I take a long gulp but it doesn’t help.
He watches me carefully, his eyes concerned. There’s only little room between us and I can smell alcohol on his breath.
“Kris,” I whisper, my teeth chattering. “Can you give me some of that stuff you were drinking earlier?”
“Yeah, but… It won’t make you sick, will it?”
“I’m already sick. I’ll just take a little sip. I really need something.”
He brings another flask and I take a long pull, swallowing more of the stuff than I’d planned. The bitter liquid burns my throat and stomach. My muscles relax and I stop shaking. But my depressed thoughts remain, and I feel the darkness enveloping me again. I still want to scream.
“Those leaves you were gathering in the woods,” I say. “Can they really help me sleep?” He nods and I ask, “Could you give me some?”
“I could but don’t recommend mixing them with alcohol,” he answers. “Mixing this stuff makes it really hard to predict one’s reaction. You might totally black out for several hours and then be weak and groggy for the next day or two.” He pauses. “Are you really sure you want to try it? I mean, I’ll drug you, no problem. Although I’d prefer not to.”
The idea of blacking out and at least temporarily forgetting about everything seems awfully tempting. But when I imagine myself unable to rise to my feet or think clearly for the next two days, the thought scares me.
“I don’t think I really need it,” I sigh. “Thanks for the warning. Do you take these leaves yourself sometimes?”
“No, I can’t. They slow your reaction, leaving you kinda vulnerable. I can’t risk it. Let’s go outside. Some fresh air might help.”
Outside, we sit on the ground side by side, leaning against the wall of the shack. I feel lightheaded and ill. The night air is cool and the village quiet. I cover my face and start to cry, unable to stop thinking of my mother. Wreck doesn’t say anything but his presence is soothing.
“I’m really sorry I woke you,” I whisper, after finally calming down.
“No worries,” he answers softly. “Everybody has rough nights. It’s always harder at night when it’s dark, quiet and you’re left all alone with your thoughts.”
I slowly turn to face him and our eyes meet. We sit unmoving, just gazing at each other. He doesn’t try to hug me or stroke my hair, but does so much more than that. He shares in my grief.
“People say it gets better with time,” I mutter. “But it doesn’t seem true.”
“I don’t think it’s true at all. It always hurts the same. You just get used to it.”
“Who did you lose?” I ask carefully.
He shrugs, looking away.
“A girl?” I guess, and he nods. “Who was she?”
“Just a girl who was always kind to me.”
I don’t pressure him to answer more questions. We don’t go back inside the shack until the sky begins to lighten and the darkness recedes.
***
When I next awaken, the shack is empty. Stretching, I sit up and run my hands through my hair, then make a pony-tail. The scratches on my arm still hurt, but the pain isn’t so unbearable.
Waiting for Wreck to return, I sit in front of a pile of his books, looking over the titles. Martial arts, something about plants, Star Wars, more martial arts…
A stranger enters the room and I scream, startled.
“Dang, Kora!” he exclaims. “It’s just me!”
“Wreck?” I breathe out. “Kris?”
“Two in one,” he chuckles.
“You washed your face!”
“Well, I try to do it every once in a while.”
My jaw drops and I’m unable to take my eyes away. He looks shockingly different without his face painted. There’s nothing intimidating or brutal in his appearance. He looks like the boy next door with plain features… almost homely. There’s an old deep scar running across his right cheek. And I seriously doubt he’s nineteen because his face appears younger.
“You didn’t expect me to be this handsome, did you?” he asks in an exaggeratedly seductive voice.
“Right!” I exclaim, smiling. “And when did you last take a look in the mirror?”
“You’re just not wanting to admit how charmed you are by me. Girls tend to fall in love with me at first sight. I’m irresistible.”
I roll my eyes. This is definitely him.
He marches across the room and plops down on the floor beside me, grinning.
“How did you get the scar?” I ask, unable to stop staring.
“Cut myself shaving,” he laughs.
“I’m serious. Did you get it in a fight?”
“It was just an accident. There’s no good story behind my scar.”
I don’t believe him but realize that further questioning is pointless. He won’t tell anything if he doesn’t want to.
“You like reading?” I ask, changing the subject.
“I don’t know how to read. I’ve never gone to school.”
“Really? What are you doing with all these books then?”
“Just looking at the pictures mostly,” he says. “And most of them really aren’t mine.”
“I could read them to you if you like,” I offer.
Wreck begins laughing again. “No, thanks. That doesn’t really sound like much fun.”
I wonder where the guy is I spoke with last night, the one who was being so nice and empathetic. Several conflicting personalities seem to coexist in Wreck. I can still smell alcohol on his breath, and wonder if he already drank this morning. I also notice that his hair is wet.
“Is there a lake or the river somewhere nearby?” I ask.
“Right down at the end of the street,” he says. “But I wouldn’t recommend swimming naked around this place.” His grin becomes sleazy. “Unless you want me to stand guard.”
“No, thanks.” I rise to my feet. “I really need a break from you.”
“All right then. But if you
