Page 86 of Things I Read About

He opens the barrel of feed and scoops the bucket in, filling it with grain. “It means you can stop bringing it up. We’re good.”

“Good? So, we’re friends?”

“No, kiddo. We are not friends. I am your security. I keep you alive. I leave. You have a long, safe, happy life.”

Kiddo.

“Yeah? Because I’m pretty sure helping me feed Shep’s zoo is not part of your job description.”

He looks around the small barn, frowning. “You got that right.”

“Then quit it. I don’t need your help. Go watch from your stupid bunker in the house.”

“I’m not leaving you out here alone.”

“Well, then go sit in the gator. I don’t need you hanging around, helping me, bodyguard.”

“Gladly.” He hands me the bucket and walks off. He’s not angry, though. He’s as casual as can be.

Not fuming like I am.

Not… hurt.

He’s not hurting.

Which means I was right before. Last night muddled everything up for me, but he’s just clarified. He doesn’t feel like I feel.

I try to ignore him as I go about my chores. It takes forever without his help, but I don’t complain. I just let myself think.

He’s been cordial. Maybe friendly, but that’s it.

He’s done his job. Just because he took Joe down and protected me like he cared doesn’t change what I’ve already surmised.

He really, truly didn’t feel anything deep for me that week. He wants to finish this job and get on with his life.

And I’ll never see him again.

And that.

That’s what hurts.

No, actually. What hurts is that I feel so much for him, felt so much and cherished that week like it was a dream come true. I want more.

He doesn’t feel it, didn’t cherish it, doesn’t want more.

I have to really let this go. I can’t keep fixating or I’m going to spiral myself straight into depression. Which is not the way to start my med school career. My whole adult life is about to begin, everything I’ve waited for. I’ve had enough of this.

I climb back into the gator.

Nate is drenched in sweat. How long have we been out here?

I open my mouth to apologize but stop myself.

We’re not friends.

He doesn’t seem bothered by the wait or the heat. As he drives us back, he’s completely blank. Again.

Until he walks up to the garage door leading into the house.He pauses.