What Remains

Chapter 13

Easy Does It;
The art of being calm
In a situation where you should not
Be calm

That night was a silent one. It wasn't peaceful as silence would normally be, no, it was uncomfortable. I tossed and turned for hours until I could lull myself to sleep. Kenny had decided to play guard dog again and slept in my room, this time in the rocking chair. I didn't mind, but it wasn't something I really needed— I would have been fine alone.
My eyes open but I do not rise. I can't rise. My body feels weak and stiff. I still feel dry tears ghost my cheeks— the urge to scratch the crust off is difficult to resist. My gaze trails to the end of the bed. Kenny is awake, not staring at me, but awake. His hazel eyes are trained intently on the window, losing himself far into the distance. After a moment of scanning his masked face, I join his stare-off. The world outside is gloomy, just hinting of the storm that lasted all night. I bet everything is still soggy out there. I imagine the drops of old rain hanging off of blades of dying grass and withering flowers. A sigh escapes my mouth, alerting Kenny of my awakening.
"Morning." He says, a calm edge in his tone. I assume that his gaze is now fixed on me.
"Goodmorning." I reply. I am quiet, but I know he can hear me.
"I was thinking we could have a nice breakfast this morning... We can spare some of what I found." Kenny remarks.
I shrug him off, finally sitting up. My back cracks as I straighten myself out and it makes me feel like an old lady. "Sure." A long sigh escapes my lips as I stand up. I bounce on my heels for a second as I fortify my balance. "Do you think it will rain again?" I ask, my gaze flickering between Kenny and the window.
"Maybe." Kenny replies, joining me in standing.
After a moment a click sounded. I turn to see Kenny gesturing for me to step outside the room.
I shadow Kenny into the kitchen. It seems he had this 'grand breakfast' of his pre-planned, as some ingredients are already out. "Alright... Butter and Bacon. Fetch me ten pieces of bacon and a stick of butter, will you?" Kenny looks over his shoulder at me and gestures over to the fridge.
I nod, trailing to the fridge. As I do this, Kenny prepares the stovetop, turning the dial to 'high'. Afterwards he grabs the metal pan beside him.
As I hand him the missing ingredients, his eyes slightly squint behind his mask, indicating a small smile. It makes the ghost of a grin edge my lips.
Kenny then butters the pan whilst it is over the stovetop, making the flat metal surface sizzle. When he feels that it is enough, he grabs three pieces of bacon and lays them down in the pan. The smell is delightful.
"I haven't had bacon in ages. Too used to microwave meals and takeout." I chuckle, listening to the bacon hiss, "It smells nice."
Kenny gives a preoccupied hum and flips the pieces of meat over. They are well-cooked, much to my surprise.
"You seem experienced— have you made bacon before? Often?" I ask.
"Not as much as you'd think. Didn't eat much until you decided to pay me a visit." Kenny replies passive aggressively. His eyes are still fixated on the pan.
I decide to let him off. "It's better you are now. I don't think I could go a minute without eating." I flash him a lighthearted smile.
Kenny gives another hum, then takes the fully cooked pieces of bacon off of the pan and places them on his plate.

Later, Kenny and I had finished eating our food. It was satisfying, as all homemade meals were. A few questions had bubbled up in my mind. It has progressively become more of an instinct to make conversation when it's silent ever since I met Kenny. Before I would be more passive, chipping in when I hear something I feel like I can contribute to even a little.
"Kenny, I have some questions. Would you mind?" I ask. I place my plate in the metal sink as Kenny thinks. After a short moment he hums approvingly. "Do you ever pick things off of your... y'know, victims?" I feel stupid saying the word 'victim', but it's for the sake of an answer.
"Sometimes," Kenny replies as if it were a question he's asked regularly, "Depends. Could be if I needed it, or it piqued my interest..."
"Give me an example." I say as I sit back down next to Kenny.
"Jewellery, food, clothes, trinkets... You know, just random things." He mumbles, softly tracing his index finger on the counter.
"Sounds like something I'd do. I mean— not actually, but like..." I stumble over my own tongue, then just force myself to sit in awkward silence.
I keep trying to relate to him but it's hardly helping. I don't think he even cares— I'm sure I probably wouldn't.
Kenny blinks awkwardly; he seems like he doesn't know how to reply, and understandably so.
"Your accent?" I know what it is, though I just want to keep up the conversation.
"British."
"How come you decided to move here?" My brows knit together. Of all places, here?
"I didn't. We've been here for generations. The accent carried." Kenny answers. Ah. Explains the old decor.
"Oh. Still, Alberta of all places? If I were them, I wouldn't have moved here." I mutter, half to myself.
Kenny gives a half-shrug. "You were born here?" He asks, shifting the subject away from him.
"Unfortunately." I give a small chuckle, "If I had the chance to decide where to live, it definitely would've been somewhere better. But now I'm stuck here."
"Where would you go, if you had the chance?" Kenny asks, engaging himself in my mind.
I look up at the ceiling as if scanning my thoughts. "Maybe... God, that's a difficult question. Some place where it storms a lot." I sigh.
"Sounds nice. You do like storms, hmm?" Kenny replies.
I grin. "You figured it out." I say— sarcastically, of course.
"It's only obvious." Kenny shoots back, making me laugh in surprise.
"You only joke when it's me being stupid." I furrow my brows to feign frustration.
"Just makes it funnier, doesn't it?" Kenny muses.
"Whatever you think."