What Lasts in Us

CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE

It's funny, because of all the people I've slept with, I've never once regretted any of those choices. I might look back and cringe, but if you asked me, I'd definitely say no, they were each character building moments. This, however, is a first for me. Also, being rejected right in the thick of things (pun intended), is a first as well. And as much as I try not to think about it and try to deny it, it still hurts.

I guess that proves I'm still human after all.

I'm glad Nate doesn't come after me and try to comfort me. He gives me space, but I guess that's because he needs it as well. Otherwise I think I might punch him if he comes near me, because for a split second, my self-esteem fell and got lost somewhere around my toes. Never have I felt so small, so unimportant, so worthless, so insignificant, meaningless, irrelevant, useless. Partly my fault, but still–

Fuck, fuckity fuck.

After my brutal rejection, I get out of the water, put on my damp underwear, and lie in the sun beside the rest of my drying clothing. Dog sidles up to me then, head down, tail wagging, and provides me with his own form of comfort by licking my face. Does he know what happened? Does he sense my unease? Probably not, but I'll pretend that he does.

I'm not sure how long I stay on the shore like that, with Dog proving to be the best company a girl could ask for. Half an hour, maybe an hour? I'm not sure. But I left Nate to whatever he needed to do, whether that was thinking, jerking off, or thinking and jerking off at the same time – not necessarily in that order.

Water splashes as Nate finally gets out of the river. It drips everywhere, some getting on me and Dog as he walks past to get his clothes. I watch him as he gets dressed, and try to gauge his mood. Still he says nothing, so I don't push or pry.

This whole situation is wrong. What we did or attempted to do was wrong. We're both broken, fragile. We're not in the right headspaces. We're all over the place, and coming together was never going to solve anything, let alone fix it. We've just created a mess worse than what we started with, and now we're in ruins.

Eventually Nate turns to me, fully dressed. He pulls his brace over his leg and positions it over his knee; he pulls a strap until the metal comes together, just below and behind his knee; he fastens two buckles, one above and one below, and the brace clamps into place. He slings the two rifles over his shoulder. "We should go," he says. He gives nothing away. He averts his gaze to the trees, not even affording Dog any attention as he goes to him and nudges at his boots.

I don't say anything. I simply nod my head, get to my feet, turn to my belongings, and get dressed. My socks are still damp, my boots are squidgy when I step into them. It takes a while to get my boot back on over my injured ankle because it's swollen, and then I have to grip a tree to keep my balance steady. I will not let Nate help me, even when he extends a hand.

Nate raises his eyes to me, and I don't know what I expect to see there. He might be able to see more, but vice versa? Nothing. I see nothing within the blue, so I return to struggling with my other boot. "Follow me," he says, his voice low, and he brushes past me on his way back to camp.

Dog goes to follow, but I whisk him off his feet despite his wriggling and get him into my jacket. He cries his indignation, but I ignore it.

The beauty of the forest is lost on me on the trek back. The only thing I take notice of is the dappled sunlight that falls on me, creating weird shadows at my feet.

I follow behind Nate as closely as possible, stepping where he steps, though it's a bit more difficult with my limp. The uneven ground makes my ankle ache, and soon I have to stop, again leaning against a tree to keep my balance. I take a deep breath, duck my head, and briefly close my eyes.