Rise [Bruno Mars]

Chapter twenty-one

Chapter twenty-one

I was wrenched half in half out between the two front seats, elbows on the armrest for leverage. I left the desire to trail a path down Bruno's chest curled in my fingertips and called out his name gently, hating myself for waking him. He looked at peace. I forced my tongue to move, repeating his name. “Bruno?”

His eyes flew open, dazed and wild at the sight of me. “Dri,” he breathed. He reached but I was already climbing out, keys in hand. My feet landed on the road, cool wind whipping my hair every which way. The terrain was rough, wide, open space. No trees, just rufescent dirt. There was something eerie about it. It felt like abandoned land. As though something or someone once lived here, but left. Left from what? In the distance, stamped to the golden sky like frozen, jagged waves were mountains, a washed out blue.

I trudged to the back of the jeep while pressing the trunk button of the key. When nothing happened I thought smartly that it would open if I pressed harder, trying over and over again, but of course I was wrong. With a noise of frustration I jammed the key inside the hole, attempting to force it left, right, jiggling it—

A tan hand came over mine. “Wrong key,” Bruno said quietly. I stepped back as the door swung outwards with the correct device, too busy wallowing in relief to question. There sat four large bags mingling with three fuel containers. They'd kept our—Joseph's supplies. Bruno averted his attention from the goods; I could feel the depth of it on my shoulders.

“I'll fill up. Call out the food items to me?” I took a can and moved over to the jeep's side.

“We got,” Bruno began, the sound of shuffling bags combining with the cries of birds above. “Dried fruit and vegetables, a whole lot of nuts and seeds. The piece of shit is a goddamned hamster. There's some dried meat. Jerky. A lot of food for Ryan.”

I ignored the twist my stomach gave when Bruno insulted Joseph and tilted my wrist, draining the fuel into the tank. “What do you mean?”

“Cat food,” he clarified, and I rolled my eyes. “We got water. That's the only beverage. There's first aid kit type of shit. Damn, are these blunts? He smokes—” Bruno sniffed long and loud. “Not weed. This is—this is how you were smelling that night. . .”

I finished up and returned to Bruno's side quickly. “Okay,” I said, tossing the now empty can in the trunk. “Let's grab a bag and ration it upfront and—”

“Wait. Wait.” He hooked his hand behind my waist, pulling me close. My heart rushed. “Adrian,” he whispered, his other hand gliding slowly up my spine. I swallowed hard. His hair was ruffled, his eyes heavy lidded. He seemed so worn.

I focused on his t-shirt. “We don't have time, Bruno.”

“Time?” His voice was low in his throat. He kissed my forehead, each of my eyebrows, my nose. “We make time. Look at me.”

I knew one glance at him I would fall apart. Like when I was confined in that white cell, tearing that blanket, seam by seam. “We should go.”

“One minute,” he whispered. “Just one minute. Please.”

I nodded, giving in, resting my cheek on his shoulder, his against my hair. He smelled, oddly, of something. . . fancy. Like jewels and silk. But the wind blew it away, and an element of deep calmness flowed in at my core. A sigh escaped me, so did a tear. It rolled down, splashed somewhere unnoticed on Bruno's jacket. It was too much: this safe feeling, this familiar feeling of home veiling Bruno's arms. It wasn't like greeting an old friend, it was like welcoming someone you thought would never come back.