The idea of life without him is too painful to even think about, and I know, even if he tells me to fuck off, I won’t. I’ll always follow the bastard.
It’s like he’s a flickering flame and I’m the stupid fucking moth that’s forever drawn toward its deadly heat.
The seconds drag on, each longer than the last. My hands start to shake, and breathing’s becoming difficult.
He comes back in, our bottles refilled, then pulls out the worn map, tracing our route with a finger. “I want to hike at least sixteen miles today.”
I look at him tentatively for a moment, but he just keeps his eyes on the paper below. When I wheeze he finally looks up, eyes widening.
“Shit, Devon. Breathe dammit.” He drops the map and pulls me to him, wrapping his arms around me. “Fucking dammit, baby boy!”
Though my heart slows, knowing he isn’t planning on leaving me, the lump in my throat grows bigger. The shaking eventually stops and I can breathe normally again.
He releases me, looking me dead in the eyes. “You need to talk to me.”
“No.” I step away, then reach down and pick up the map. “Just go over the plan.”
His jaw ticks and he lets out a long sigh, then takes the map and points out the path we’re taking, making sure I memorize each turn and landmark he indicates. When I’ve got it down, he refolds the map, then stows it in his jacket pocket and we head out.
We walk through lunch, only pausing to rest and drink some water.
Beyond pointing out animal tracks and telling me what made them, he keeps silent.
Distant even.
I fucking hate it. But I don’t want to talk about my father either.
When Rex shows me how to set snares properly and spot hidden dens, I pay close attention, even keeping my know-it-all trap shut for once.
If anything, his lessons help fill some gaps in my survival skills, and his patient way of instructing is damn near soft compared to my father’s “teaching methods.” The heartless prick had no problem leaving scars when I didn’t learn fast enough to suit him.
And that just makes everything I’m feeling worse, especially because disappointing Rex sits like a rock in my gut. Yet, I couldn’t help myself earlier. Only, instead of disappointing him, I hurt him.
By midafternoon, the air has grown even colder and an icy wind picks up, biting at our exposed hands and ears. I pull myjacket tighter, hunching my shoulders against the chill while ominous gray clouds roll in to blot out the sun.
It’s not long after, Rex starts sniffling more than I’d like. My nose is running too but not like his.
He looks over his shoulder, assessing me like he usually does. “We’ll need to find scarves soon and warmer clothes for you.”
“Not the only one who’s cold.” I can’t help the angry bite in my voice, annoyed he’s always more concerned about my wellbeing than his own.
With about an hour of daylight left, we reach the outskirts of a small town called Milroy. Rex takes the lead scouting several collapsed homes, but quickly shakes his head. “No good. We’ll have to make camp in whatever’s most intact.”
We end up in the basement of an old brick office building. It’s freezing, even sheltered from the howling wind. Our breath fogs in the air.
Rex lays out his sleeping bag, then unzips it. “Get in.”
I crawl into the confined space, then he slides in behind and zips us up. And though he wraps an arm around me, he remains quiet and withdrawn.
The silence is deafening and suffocating, eating at me like a damn piranha.
I let out a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry ’bout what I said earlier.”
His arm flexes. “You got your demons. Fine. When you’re ready to talk, I’ll listen. And I’m not going anywhere. Just stop taking that shit out on me.”
“Taking it out on you?”
Instead of answering, he pulls me closer, burying his face into the back of my neck. “Go to sleep.”
