Save Yourself | Petekey | Danger Days

Sixteen - I Do(n't) Love You

It was so hot.

Kobra was heaving, sweat pooling at his brow and lower back, when Pete brought him a bottle of cold water. He downed it in seconds, then wiped his chin with the back of his gloved hand.

"Hey! None for the rest of us? It's hot!" whined Ghoul, looking even more sweaty and worn out than Kobra.

"Well, you're mean, Ghoul," Pete joked. "Mean boys don't get water."

"You gave Poison water!" Ghoul argued, stretching his arms behind his back.

Poison feigned his best hurt look, planting his palm on his chest and dropping his jaw. "Are you saying I'm mean?"

The rest of the men rolled their eyes simultaneously.

Stripping off his gloves and stepping away from the punching bag to take a break, Kobra watched as Pete walked back inside and sat atop a table to listen to the radio. He did this every morning: He'd sit with his arms propped behind him and his head tilted back to the ceiling. With his eyes closed peacefully, he'd tap a foot in the air when the music would come on, and would listen intently, often staring right at the small box, when Dr. Death would tell his reports. Then, when the others came back inside, he'd enthusiastically recite the interesting parts to them.

Poison complained that Pete was hogging the radio in the comfort of the air conditioned diner, while they had to spend their mornings in the hot sun with no music. When confronted about this, Pete shrugged, smiled, and said, "your choice to do—" grimacing, he gestured to the training area "—all this. Don't punish me just because you're all crazy enough to slave away out there, day after day," he taunted.

Kobra chuckled, trying not to let Poison hear, but Poison shot him a glare and Kobra bit his lip to stifle his laughter.

"Come on, Pete," Kobra pleaded, "train with me."

But Pete just backed into the diner, his smile gone.

After a sarcastic "interesting report today" from Ghoul, the four returned to their workouts. With Pete's voice replaced by the rhythmic thump thump of Ghoul's fists against the punching bag, Kobra stared through the tinted windows at the dark figure of the boy who was just out of reach.

Swiping his gun and a couple of glass beer bottles off the table beside Poison, Kobra stomped off to the side of the diner, where an old log had fallen. He carefully lined up the bottles on the rotting wood, stood back, and began to shoot.

~~~

Bang. The final bottle shattered, and its fragmented pieces joined the others on the ground. Breathing hard, Kobra let his arm fall and shut his eyes. His ears were still ringing; he hadn't bothered to bring headphones.

His head starting to hurt, he opened the magazine to check how many bullets were left. Four. He closed the magazine, lifted his gun, and shot the rest of the bullets into the log, whispering each letter with each shot: P-e-t-e.

Kobra tried so hard to forget Pete's laugh and the way he squeezed his eyes shut when he slept. The way he was always warm, except for when he came back from Better Living. When he finally opened his eyes, he looked so hurt and scared. It hurt Kobra more than anything Korse or the dracs could have done to him. And when Pete grabbed onto Kobra like he'd never let go... maybe, just maybe, Kobra thought, Pete thought about him too.

The wood was still smoking when he walked back to the training area.

"Need more rounds," he said to nobody in particular without looking up. "And a beer."

Ghoul was the one to answer: "We're out."

Turning around, Kobra lifted an eyebrow. "You guys really drank everything we had? That's a lot."

Jet shook his head. He was sitting on the bench, heaving and sweating. "Not us — Pete."

"Oh."

Kobra hadn't ever seen Pete drink. Confused, he looked around, but to no avail — both he and Poison were gone. "Where is he? And Gee?"

Jet shrugged. "They went back in, to talk, or something. Seemed importa—" Sitting next to Jet, Ghoul elbowed him in the rib. "Ow. What was that for?"

Groaning, Ghoul smacked his hand on his face. "It was nothing, Mikey. He's just being dramatic."

"Right," Kobra said, unconvinced. "Well, I'm going to go get some more rounds." He gestured to his gun and walked into the cool diner.

Behind him, he heard Ghoul mutter, "idiot," and Jet say, "what?" before he let the door swing shut behind him

Not seeing anybody in the main area, Kobra sighed and made his way to the rooms, pulling his sweaty shirt off and tucking his gun between his belt and the hem on his pants. But he froze as he passed Pete's room. The door was open just enough for voices to carry.

"Look, Poison." It was Pete. Kobra's heart started to beat faster and he quickly moved behind the door. "He's just—" Pete sighed. "Kobra is... I don't—"

"Don't" what? What were they talking about?

"Pete, I don't want to hear about—"

"No. Listen." Kobra could hear the frustration in Pete's voice. He could practically see Pete shaking his head how he did when he couldn't quite explain something. Kobra leaned in closer to hear better. He knew he shouldn't be listening in, but it was about him!

Pete continued. "I know what you think. But it's not true."

Is this about Poison not trusting Pete?

"I don't like Kobra like that. I could never. He's just— he's just my friend. Just a guy who's helping me through all this stuff, like the rest of you. He has never and never will be anything more than that."

Kobra froze. He clenched his shirt and, willing tears away, ran off, not caring if they heard him.

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981 words
July 15, 2020
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I- I have nothing to say. This is awful, I'm so sorry. And it took so long aah
This was actually my second attempt at writing this chapter
Smh

Well, thanks for still being here, you're awesome <3
Until next chapter...