It's funny, because of all the people I've slept with, I've never once regretted any of those choices. I might look back and cringe, but if you asked me, I'd definitely say no, they were each character building moments. This, however, is a first for me. Also, being rejected right in the thick of things (pun intended), is a first as well. And as much as I try not to think about it and try to deny it, it still hurts.
I guess that proves I'm still human after all.
I'm glad Nate doesn't come after me and try to comfort me. He gives me space, but I guess that's because he needs it as well. Otherwise I think I might punch him if he comes near me, because for a split second, my self-esteem fell and got lost somewhere around my toes. Never have I felt so small, so unimportant, so worthless, so insignificant, meaningless, irrelevant, useless. Partly my fault, but still–
Fuck, fuckity fuck.
After my brutal rejection, I get out of the water, put on my damp underwear, and lie in the sun beside the rest of my drying clothing. Dog sidles up to me then, head down, tail wagging, and provides me with his own form of comfort by licking my face. Does he know what happened? Does he sense my unease? Probably not, but I'll pretend that he does.
I'm not sure how long I stay on the shore like that, with Dog proving to be the best company a girl could ask for. Half an hour, maybe an hour? I'm not sure. But I left Nate to whatever he needed to do, whether that was thinking, jerking off, or thinking and jerking off at the same time – not necessarily in that order.
Water splashes as Nate finally gets out of the river. It drips everywhere, some getting on me and Dog as he walks past to get his clothes. I watch him as he gets dressed, and try to gauge his mood. Still he says nothing, so I don't push or pry.
This whole situation is wrong. What we did or attempted to do was wrong. We're both broken, fragile. We're not in the right headspaces. We're all over the place, and coming together was never going to solve anything, let alone fix it. We've just created a mess worse than what we started with, and now we're in ruins.
Eventually Nate turns to me, fully dressed. He pulls his brace over his leg and positions it over his knee; he pulls a strap until the metal comes together, just below and behind his knee; he fastens two buckles, one above and one below, and the brace clamps into place. He slings the two rifles over his shoulder. "We should go," he says. He gives nothing away. He averts his gaze to the trees, not even affording Dog any attention as he goes to him and nudges at his boots.
I don't say anything. I simply nod my head, get to my feet, turn to my belongings, and get dressed. My socks are still damp, my boots are squidgy when I step into them. It takes a while to get my boot back on over my injured ankle because it's swollen, and then I have to grip a tree to keep my balance steady. I will not let Nate help me, even when he extends a hand.
Nate raises his eyes to me, and I don't know what I expect to see there. He might be able to see more, but vice versa? Nothing. I see nothing within the blue, so I return to struggling with my other boot. "Follow me," he says, his voice low, and he brushes past me on his way back to camp.
Dog goes to follow, but I whisk him off his feet despite his wriggling and get him into my jacket. He cries his indignation, but I ignore it.
The beauty of the forest is lost on me on the trek back. The only thing I take notice of is the dappled sunlight that falls on me, creating weird shadows at my feet.
I follow behind Nate as closely as possible, stepping where he steps, though it's a bit more difficult with my limp. The uneven ground makes my ankle ache, and soon I have to stop, again leaning against a tree to keep my balance. I take a deep breath, duck my head, and briefly close my eyes.
WWRHD. What would Rose Hathaway do?
Punch someone. Except I'm not going to punch Nate. Speaking of, he almost disappears from view when he realises that I'm no longer moving with him. The silence between us is deafening, and it's even more pronounced when he sighs and comes back to me, footsteps quiet and sure over the fallen leaves.
"I'm fine," I say as he approaches. Dog perks up, head poking through the gap in my jacket when he sees Nate. "I just need a breather."
Nate runs a hand over his jaw, his stubble. "No you're not," he says, and before I can protest or guess his actions, he lifts me up off the ground and into his arms. I don't bother fighting, I don't bother with anything. I let him carry me back to camp (Dog included, the traitor), and he only releases me so I can get past the sound traps. They bounce and clang and sing as we move past them.
"You wanna talk?" I say, and my voice sounds stronger and more like my own than it had before. "Let's talk." I open the boot of the 4WD and sit on the edge, legs dangling – much more comfortable being on my butt than on my feet.
I wait for Nate to say something. Instead he moves out of sight, towards the front of the 4WD. He opens one of the doors, closes it again, and when he reappears he no longer has the rifles.
Dog squirms against me, whimpering, and I pull him out of my jacket. "I really want this to work," I say to Nate, though my focus is solely on Dog. I hold the puppy to me, like a baby, and he responds with his nose in my hair, his tongue on my neck. He doesn't stop squirming, his wagging tail more a weapon than anything else. Soon he'll be too big for me to hold him like this. "I want us to work. Otherwise we won't survive long enough to get to Emmi."
Nate looks at me, eyes narrowed. "Where is she?" he asks. He crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his shoulders back – continually shutting himself off to me. His stance alone demands attention, and it's hard to look anywhere but him. There's power behind him, there's control, there's anger – all of which is directed at me. "Where did they take her?"
"Boulder, Colorado," I say.
Nate curses. He's suddenly restless, taking a couple of steps back and turning away from me; he runs a hand over his face before he turns and kicks the ground with the toe of his boot. Like he can't decide what he wants to do with himself.
"Well, close to, anyway. There's a settlement there."
"And they took her, why?"
"A hostage exchange, obviously." I try again to gauge his mood, but still I get nothing besides what he's chosen to show me. "They know I'm with you two. They know I'll tag along if you go after her. So trading me for Emmi is the next logical step."
"And why do they want you?" Nate asks.
I shrug my shoulders, which only moves Dog further into my hair. He starts chewing a small section, which I pull out of his little mouth; he whines at the loss of his plaything. "I don't know. I haven't been there for over a year." I pull Dog down onto my lap, just as he finds the next available thing: my ear.
"You brought them straight to us."
"I brought Jai to us," I correct.
"Because that makes any difference," Nate snaps, and now I see it, the barely contained rage.
"Don't give me that look," I snap at him. The air between us crackles, is charged from our anger. "I only reached out to him to help you."
"Help me?" Nate growls. "How the fuck could that dick possibly help me?"
"Jai's my informant," I say steadily. "After you were shot, I talked to Emmi about a lot of things, like where'd you been, where you were going–"
"That's none of your business."
"And she brought up Raleigh – said you two were heading there. Said you were looking for HALO. So I went out and left a message for Jai, because he'd tell me what I wanted to know."
Nate sighs and runs a hand through his hair then over his face – which seems to be a tic of his. "So you fuck him for information."
"A bit crude, but that's the basic concept."
"You sell yourself short."
I lurch to my feet despite the pain it brings my ankle. "You would know," I say to him, and I know it's a cheap shot, but I don't care. He glares at me, and I glare right back. He's stubborn, I'm stubborn, and we're going to fall apart at the seams.
With Dog in one arm, I turn and slam the boot of the 4WD shut. "Fuck you," I say, and I receive a rueful smile from Nate in return. "I'm done talking."
The 4WD becomes my sanctuary. I climb in through one of the rear doors, slam it behind me, before crawling across towards my makeshift bed. I put Dog on the floor beside me as I lie down on my side, back to Nate, and Dog chews my fingers as I try to pet him. I let him do it, only because I'm distracted.
Because Nate's left his pack in here along with my own, I fish through his to see if he has any food. He does, thankfully, and I feed bits of dried meat (I'm not sure what animal it is) to Dog, who greedily eats anything I put near his mouth.
"Hey!" I exclaim, when he very nearly sucks down one of my fingers with his food. I break off another bit of meat and hold it out to him, but quickly pull it back when he snaps aggressively at it. I repeat the action of removing the food each time he snaps his jaws at me, until finally, finally, when I've said "Gentle" about forty times before giving him the food, he gets the idea and gently removes the food from my grasp. "Good boy."
He's a cute puppy, and he knows it, too. He looks at me with his big eyes, pleading, wanting more meat. And he knows I'll give in to him, because I'm a sucker for it. So we're at it again, me telling him to be gentle when I put the meat near his mouth. And he does, his movements slow and gradual, his little teeth barely scraping my fingers. He sucks the food back like he hasn't just eaten, and licks my skin to make sure there's absolutely nothing left.
Nate chooses this moment to open the boot, causing late afternoon sunlight to spill inside. He pays me no attention, but drums his fingers against the edge of the boot. This draws Dog's attention, who rushes over to him, tail swinging. I watch the exchange, and feel a twang of jealousy in my gut, as Nate lifts Dog up into his arms. He's so gentle, so kind, which is such a contrast – contradiction – of what I've learnt about him.
Muscles flexing, he takes a step back and puts Dog on the ground at his feet. Then, returning to his full height, and noticing his food in my hands, he doesn't say anything – well, not about that, anyway.
"We should talk," he says, and if I wasn't used to him by now, I'd have thought he'd simmered down since our argument. But I see fire in his eyes, and it's probably because it's something I recognise in myself.
We're so alike, yet so different. Instead of cancelling each other out, we only encourage one another – I bring out his stubbornness, and he does the same to me. It's almost like a challenge, to see who can one up the other.
"Okay," I say, sitting up. "Do I need a shot for this?"
Nate's lips twitch. "I'd hope not," he says.
"So do we pick up where we left off?"
"You tell me."
"Okay, I'll give you some backstory," I begin. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Ignore all the memories, remove all emotion. "The place Jai took Emmi is somewhere I haven't been to in over a year. I think I was there for about eight months – it's definitely the longest I've been somewhere since the world ended. Jai's always been a kind of informant for the group, even when I was there, and he'd go out for weeks at a time to collect information. You went to him for rumours, for stories, updates on family members and whatnot. So when I left, I made a deal with him. Which you know about."
"And that I don't like."
Nodding, I continue; I'm not going to comment on his male superiority – jealousy – whose dick is bigger than whose – problem. "I've used him before and he's never pulled something on me like he did yesterday. He's been reliable before, so I thought no differently this time – until he actually showed up, obviously."
"Why do they want you?" Nate asks, and I remember he asked the same question before. "Why the sudden interest?"
I meet his gaze, and hope he can see the sincerity there. "I honestly don't know. It's been over a year since I left."
Nate crosses his arms and ducks his head. "And you believe it to be a hostage exchange?" he asks. Then he pauses, like he doesn't want to say what he's about to say. "Would they hurt Emmi?"
"I wouldn't think so, but I don't know." I run a hand through my hair, which needs a really good brush, and release a sigh. "I know Jai won't, but I can't speak for anyone else. I don't know who's there anymore."
Which is true. I don't know who's there anymore, I don't know who runs it. But if there's one thing I can be sure of – I just have a gut feeling – is that despite his treatment of me, Jai wouldn't do anything to Emmi. He doesn't have it in him to hurt a little girl.
"I wish you'd stop defending him," Nate says suddenly, like he knows where my thoughts are at.
"He's a good guy."
"Before or after he kidnapped Emmi?" Nate asks. His voice is so low it's almost a growl. "Before or after he shot at you? After he hit you? After he threatened to kill me and kidnap you?"
I don't offer a response.
It's easy to see Nate's anger simmering just beneath the surface, but unlike before, he has a grip on it. Literally. He uncrosses his arms and continually clenches his fists at his sides, fingers flexing, the tattoos on his fingers dancing. "I will kill him," he mutters, and I'm not sure whether he meant for me to hear it or not. But at this stage, I don't really care what he thinks or what he wants to do.
"Okay, so killing people aside ..." I lean forward, snag my pack, and pull it towards me. "Jai's going to have a few good days on us – probably more because he has the motorbike." I pull out my map of America, unfold it, and lay it out between myself and Nate. "And I know this because I heard him take off before Max jumped me."
"Max ...?"
"Ethan's brother," I reply. The memories come back to me, and I feel his phantom fingers around my throat. I touch my neck, the skin still sore and raw and sensitive. I swallow. "He attacked me right after you left. He'd been watching the whole time. He waited until you went to go get Emmi."
Nate moves forward, grabs the edge of the boot and braces himself. "I would've heard him."
I shake my head. "He was like a wraith," I say quietly. "I didn't stand a chance when you left. He opened the cockpit before I even got the chance to lock it. Then he dragged me out. I didn't even have time to react, he was that fast."
Nate ducks his head again; his hair is shiny in the sunlight. "Why didn't he just shoot you?"
"The word you're looking for is 'sadistic'," I reply. I fight the urge to shiver. "He wanted me to die slow."
"Going against orders."
"True."
"I shouldn't have left you," Nate says suddenly, as he pulls himself to his full height. He looks at me, mouth pressed into a thin line. "I wasn't going to get to Emmi in time. If I'd stayed with you ..."
"It doesn't matter."
"It does to me."
I crawl forward until I'm right at the edge of the boot. "You can't change what's happened," I say, which gets no reaction from Nate whatsoever. "I'm alive and kicking, and we're going to get Emmi back."
Nate doesn't say anything. He holds my gaze a moment longer before he looks away.
Though he chooses to not show me much in the way of emotions, I can't help but feel as though I need to coddle, or at least improve his mood. "Did I forget to say thank you for saving my life?" I say. "Because thank you for saving my life."
His lips twitch, though he doesn't look at me. "Right before you kissed me and it was the worst thing I've ever experienced."
"Well, I guess my kissing skills are on a par with your sex skills," I say, and I swear I see the tiniest hint of a wince.
"Valid point," he admits.
"Did I forget to mention you saved my life?" I repeat. "And I'm sorry for what happened to Emmi. That's why I'm gonna get her back."
Nate looks up and gestures between us. "You mean me and you."
Oh shit. This is about to get ugly.
"No, I mean just me," I say, and already Nate comes out swinging, his voice rising an octave before dropping two. Every second word that spills from his mouth is a curse, whether it starts with c or starts with f. "Nate – Nate!" I shout, trying to be heard over the top of him. "Hear me out."
Nate crosses his arms over his chest and rolls his shoulders back. Somehow, it makes him look bigger than he already is. His presence is commanding, which in turn makes it difficult to look anywhere but at him. Were he a teacher, were he a leader, you couldn't look anywhere else. "You're not going alone," he says. "The odds of you getting out alive, which are Emmi's odds of getting out alive, are slim to none."
"You underestimate me," I say. "I don't know whether to be flattered or offended."
"This isn't a game!" he snaps.
He's in my personal space – again. I'm not sure if he's aware he does it, or if it's some sort of intimidation technique. Either way, I don't like it. I shove him away, but he backs up only one or two steps – enough to give me a breather. "How do you think I got to this point?" I retort, and I think I hear him mumble something about it being a 'fucking mystery to him'. "It's a bluff, you idiot."
Humour and sarcasm are my best friends – without them, I would've died long ago. If I don't have them to help me, to protect me, then I'd be nothing but a shell full of worry, of anxiety, of dread. It helps me to focus, to keep my mind off what's really going on.
"You have a fucking death wish," Nate says, and before he even opens his mouth to continue, I know he's going to say something bad. He wants to hurt me, because he doesn't agree with what I've said. "I'm surprised you didn't off yourself at the first opportunity."
I surge to my feet. My ankle twinges at the movement, but I ignore it. "You insensitive dick," I say. I want to punch him. "You know nothing about me." I poke him in the chest for emphasis instead. "Who says I haven't tried?"