The Guilt Trip [slow updates]

[10] Wake Up, Choose Violence

"How do you feel?"

   Skipper had just woken up to find they were sitting in a parking lot near the ferry landing. They could have flown to Mexico, but Wade didn't know anybody who'd be willing to pick up his SUV for him and drive it back to Florida. Besides, he always got too airsick and Skipper wasn't particularly fond of flying anyway. 

   She looked around, not answering Wade's question. The parking lot was filling with vehicles and the sun was shining. 

   "Are you hungry?" Wade tried, hoping maybe she'd respond. No such luck. She pulled out the travel journal and began writing. She still looked more pale than usual and her fingers shook as she grasped the pen in her left hand. 

   Huffing, Wade turned away from her and propped his elbow up on the window, resting his chin in his hand and glaring at the people outside. As was customary, Charles' tongue searched the cupholders for anything he might find to his taste. It happened upon Wade's coffee, and Charles took a couple delighted slurps before attempting to climb between the front seats.

   "No, Charles! Bad!" Wade turned quickly, bumping the coffee cup with his elbow. It jiggled from the cupholder and tipped onto Skipper's seat; she yelped and scrambled to get out of the vehicle as hot liquid made contact with her thigh.

   "You should have left Charles behind!" she screamed at him, standing outside with the door ajar, dabbing at her leg with the corner of her blanket. 

   "How many times do I have to tell you?" Wade screamed back. "He's never had a sitter before so I'm not sure if he'd like it, and besides that, this entire trip without my anteater would be TORTURE!"

   Nosy people from the parking lot were hearing the commotion and some were even staring at the vehicle. Wade hissed under his breath and began cleaning up the mess as best he could, grumbling about not having enough coffee in his system. Charles was then caged up for the time being even if Wade felt uncomfortable about it. Skipper remained standing there, her bare feet on the pavement, jaw open, staring at Wade like he was to blame for everything wrong that ever happened in the grand scheme of life. 

   And to think last night he thought they'd made some progress. Wade shook his head in disappointment and barked at her to get back in the car because they'd be boarding the ferry soon. She grabbed one of her crocs from the floor and threw it at him before climbing back in. 

   "Don't encourage me to toss these out the window, because I will!" He threatened, holding the vile piece of footwear out of her reach. She lunged for it and almost fell in his lap, but he shoved her away. "You can't have it back! It's my hostage now. Oh, and..." Starting the car, he turned on the radio and cranked whatever noise was playing, glaring at her. 

   "Jerk," she muttered, grabbing the blanket and whipping it over her head to create some sort of noise barrier. It didn't seem to help much. "TURN IT OFF!" She shouted.

   "No." He pulled out of the parking space and drove toward the gate where they'd board the ferry. He only turned the music down to deal with passport stuff and speak to the people running the boat, and when all was said and done he cranked it up again.

   "Shut the car off. You're wasting fuel," scowled Skipper, fuming in her seat. 

   "Shut your mouth. You're wasting air," Wade snapped. "I'm surprised they didn't give you an oxygen tank."

   "That's because it isn't lung cancer, idiot," Skipper growled, but she looked genuinely hurt and fell silent for a good ten minutes or so before finally muttering, "You know, I didn't hire you to be insensitive and make jokes about my illness. It isn't funny. Do you think I want to die?"

   "It'd save you from having to deal with me, wouldn't it? Either way, it's not like you really have a choice."

   She breathed heavily through her nose, raging, and he leaned back calmly in his seat. 

   "Look, I can't imagine what it must be like for you. But try to understand my position too, alright? And this trip is supposed to give you good memories before–if–the cancer wins. You'll just kill yourself faster by being upset. I'll do what I can not to be a pain in the ass but I want you to promise me you'll do the same. You should enjoy your travels. Don't let me stop you. I'm just the Uber. Do whatever the heck makes you happy." Switching the car off, he handed her shoe back. He'd been holding it hostage this entire time.

   Snatching it from his hand, all she could do was roll her eyes and slump in her seat, staring out at the array of cars crowding them. Many people had opted not to stay in their vehicles for the ferry trip, and she was beginning to wonder if maybe they should've done the same. After all, she needed more pictures for her Instagram. And even though she was still mad at him, Wade was right about needing to enjoy herself. 

   Of course, she'd never tell him that.

   Shoving her feet into her shoes, she twisted her hair up into two floppy space buns before plunking a bucket hat over top and grabbing her phone. "I'm going out to take pictures. You can stay here if you want."

   "I think I will." Wade was an introvert and liked having some alone time to recharge. He hadn't had much of a chance to do that on this trip. 

   "Don't fry to death." He tossed her a water bottle and some sunscreen. "Come back if it gets too hot and I'll run the air conditioning."

   Not really acknowledging his last statement, she caught the items and carried them with her as she wove through the cars to the terrace. The ocean was beautiful and the sky was so clear. She made sure to take plenty of selfies and aesthetic ocean photos, but as each one posted, she kept getting comments asking where the guy was. 

   Were they only following her story to see Wade's frowny face?