I feel awful. But I have to go. I’ve overstayed my karmic welcome. If I hadn’t been here when Howard and his people showed up, Jamie could have gone with them. Or he might have even gone out in search of them before then. Instead he was taking care of me. Giving me his food. Hunting for me.
And when Howard showed up, Jamie remained calm. He stayed quiet and didn’t let his anger or fear get the better of him. He didn’t lash out and do something reckless.
Like I did.
I told Jamie to shoot Howard and his group. If I were to stay here with Jamie, as much as Isowant to, I feel like it would change him. I’m like a toxic contaminant trying to corrupt his good nature.
I’m also scared if I don’t leave now, I never will. There’s some not-so-new feelings popping up. The feelings that have been growing over the last few weeks of us trapped together. The feelings that are bound to hurt so much more and bring on the inevitable the longer I drag it out. At some point I’m going to have to either tell Jamie I like him or keep it a dark secret forever.
And one secret is enough.
This delay was always supposed to be temporary, and the longer I stay, the less temporary it feels. The more at home I feel. There’s a terrible pull between continuing south and staying put.
I could say I’m torn and don’t know what to do, but that’s not true. I know I have to leave simply because I really don’t want to. It would be so much easier to just be selfish and stay put. Attempt to move on with whatever semblance of life I have after the apocalypse, but I know I could never. A part of it has to be Jamie. The kindness he showed me—reminding me that kindness existed in the world.
If I’d found this house empty, I’d be staying here indefinitely. Hell, I’d probably join up with Howard when they came knocking. But sometimes I catch myself thinking about what Jamie would do if he were me. And now, more than ever, it’s clear he would go to Alexandria.
Maybe... I want to be that kind of person, too.
I lie in the darkness, waiting to hear the soft snores from his bedroom. Every once in a while, it’s just a sigh or grunt. I listen for it sometimes when I wake from a nightmare, to make sure he’s still there.
It’s not creepy, shut up.
Once he’s asleep I slip out of bed and grab my bag and crutch. I’ve packed my clothes... and also some of the clothes Jamie has given me. The ones that are too big for me but still smell of the detergent he nabbed in bulk sometime before I came into his life. I sneak into the kitchen and take three cans of food, including two of mushrooms, which I know he hates.
He’ll thank me for that.
Water, clothes, food. I’ve got almost everything I need.
I put out the book my aunt gave me for my fifteenth birthday, my favorite book, and leave it and the note on the coffee table. After taking one more look around the living room, remembering the first time I saw it and all the time Jamie and I spent in here together—sans gunplay of course. Listening to Nina Simone or talking about movies or our lives.
Maybe it’s a moment of self-sabotage, a way to keep me here longer, but I slowly put my foot fully on the ground. There’s a little soreness, but that’s it. Enough that I’ll need the crutch sometimes, but not enough to stop me.
So I limp, quietly, to the front door and leave the cabin.
I expect Jamie to come running out after me. To hear me making noise and come out with a gun.
But he doesn’t wake up. I look back at the dark cabin, lit only by moonlight. It looks peaceful. Very peaceful. Except for that garden gnome by the stairs lurking in the shadows.
“Bye, Jamie,” I whisper. “Thank you.” My eyes drift back to the garden gnome. “See ya, gnome.”
And early on the morning of May 2, I leave.
Late on the morning of May 2, I’m regretting all my life choices. Classic Andrew! I’m sitting on a metal guardrail, for the seventh time this morning, trying to rest my leg. Walking around the house in short bursts was fine. It turns out walking several miles on a crutch is no fun at all.
Shocker.
I’m in pain and moving so much slower than I thought, but I have to keep going no matter how much pain or frustration I feel. Have to get out of here before I lose my courage. Before all this logic I’ve built up during the witching hour turns into vampire dust in the harsh light of day. If I get far enough, I’ll realize it’s too far to turn back now.
It worked before. Of course, then I had the convenience of a blizzard that snowed me into a shopping center in Norwalk.
Pushing off the guardrail, I realize I’ve only thought about Jamie ninety-eight times so far today. That has to be a good sign, right?
I’m barely back to the center of the road when I hear something echoing through the stillness of the highway. It’s a low thump, thump.
My breath catches in my chest. Maybe I was hearing things. Could it have been my own step echoing? My bag banging against my back? Water sloshing in the pack?
Thump.
