Page 69

February 20th

At dawn, your eyes are open and steady, watching me.

‘You survived then?’ I say.

Second night and neither of us died: a victory. In the early-morning softness, your hand reaches down to the dirt. You must be thirsty, but your fingers skim over the bottle and keep scrabbling. The baggie of weed.

‘I put it somewhere safe,’ I say. ‘You can have more when you get better.’

Now I’m glad I tied you to the camp bed. You try to lurch towards me, straining, then slam back when you discover the ropes. I sigh. It’s going to take more than a bit of sponging to exorcise this new you.

‘You’ll stay tied up until you stop being such a dick.’

I should have tied your arms as well. You could still grab me, choke me. It looks like you want to do that, and more. Perhaps I took the weed away too soon, had too much faith in your resilience.

‘Besides, you still haven’t apologised,’ I say. ‘Hard to know where to start with apologies, though, isn’t it? I’ll help. For talking to that girl in the park, for taking me in the first place. Should I go on?’

You glare at me. I should have let you stay infected, let the flies lay their eggs in your open wound.

‘I’m waiting,’ I prompt.

‘I’m naked,’ you say.

‘What did you expect? I washed you. Yeah, you’re welcome.’

You look away, and I smile. But your eyes fall on the ponytail in the sand, and you reach up to your head and touch your shorter hair.

‘This is sick,’ you say. ‘Breach of basic rights! You should be apologising to me.’

Your speech is no longer slurred. I’ve brought your voice back; it’s a start. You glance down at your body under the sheet.

‘I should’ve killed you while I had the chance?’ I say. ‘That what you’re thinking?’

You slam your head back down onto the camp bed. ‘You wouldn’t. You don’t have the balls.’

‘If you try too hard, that’ll tip over,’ I say, indicating the camp bed. ‘You’ll be face first in the dirt. Easy to kill you then. Just a quick stab in the back of your neck.’

‘Where’d you put the stuff?’

‘In the sand.’

‘You buried it?’ You roll your eyes. ‘Out here? You know you’re crazy?’

‘Learnt from the best.’

Another glare. Now your clear blue eyes are sharp.

‘You want to torture me?’ you say. ‘Want your own back? That what this is?’

I like this fire inside you. We can work with fire.

‘I want you to go back to who you were,’ I say. ‘The good parts.’

Again, you slam your head into the camp bed. ‘That’s bullshit.’

‘Aren’t you glad I cleaned you up?’

‘I’m naked,’ you repeat.