Only to Survive (ON HOLD)

Part Two: The Becoming - Chapter Eight: Crossing a Bridge

Revised and re-uploaded: June 15, 2013

I know, I know - I'm an idiot. I blame procrastination! YES, PERMANENT DENIAL! x)

Anyway, hope y'all enjoy the revised chapters - I'm thinking chapter nine will be done in about a week.

Thanks for the patience!

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“To fear is one thing.  To let fear grab you by the tail and swing you around is another.”

 - Katherine Paterson

Part Two: The Becoming

Chapter Eight: Crossing a Bridge

I throw my still wet hair in a ponytail, doing my best to tuck my bangs behind my ear. They continue to defy me, though, and I frown in frustration. I roll my shoulders around, the searing hot water dulling most of my aches and pains. My hip still twinges, and my head still pounds, but the rest of my body seems to have fared fairly well.

 I’m in Gerald’s room, waiting on him to finish up. I chuckle – and he tells me to hurry up. Sighing, I sit on his bed, taking a moment to take in his room. It’s been a while since I’ve been in his room, but it’s hardly changed. His dark blue walls are accented with white and black furniture. His bed is still, for the most part, unmade; his desk is cluttered with knickknacks – rocks, army books, and games. A TV is hanging over his dresser, and an Xbox 360 is connected to it. There are dirty socks on the floor, and an old leather chair is positioned near the large window that looks over the front yard. I laugh at the socks – it’s so typically cliché.

Gerald’s bedroom door suddenly crashes open, and he barges in wearing nothing but a towel. Blushing profusely, I avert my eyes from his bare chest.

He coughs. “I, uh, I forgot to brink clothes with me.”

I nod. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, shuffling his weight from foot to foot. “Well,” I say, “get on with it.”

“Right, right,” he says. Closing my eyes, I hear him open some drawers and then the closet door closes. “Alright, I’ll change in here.”

My response is a grunt, and I lay on the bed, throwing an arm over my eyes. Sleep tugs at my consciousness, and I’m drifting off when I hear Gerald exit the closet.

“Come on Evolet, wake up,” Gerald says, slapping my stomach.

“Ow!” I yell, opening my eyes and curling in on myself. Glaring at him, I say, “Do you know how many times I’ve been hurt today Gerald?”

A guilty look flashes across his face. “Oh, right, well…”

I scowl. “Idiot. Try not to hurt me anymore. Geeze, I’ve already got a head injury. Which, by the way, has finally stopped bleeding, no thanks to you Mr. ‘I’m going to get a bandage for you.’”

He sighs. “We all have our faults, my friend. Mine is forgetfulness.”

Stomach still stinging, I sigh. “I guess I can’t blame you too much,” I say, getting off the bed. “Today has been a rollercoaster, and it’s only,” I glance at his bedroom clock, “ten o’clock in the morning.”

Dressed in a grey Star Wars tee and used jeans, he goes to his desk. “Yeah, I know I’m going to bed early tonight,” he says, pocketing the scrap of brown fabric and the small green screwdriver. “Now, let’s go, shall we?”