Chapter Text
Does he know that I've got a hole the size of a baseball bat protruding through the skin in my abdomen? I think right now is a nice time to let the curiosity flow through my veins. It's not like I can do much else, right? The middle of no-where isn't the best place to recognize the feelings of pent-up emotional repression, but maybe it could be therapeutic. I wonder if he knows I'm thinking about him right now. Maybe he does. I hope he's thinking about me, but considering the abundance of self-deprecation he's built up in that head of his, I don't have high hopes for him and I, right now.
I should have known. I was stupid to think he would pull me from the tide of inevitability. Everyone knew that I was going to die by sending me out, and for whatever reason, I decided to pleasure them in the sense of being correct. It's not that hard to psycho-analyze somebody like me. It's pretty obvious that I'd do anything to meet the needs of those around me. I guess it's okay. At least our settlement is somewhat safe.
I thought he was different. I should have known better than to trust somebody so caught up in his own villain-turned-hero arc. He said he'd come back for me. He promised me he'd be here by now. I can see the brilliant palette of blue and orange mix and color the sky. It's nice, but the thought of the vibrant warm hue makes my heart ache for something I can't have. I'm pretty sure I just want him, and right now I should be getting my head straight and his foot out of my ass so that I can get to a safe haven. I doubt they'll want me, considering my injuries and the blistering bite mark on my arm.. but I have more important things to get to. I know he does as well.
And so, I try. I do. I really don't want to die with the heat making my skin feel sticky and disgusting. On top of that, I need a shower. I'm pretty sure I smell like a middle school boy that hasn't made any attempt at lessening the stench that puberty brings. I probably do. I can't stand it, but for right now, it's the best I can manage. It's not like showers are entirely accessible in the middle of the post-apocalyptic world. Can you even call it that? I think it's a smart attempt, but I'm really not sure. When I sit up, it draws a long groan from my lips. I don't even mean to let the noise of discomfort slip, but when it does, it at least makes things a little easier to cope with. At least I know I'm still human. I've witnessed way too many of my closest friends stray way too far from anything that could be considered a conscious being. At most? I think they'd be flesh, bone, and organs. That's not to say I don't still love them. I know they aren't at fault for a virus infecting them. I know they were doing everything they could to prevent themselves from turning into monsters with the most chicken-breast looking brains I've ever seen.
My arm is probably the worst part of it all. It feels as though the skin has been ripped away- because it has, of course. I might be dramatizing though. It's just a few places where the teeth had been in my arm- but I can still feel it. It could be some fucked-up version of phantom limb syndrome, or something of the like, but I can feel it. I know the skin is gone. I can see the deep mix of crimson, and the dark color of my skin right there on the surface. It's the worst thing I've ever felt. It's a wonder I'm still awake right now, because holy shit, this looks like something straight out of a fucked up sci-fi film. Except rather than the special effects looking totally fake, this is one hundred percent real.
For now, I use the arm that doesn't look as though it's been shredded by a cheese-grater to dig into my backpack, and I tug out peroxide and gauze. I know fully-well that it's going to hurt to disinfect it, but I have to do it. The last thing I need is to be dead. Right now, being alive is the best thing I can manage. I wonder if Dirk is alive. I can't help but hope. I hope he'll be back to camp by tonight, because if he's not, the thought of dying alone is going to settle in. I don't want that. As long as I'm here, he has to be too. We said this was supposed to be a team effort, way back when things started. That can't change in the most dire moment of my life. With a long, drawn out breath, I use a shaky hand to douse the injury in peroxide.
I'm no doctor, but I'm pretty sure this is supposed to help prevent infection. Right?? Ugh, Dirk would know. I don't have a clue what anything does. All I know is that peroxide and rubbing alcohol are basically the same thing. I think.
The moment the chemicals hit my skin, I hiss through my teeth and an almost feminine shriek follows right after it. It fucking hurts, and I'm pretty sure I remember ninth grade health class telling me that peroxide can slow the healing process of open wounds. Why don't I think? Fucking hell. After a brief moment of complaining under my breath, I suck it up. That's what you do, now. There are no more doctors, and no more medical professionals within an arm's reach to treat shit like this. I place gauze over the bite mark, then I do the best I can to wrap it. The only bandages I have are dirty, and stained with Dirk's blood. At least It's covered though. I tug my sleeve down in an attempt to keep any further debris into it, then I begin the same process on my stomach.
By the time I'm done, the sun has peeked over the horizon properly, and the sky is a nice shade of blue scattered with clouds. The warm feeling on my skin isn't very refreshing. It kind of hurts, actually. It always has. It's probably because my eyes are less than adequate in the sense of.. seeing. But I'm really not sure. I don't think I want to be sure. I've decided that leaving some things as a mystery is better than prodding into them. Finally, I can stand up. My head is throbbing, aching from the mix of blood loss and dehydration. It's something I can fix, though. The dehydration. Not the loss of blood in my body. I pull out a flask and gulp down enough water to soothe the dry feeling in my throat, then I lick over my lips too. They're cracked from rasped breathing and panic, but I think I'll be okay. I have to be.
When I brush my fingers through my hair, I can feel the pent-up grease from sweat and lack of hygienic practice. I promise, I wasn't always a sweaty dude. But something about constantly being on the run for my own life changed that. I saw a lake coming out here. I think Dirk said it was safe before we parted ways. It takes a moment, but I actually do remember why he left. He had to go get food or something. He carries food. I carry supplies. We trade off every so often to lighten the other person's load. It can be frustrating to actually trade off with him, but I know he means well. He wants me to live as much as I do.
As I finally get walking, my thoughts linger on him. We've both been through the motions a hundred times. Leave the other alone for three hours, they get hurt, we panic, and then we're over it. I want this to be the same. I don't want anything about us to change. But I do?
I remember when I first saw him. I thought he looked a lot like Dave. They're like carbon copies of each other- and both of them are admittedly attractive. Not that I've told them that. But Dirk is different. He has a bump in his nose from when he broke it as a kid. He calls it his witch nose, haha. He doesn't look like a witch though. He has high cheekbones littered with a few freckles, and that nice sunkissed look to him from spending so much time outside. His build is strong as well. He's taller than me, but I easily overthrow him in the sense of muscle. As a kid, I would've wanted to be him. I.. I think I still envy him sometimes. I envy him. I don't know if I want to be him or if I want to be with him.
I don't know how long I've gotten caught in my thoughts, but finally the glittery surface of lake-water meets my gaze, and I'm pretty sure I sigh with relief. I kneel with a prompt groan of continuous annoyance, mostly at the sting in my stomach though, and I dip my hands into the cold water with a long sigh. It feels so nice to feel it. It's not painful, it's not the worst thing to come into contact with. I would tug my shirt off if I could move well, but I can't. So instead I do the best I can to lean over, and I start rising the raven colored tufts of hair that mess my head with a careful demeanor. I haven't had any sort of soap in a long time, but for now I think this will have to do. It's an attempt!
Once I'm done, the cloth of my shirt is soaked. I don't mind it. It's hot, the water feels cool on my skin. Honestly it's more of a win than a lose. I refill my canister once I'm sure I won't die from radiation poisoning. Dirk said it has a taste. He purposefully tasted it. And that's pretty stupid, if you ask me. He called it "deductive reasoning." I called it stupid. I guess it's not all too dumb though, because so far, neither of us have died from an overbearing amount of chemicals in our system. Maybe he is dead, actually. I wouldn't see it too far away from the truth. He's smart when it comes to anything relating to books, but otherwise, he's kind of a total idiot. I'm his opposite. I can live off of instinct, but when it comes to making logical decisions, I'm stupid.
I stand now, and when I go to stretch my arms out, I wince. I forgot about my injuries again. I don't even know how someone manages to do that, honestly. I think any person with a brain would actively be in pain. I've been through worse. It's reasonable enough to say I've built my pain tolerance up enough to learn how to ignore whenever I'm in pain. A hand is brushed through my curls again, then I slot my fingers into the pockets of my jeans, and I get going again.
I know the way back to camp. Straight, make a left at the tree Dirk marked with his sword, follow the lines he's made with the blade. I doubt they'll be gone, because he made the most of an attempt to leave a somewhat permanent trail back to camp. It had been for both of us. He's supposed to be by my side, shoving me about while I complain. I'm sure if he had used any ounce of brain-power, he'd have made another trail for himself when we split. I know he's not stupid. He is, but he's not genuinely braindead.
The sun moves slowly as I walk. Lugging myself down the aforementioned trail isn't the best thing in the world, but it's okay. I'd jog, but I think pushing myself to exhaustion is stupid- especially right now. Worse come to worst, I don't make it back until the depth of night. I think that's how it's going to go, considering just how slow I'm going, but it's movement. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that you absolutely cannot stop moving. Ever. If you want to make it out here, you need to consider your efforts and shove all of the other thoughts down so that you can make it.
I swear my heart alights when I finally see the settlement we've called home for the past few nights. A run down tent, a few things placed around to keep us safe. It's not much- it really isn't. Compared to actual, pre-apocalypse camping, it's.. kind of pathetic? I'm not the best when it comes to making nice places to stay, and Dirk has been frantic about not running out of supplies. I don't blame him. I just wish that he'd-
"What are you doing here?"
The voice completely stills my train of thought, and when I glance back, I'm met with a familiar face that makes my eyes sting. He's alive. He's alive, and I am too. I can't even manage to speak for a moment, but when I do, my voice is higher than I intend for it to be.
"why didn't you come back for me?"