Beyond the Horizon

10. Backpedal

"You're bleeding."

          Nezumi glanced up from the bucket of spades he had been glaring at. The bucket and its contents had not offended him in any way; they just happened to be what was in his sightline as he dissociated over catastrophe in the alley.

          After he and Shion had left the no-name town and its antagonists behind, Nezumi had led them into the woods. His first instinct was always to bolt for the woods and hide amongst its shadows. If anyone asked, he would reason it was because it was easier to hide your trail when you're off the beaten path. But if Nezumi really dug into it, he knew it was because he was most comfortable in the woods. He had grown up isolated, deep in the trees in his family's cabin. To him, the woods meant privacy and safety, and they were as close to a home as he would ever get until Horizon Labs was blown off the map.

          He and Shion were currently hunkered down in someone's cabin shed, deep in the heart of the forest. The small, cramped space boasted a wall of rusted tools, several mountains of mildewy rags, and cobwebbed windows complete with fat-bottomed spiders. Nezumi hoped Shion wasn't afraid of creepy crawlers, because there were dark shadows near the ceiling and door that skittered silently lower from time to time.

          "I have a first aid kit in my bag," Shion said, finally moving his searching gaze from Nezumi's face.

          Shion pulled his backpack toward himself. It cleared an uneven trail in the grimy, dust-coated floor. He opened a small, silver first aid kit, pulled out some gauze and disinfectant, and offered them to Nezumi.

          "Clean your chin. Does your head hurt? You didn't bite your tongue, did you?"

          The alcohol burned as Nezumi pressed the wetted gauze to his chin, but he suffered the discomfort without so much as a flinch. An abrasion like this was nothing; he had sewn stitches into his skin before. Nezumi stared down at the gauze when he was finished. The murky light in the shed made the bloodstains look black.

          "Your knuckle is cut too." Shion reached for Nezumi's hand, and Nezumi snatched it back.

          Shion flinched. His empty hands curled on his lap and Nezumi swallowed. He meant to keep Shion at arms length, but every time Nezumi pulled away and Shion's face fell, guilt gnawed at his insides. He didn't know what to do about it. Keeping his distance from others had never made him feel guilty before.

          It's not my fault, growled Nezumi's rational mind. He chose to come with me. I did nothing wrong bringing him into this mess, and I don't need to be his friend.

          But lately doubt had begun whispering through the logic, slipping into the hesitations like skips in an oft-played record.

          Nezumi wished Shion would stop looking at him like he was now.

          Shion's dark eyes pooled the low light, making them look larger, deeper, more insistent. Since they'd settled in the shed to gather their bearings, Shion's mouth had arranged itself into a small, tight line of uncertainty, or perhaps concern. Either way, Nezumi didn't like it. He didn't like being studied. It meant he was seen, and Nezumi preferred to be a blur in people's day to day.

          Shion, however, seemed determined to figure him out: a few questions here, a concerned look there, plucking at Nezumi's threads one at a time, trying to find the one that would unravel the mess of him. Shion seemed to think he was a puzzle box, seemed to believe if he only twisted the right piece in the right way, Nezumi would come apart, all his inner workings exposed, the mystery revealed. But Nezumi felt more like a sinkhole: one careless poke and the gaping pit caved inward, deepened, and in his worst moments, the darkness swallowed the people nearest to him whole.