Right.
The same word I used with Ben before I dragged them both into the woods and nearly got them killed.
I stare at my phone. At her reply.
Her response seemed a little too quick and rehearsed. A little too...unsurprised.
I wonder if she put Neli up to this.
But even if she did, it means she still gives a shit.
I want to text Jess again. Ask her what she’s wearing. What she’s doing. If she thinks about our night in the cabin before everything went to shit.
I pocket my phone and force myself to look in the mirror.
No. She doesn’t think about that night. Can’t. Because she can’t feel any attraction to...this.
I run my fingers across my scars.
What’s the fucking point?
Sitting with strangers sharing trauma like it’s some kind of group therapy potluck. Everyone brings their damage and we all pretend talking about it makes it better.
I don’t need pity from people who don’t know me.
Don’t need their sympathy or their “it gets better” bullshit.
What I need is this face to stop looking like some shit out of a horror film.
The day passes. I work remotely. Neli brings lunch. I barely touch it. She returns with dinner hours later and reminds me about tonight.
“Seven pm,” she says. “Don’t forget.”
“Yeah.” I don’t look up from my laptop. “Got it.”
She doesn’t argue. Leaves the food and goes.
I force myself to eat dinner. Rosa made some kind ofSpaghetti all’Ubriacowith a red winereduction that ordinarily would be to die for, but tonight I barely taste it.
I’m thinking about that fucking peer group.
I don’t think I’m really going to go.
But then half an hour before, I grab my N95 mask and ballcap and suit up.
I fucking told Jess I’m going.
I’m a man of my word.
Besides, Jag and Felipe already cleared the route and performed an advance sweep. I’d hate for their efforts to go to waste.
Though it wouldn’t be the first time, I suppose.
With a sigh, I slide on the N95 mask, pull the ballcap low over my forehead, and I crack open the door and check the hallway.
Clear.
No sign of Ben or Jess.
