What Lasts in Us

CHAPTER THIRTY SEVEN

The rest of the day is a blur – not just because of my crying, but also because I have a ridiculous headache and I feel sick. Sick from all the crying, sick from what happened, sick at such a close encounter.

Nate lifted me into his arms and carried me for what I think was a couple of hours, after he went back and collected our gear. He'd torn those guys to shreds, he'd said, and had wanted to do the same thing to the guy who had actually gotten hold of me. But he'd settled for shooting his brains out.

Now, with the sun beginning its descent, Nate found an abandoned car for us to sleep in, and got it off the road so it could be hidden amongst the trees. I only remembered bits and pieces, like a snapshot of my life. I know that I'm here now, lying in the backseat, Dog snoozing on the floor at my feet, but that's about it. I know hours passed since this morning and right now. I know we walked here. I just don't really know what happened along the way. I must've blacked out.

I remember Nate wrapping me up in his jacket, to hide me away from the world. I remember him carrying me. I remember seeing Dog trying to pick up a femur and was dead set on taking it with him. I remember the heat, the brightness of the sun, the red and black spots of my eyelids when I was conscious. I remember Nate's voice. I remember the crickets chirping, a constant buzz, like they are now.

But I don't remember Nate disappearing. I don't remember him saying he was going off to do something. I don't remember him actually putting me inside this car, and I don't remember drifting off without a care in the world.

All I know is that I feel fucking dirty. I feel tainted and gross. I feel like I need to take a bath full of bleach–

Dog squeaks – barks – as the door opens, and there's the man himself, rabbit in hand. He props his rifle beside the door. "Charli."

I'd be lying if I said I didn't like the way he says my name. I sit up and pull his jacket tight around me. "Hey." I scoot over to the open door, until I'm right at the edge. Right by Nate's rifle.

He presses a hand to my face, gentle, probing. He's searching for any extra injuries. Or is he searching for the ones I already have, to make sure they haven't gotten worse?

When have we become so familiar? When did we break down all the walls and were allowed to touch each other so freely? When did that happen?

I have no idea. And I don't know if I like it. But I let him do it. He sets my skin on fire.

Nate presses the back of his hand to my forehead. "How do you feel?" he asks. He watches me, always scrutinising. His brows furrow, and I realise this is quite possibly the first time I've ever seen him openly worried about me.

"I'm okay." I close my eyes and release a sigh. I lean slightly into his touch. "Really."

Nate removes his hand from my face and leans against the car, his forearm propped against the door frame. He looks down at me – not that we're ever equal, because I'm so much shorter than him. "Don't lie to me," he says. "Not about this."

"Would you feel better if I said I'm not?"

"No," he says, shaking his head. "We have to be open to each other. We need to tell the truth if one of us asks."

I guess it makes sense. But I'd still rather not indulge him with the thoughts I have. My brain is full of enough shit as it is, and I don't need to share it with someone else. It's already driving me crazy that I'm starting to want his approval, that I'm starting to care what he thinks of me. That's just added another building block to Castle Fuckery.

"Where were you this morning?" I ask. I want to get him to talk about something else, so he doesn't notice that I don't agree to what he's said.

"I took Dog for a walk," he says, and just hearing his name, Dog sits at attention, eyes on Nate. He jumps onto my lap though, because I'm the easiest person he can access. I'm starting to think that the two of them might have some form of alliance going on.

"We went hunting. I wanted to see if I could teach him to scout, maybe sense animals before I did." Dog eyes the rabbit in Nate's hand; he stands on my knees and leans as far forward as he possibly can without falling off. "I heard them once you'd run off."

There's something off about his story, though. Especially in the timing. "You said you heard me running away–"

"I had to hide Dog," Nate says, because he knows where my question's going. "I couldn't risk both of you with what I was going to do."

I watch him now, silently willing him to speak. He catches the look and releases a sigh. He rubs his hand over his face, like he wants to rid himself of the memory.

"When I said I tore them to shreds, I wasn't kidding," he murmurs.

He doesn't elaborate. And suddenly, I realise this man is just as violent, if not more, than I am.

We are some kind of fucked up.

Nate's hand is still over his face. So I reach up and hook my hand on the inside of his elbow, and gently tug his arm down, until his hand is away from his face. I slide my hand down his arm until I find said hand, and entwine our fingers together.

"From the bottom of my heart," I say, and I cringe inwardly because I always end up sounding sarcastic when I don't mean to, "thank you."

Nate looks at our hands, at our entwined fingers, before he looks up to meet my gaze. He doesn't seem convinced.

"I'm being serious!" I exclaim. "Just like I'm hot and horny and ready for you."

Nate takes half a step back and tugs on our hands. "Fuck me," he says. "I've been paired with the devil incarnate."

The expression on my face is enough for him to cast me a pointed look. "That's not even remotely funny," he says.

"So you don't want to repopulate the earth?" I ask, and I swear to god he looks stuck between actually wanting to take me up on my offer jump my bones and maybe wanting to slap some sense into me.

He holds up our hands. I didn't realise I was laughing. "You are the devil."

"And you, my horny friend, need to rein it in."

Nate releases our hands and ducks his head inside the car, narrowly avoiding head-butting me as he searches for his pack on the floor. He's so close he's practically on top of me.

"I've never had sex with the devil before," he says as passes me, his breath tickling my cheek as he rights himself. He leans against the door jamb.

"Hold your horses," I say. "The devil has never agreed to sex."

Nate looks at me. "But you're not disagreeing outright," he says. He toys with what he grabbed from his pack: a shirt. And his blue eyes, black in the darkness, never leave mine as he waits for an answer.

I shift beneath his gaze and break the contact.

He crouches before me now, his knees cracking with the movement. His lips turn up into a wry smile. "This is for you," he says, and he hands me a shirt. One of his. It's blue, long-sleeved, with buttons down the front. He gives my knee a quick squeeze. "You don't have to make up your mind right now."