into the wilderness - h.s.

eight

I didn't talk to Harry much the next few days. We just went through the motions of waking up, collapsing tents, walking, pitching tents, and repeating.

On Tuesday, Bruce tackled and killed a rabbit with a broken leg. He seemed proud of his accomplishments; even though Harry had told him time and time again that it hadn't been able to run because of its leg.

On Wednesday, we went skinny dipping. Skinny dipping is not the funnest thing when you are surrounded by practically strangers and the water is only forty degrees above freezing. But my hair needed to be washed and I needed clean clothes. I would also be lying if I said I didn't admire the men in our group from afar; Layla sitting right beside me, offering commentary of her own.

When Harry and I did talk, it was something along the lines of necessity. Whenever we paused for a break, he was always returning a phone call he hadn't been able to answer earlier. He would pace with his phone to his ear while his other hand rubbed constantly at his forehead.

Tristan was the group leader on Thursday, leading everyone in the wrong direction for the first four hours. We had to walk, practically run to make it to our camp site before dark. Even then, the tents were set up with the aid of flashlights.

I bumped into many people that night, struggling with my tent. Bruce almost took my feet out from beneath me when he swing his tent pole too far the left. I yelled a few choice words in his direction, and his girlfriend offered me words of her own.

"Goddamnit," I uttered under my breath. An unseen knife mercilessly cut into the skin on my upper arm. "Why did I hide my knife inside my jacket sleeve? Why?"

Gingerly, I removed the jacket that had not yet made it all the way on my body. I pulled the knife from its pockets and folded it. Sticking it inside a small pocket on my backpack straps, I tried to quietly exit the tent. Everyone else had retired hours ago. The cold bite in the air had awoken me with a start, in search of some warmer material for my body.

As I clutched my right hand over the cut too see if I could prevent the bleeding, I walked to the middle of camp. It wasn't making much of a difference. Frustrated, I spun in a slow circle looking around at the tents. I wasn't sure what to do in order to bind my wound. Alisha had the first aid kit in her tent, but I didn't want to wake her. I started walking, then stopped, backed up, and walked forward again. I was completely at a loss for what to do, and I could feel the blood beginning to slip down my arm.

I surprised myself by walking towards Harry's tent. As quietly as I could, I began to pull the zipper that held the door closed. I was scared. I could feel the blood oozing between my fingers and my heartbeat was beginning to beat in my ears. My arm was going numb and I couldn't feel my fingers.

Tristan was practically on top of Harry. Tristan's leg was lazily thrown over Harry's torso, his foot resting oddly between Harry's legs. Tristan's large arms added extra weight to Harry's chest, as he laid stock still. Harry's arms were pinned to his sides and his legs were pressed together, as if he were a mummy. His eyes were closed but I could tell he wasn't really sleeping.

When I finally saw his face, he was looking at me with one eye open, and the other pulled tightly closed. His lips came up in one corner, scowling in disgust. I laughed, but immediately stopped myself when Harry pursed his lips, telling me to be quite.

"Is that uncomfortable?" I whispered, raising my voice slightly at the end.

Harry offered a strangle groan in response as he tried to move out of Tristan's grip without disturbing the sleeping man. He placed his long legs on the outside of the tent before he stood up to his full, towering height.