Darkside

Thirty-One

We have love which makes all this okay. We have one another, so it's fine. Even during the difficult days, even the week we slept in a park, it's all good because I have Orson and he has me.

Whenever even a scrap of doubt gets to me, I easily remember I could be alone, I should be, which would put me in a way worse position. Fugitives are usually alone, I'm sure. Running from the law isn't a social activity.

"Drink?"

His skin looks sore, it has the redness of someone who's drinking too much. Not that I'll turn him down. It's the only warmth we get most days.

I miss the apartment.

I know I'm not supposed to think that. I definitely can't say it, especially since I made us go, but I do. I had it all there. The dream come true I've always wanted. I let paranoia push me away from it, and for what? For this?

No, this is no good.

"Yeah, give it here."

We smile. The smile floods with sorrow. Neither of us want this. I keep trying to suggest something else, but what is there?

Nothing. Just more booze.

While the warm, slightly fizzy liquid burns down my throat, my eyes close to block the world out. I think about Luvvie, about who she should've been had she not been sucked in by Darkside. Sure, she didn't have much chance with her upbringing, but she could've done more than this.

Cash.

She met him. He wrecked everything.

Fucking Cash...

Red mist, thoughts of him always bring the red mist.

He did this. His fake love did this.

"You're hogging it." Orson snatches the bottle back. "Don't end up getting wasted. You never know what'll happen out here."

"We shouldn't be on the streets." I'm too tired not to bite back. "You said you had enough money to keep us going. This is crazy. Now we're in a vicious cycle where we can't get a job because we don't have a roof over our head, and we can't get a home without a job...or even a shower. Not even access to a bathroom all the time."

I'm disgusting. We both are, it's one of the sad facts of our new life. Some adventure this is turning out to be.

"Your money has run out as well."

I don't answer that. All my planning didn't quite work out, did it? I don't think I could've ever planned for this though,

"There's always a solution but I don't know if you're gunna like it."

"I'll take anything over this, Orson."

"The motel...where I used to work. We can go back there. They'll give me my job back, my room, you can get a job too if you want. Like I said back then."

"They'll take you back?" My eyebrow flies upwards in disbelief. "After you ran out like you did?"

"They said they'll have me back anytime. They know what my past was like. I don't know, it just feels like the only choice we have right now."

I don't like it, not one bit, going back is dangerous. But if it's that or this, at least it's a roof and a job. I guess it could be worse.

But if it's the best choice we have, why are tears streaming down my cheeks? Why does it feel like the worst? I don't know if I want to do this anymore. I kinda want to be on my own.