Should be breathtaking tomorrow morning.” I swear there’s a hint of a smile on his face when he adds, “I would have suggested waking up at the sunrise to see it, but…”
“It’s not my fault my circadian rhythms want me to sleep in,” I protest, helping him secure the tent to the ground. “I would have been an early riser if I could.”
“Do you want me to wake you?” he asks, not looking at me. “Tomorrow.”
“To see the sunrise?” I blink. “Um. Yeah. I mean, sure.”
“We might not be here for fun, but it could be nice.” He shrugs. “If we’re gonna pause to see it, here would be the best spot.”
“Yeah,” I agree, still a little shocked by the offer. “Yeah, why not?”
Once we’re done setting up camp and the fire is lit, I grab my journal. The mostly blank page stares back at me before I put the pen to the paper, writing down something very different than the single line above.
He confuses me.
So much so that I don’t know what to think anymore. He saves me from falling and offers to watch the sunrise with me, but he also jokes about killing me, if he even is joking—I can’t tell most of the time.
He scares me like he enjoys it, but he also feels like the safest place I have right now. The only safe place I have right now.
And I can’t even fully be mad because I enjoy scaring him back.
I think back to the lake and the fire he had in his eyes. About his anger the night before that.
He snaps at me for worrying about him and looks at me like he hates me, but also like… like he’s trying to warn me. Like it’s for my own good that he treats me like that.
My eyes lift from the page to his profile, illuminated by the flames, poking at the fire with a stick to stoke it and warm our makeshift dinner faster.
His blonde brows are furrowed, and his straight, narrow nose is twisted to the side, as if he’s focused on something that he’s displeased with. Almost as if he senses my eyes on him, his gaze meets mine through the flames.
I sever the eye contact before it can last too long, but the questions I didn’t write down are still gnawing at my brain, demanding an answer.
Why are you pushing me away?
What are you afraid of?