I wake up with the sun streaming through the window. I stretch and quietly pad downstairs.
Of course, Quentin is already up. He has the stove going, making a pot of soup from the mix we found in the pantry.
"Morning," he says cheerily as I stumble into the kitchen. I send a glare his way before plopping down in one of the wooden chairs at the table.
"I take it someone isn't a morning person."
"Shut up. Please. Just for like 5 minutes. I'm not even awake yet," I say as I lay my head down on the cool wood of the table.
A few minutes go by in silence before he speaks again.
"So, tell me: what is it you're planning on studying in college?" He asks as he sets a bowl of soup in front of me.
I swear, it's impossible to kill his "go morning everything is awesome" vibes.
I roll my eyes as I start to eat. "Quentin, how many times do we have to go over this?"
I speak slowly, as if I'm talking to a child. "The world is over. There will be no more college."
Now it's Quentin's turn to roll his eyes. "How many times do I have to tell you to call me Q? And let's say hypothetically. If you were going to a hypothetical college, what would you study? Hypothetically."
I sigh and eat some more of my soup as I think. "Nursing. I would study nursing. Hypothetically, of course."
Quentin thinks this over while we eat our soup.
"Aren't you gonna ask me what I would study?" Asks Quentin, breaking the silence.
"Why? It'll never happen anyway."
Quentin pushes his empty bowl away and props his elbows on the table, resting his head on his hands. "It's just what you do. You know, I ask you a question, you ask me a question."
I sigh once again and push my empty soup bowl away. "Fine. What would you hypothetically study in college if we weren't in the apocalypse and we weren't so likely to die before our next birthdays, Q?" I ask sweetly.
Quentin shoots me a look. "Chemical engineering," he answers proudly.
"God, that sounds like a lot of work," I reply as I get up from the table.
I go to our bags and make sure we have everything before taking them out to the car. Once everything is loaded up, I head to the barn to try and find some gas.
I push open the heavy wooden door. Light floods the dark dusty space, illuminating big pieces of machinery. I wander into the building, absently wondering what each of them does. As I near the back of the building, I spot what I'm looking for back in the corner next to a couple racks of clutter.
I hurry over to the large red cans and squat down next to them. As I peer into one, I hear a loud noise to my right and let out a small squeal. I fall over and scuttle back, expecting to see infected coming after me.
I settle down as I realize it's just a cat, angry after knocking over a canister of oil over when brushing up against it. I chuckle weakly and haul the heavy gas cans out to the car.
I carefully pour one of them into the car until it is full to the brim before putting them all in the backseat.
I go inside and try to find Quentin, suddenly curious as to where he has been while I've been gone.
I walk through the house and find him with his back turned from me in the master bedroom.
"Hey, Q, I found some gas and filled up the car, no thanks to you," I say with a bit of a laugh.
He jumps at the sound of my voice and turns. He gulps quickly.
It's then that I notice the orange pill bottle in his hand.
"What the crap, Q?!?! What's up with all this freaking pill popping?! What are you, a freaking druggie?!" I screech as I pick up the nearest object and throw it at him, which happens to be a television remote.
"Leonie, I promise, this is not what it looks like," he says slowly as he holds his hands slightly up, as if in surrender.
"What is it then?! Because it looks like you got me to risk my freaking life, just so you can get an easy fix!"
Quentin closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose before running his hands through his hair. Good grief, could you pick a nervous gesture, I think to myself.
"I'm an epileptic, okay?" he says quietly.
Well, now I'm confused. "Wait, what's that? I thought you were a druggie. This doesn't make any sense," I say as I bunch my eyebrows together.
He rolls his eyes and shoves his hands in his pockets as he looks down at his feet.
"No, I'm not a freaking druggie. It means I have seizures. And this medicine helps keep me from having them. That's also why I can't drive,"he says with a shrug.
"Oh," I reply quietly. I am an idiot. I mentally facepalm.
"I'm sorry I yelled at you. And called you a druggie. And hit you with a remote."
He chuckles and pushes his glasses up a bit. "No problem."
We sit for a moment in a very awkward silence, neither of us knowing quite what to say.
"So, um, you said you found some gas?" He asks as he starts out the door and through the house.
I gratefully jump onto the chance to say something other that "Uhhhhhh".
"Oh um, yeah, I found some out in that old barn. I already put some in the car and loaded up the rest."
We go through the house and stop in the kitchen. "Well then, I guess that's everything. Are you ready?" He asks.
"Yep. Let's do it," I say as we head out to the car.
I climb up into the vehicle and pull my hair into a ponytail before starting he engine.
"By the way, I meant to ask you: What exactly did you do to your hair?" Quentin asks with a nervous laugh as I carefully start to head down the driveway.
I let out a small laugh.
"You don't even want to know..."
