“I have a headache,” I lie, and pour the rest of my beer onto the fire.
I take one step, and it’s agonizingly slow.
He keeps watching me, his head slightly tilted. The marshmallow is still there, and my entire body is at war with itself.
“Sure thing, boss,” he says, and it’s gentle. Like he knows exactly how much it’s hurting me to walk away from him.
I want to say good night. The words are perched on the tip of my tongue but I bite it instead because it feels too sentimental.
I make my way to the van, kick off my shoes, and climb inside where it’s dead and quiet, except for the faint crackle of the fire.
I tear off my jacket and throw it over the kitchenette to the back of the driver's seat.
The thin line of blue light coming from the dashboard clock doesn’t help, so I blindly fumble in the top drawer by the sink until I find the portable dome light. I put it on the bench and flick it on, but now it’s too bright, so I switch it back off.
I sit there in the dark on the edge of the mattress, waiting for my pulse to chill the fuck out. My head feels so full of concrete that I can’t push any thoughts aside. I wonder if Carey will keep drinking on his own or if he’ll be stupid enough to go walking in the dark. Whatever it is, I just hope I can get to sleep before he decides to turn in.
A thud at the side of the van answers my questions.
Carey slides open the door, but I can see none of his features.
“Was the light just on?” he asks, and I tell him it’s in front of him.
Brightness floods the van again, and as I squint, he taps at my calf for me to move my legs out of the way so he can grab what he’s reaching for.
“The fuck is that?” I ask when he pulls out a long bottle-green sack.
“A tent.” He rests one end on the van's door tracks and undoes the toggle string on the other. “I wish I’d set it up earlier.”
“Are you serious?”
With one hand on the roof Carey leans into the van. “Yeah. I figured you'd… want your space.”
I look away from him and start arranging the bedding. There's already a quilt laid out, but I unfold the two throw blankets as well. “Just get in. I don’t want to have to wait for you to bring the light back after you figure out which of the rocks are the softest.”
For a few long moments I hold my breath as I set up the pillows side by side, expecting him to say something smart. But instead, he shucks off his jacket and throws it on top of mine,climbs inside, drops the tent, and slides the door closed behind him.
He sits on the end of the mattress and takes off his shoes, then pushes the quilt all the way to my side of the mattress before pulling out a sleeping bag and shaking it open.
“You planning on company?”
“It’s a double,” he replies, smoothing it out.
“Seems excessive.”
“I need to move my legs. I feel too constricted otherwise.”
“So you’re the worst kind of person to share a bed with?”What the fuck am I saying?
“You can answer that for yourself in the morning.”
I don’t respond directly because it’s too dangerous as it is, and just push the pillows as far away from each other as possible. “Do you want a blanket? There’s one left.”
Carey takes it from me and lays it out like a quilt on his side of the bed, then crawls over it to burrow down into his cocoon.
I shimmy back down to the foot of the mattress to switch off the dome light, and when I turn around my hand accidentally grazes his leg.
I force myself to keep moving.
