by Lindy Zart
“Do you know if these are okay to pick?” Avery asks.
“Not a clue. How about you?”
“Nope,” she answers with feigned cheerfulness.
“I think the red ones are supposed to be okay.”
“Supposed to be.” Avery nods. “Wonderful.”
We both take a couple, and look at each other.
“You go first,” Avery urges, motioning to me with her free hand.
I laugh outright at that. “Are you going to wait to see if I keel over?”
“Yes.” Avery smiles, and laughs too.
Her laughter is a happy sound, and I find I enjoy it, like I enjoy a lot of things about Avery I’d rather not. Her mouth…I really enjoyed her mouth on mine. In fact, the longer I’m around Avery in this surreal reality, the more I find her irresistible. I’m being drugged by her eyes, and her scent, and each paradox I unveil.
I turn from her, dropping my gaze to the berries in my hand. Things would be so much easier if she was unlikable. I consider telling her that to see if she’ll accommodate me, but I doubt that will happen. If anything, she’d most likely lay on the charm a little heavier, make me fall irreversibly in love with her or something.
As if that would ever happen. I’m not that stupid.
“I’ve never seen Stand by Me,” she announces, her eyes locked on a berry as she moves it between her fingers.
I give her a dubious look. “Really?”
“Really. What’s it about?”
“It’s a book written by Stephen King that was turned into a movie,” I begin, pausing at the sidelong look she gives me. “What?”
“Isn’t he, like, crazy weird and only writes about scary and gross stuff?”
I scowl. “He isn’t only a horror writer, you know.”
Avery doesn’t comment.
“He wrote The Shawshank Redemption, Dolores Claiborne, and The Green Mile, which aren’t horror novels,” I state.
She shrugs. “I’ve never read a book by him nor watched a Stephen King movie.”
“Never?” My tone is incredulous.
“Never.”
I give her a distrustful look. “What do you like to read and watch?”
“Some romance, but mainly funny stuff.”
“Funny stuff?” I repeat. The idea of her never reading a Stephen King book is plausible, but to not even have seen one of his movies? Unbelievable.
“Yes,” she snaps, looking irritated. “Funny stuff—and since you brought it up, I don’t understand why anyone would want to read books or watch movies about scary or sad things. There’s enough of that in reality.”
I let out a huff of air and continue. “Nothing scary happens in Stand by Me. It’s set in the 1950s in Oregon. The scariest thing that happens is that there’s an incident with leeches.”
Avery narrows her eyes. “Is that really how you knew how to remove a leech?”
I nod. “After watching it, and being completely grossed out by the leech scene, I read a bunch of articles on leeches. I remembered some of what I read.”
“That was helpful.”
I shrug.
“What else was the movie about?”
I squint at the sun, the blue sky swirled white with clouds. “A group of friends learn the general location of a dead body and go in search of it. They meet up with older, dangerous kids during their adventure, and some other trouble.”
“And you liked it?” Avery faces me, curiosity evident in the tilt of her head.
“The kids become better friends. They learn how to be brave. It’s a great movie,” I assure her.
Avery seems to be mulling over my words. She meets my gaze and says, “Maybe I’ll watch it someday.”
“You should. If you have no desire to watch any other Stephen King movie, at least watch that one, and possibly the other ones I mentioned.” When she smiles faintly, almost absently, I swallow.
“You know how yesterday I said I felt like we were in The Hunger Games? I’ve never actually read or watched The Hunger Games series,” Avery admits as if it’s a deep, dark secret she’s withheld for years.
“Oh?”
“I tried to read the books, but I got sad by the first chapter and had to stop.” She shrugs. “Like I said, I’m all about the funny stuff.”
“What do you like that’s funny?”
“Pretty much anything with Bill Murray in it. What About Bob?, Scrooged, Groundhog Day, Ghostbusters, Kingpin, and Zombieland, Caddyshack,” she rattles off. “There are more, but I can’t think of them all right now.”
I blink, surprised by her answer. The layers of Avery are being pulled back, one at a time. I wonder what I’ll find when they’re all off. I doubt I’ll expect it.
“How’s your back?” I ask a moment later. There are small blood stains on the back of her shirt that I continually try to avoid with my eyes and instead find each time I glance at her.
“I think it’s okay. You?”
I work at relaxing my shoulders and shrug. “I don’t feel anything dripping down my leg, so I’m guessing it’s scabbed over.”
She gives me a chastising look. “You still won’t look?”
“Nope.”
Avery’s eyes fall to my leg. “I don’t see any blood.”
I hold her gaze when she looks up. “Thanks.”
Her eyes soften, and she pauses as if she’s about to say something, but instead Avery nods and remains quiet.
Funny, but I want to know what she was going to say.
“How did you get from Montana to Illinois?” I ask curiously.
Avery frowns. “What?”
“Did you fly on a plane, or drive? I ask because you’re scared of…things. Are you scared of flying too?”
“I drove. But I’m not scared of flying.”
“Why is that?”
“Planes aren’t living,” she says.
“I’m not sure I follow your logic.”
“Animals and insects are alive; planes are not,” Avery explains impatiently. “If I were to have anxiety over anything, and I’m not saying I do—”
I snort.
She glares at me. “It would be over something that can react with emotion, instinct, anger, whatever, not a machine.”
“But pilots fly planes; they don’t fly themselves,” I point out.
“Just…don’t worry about my phobias, all right?”
“Contradictory as they are,” I murmur.
Avery shoots me a final wrathful look before lifting the hand holding berries. “Well, here goes nothing.”
I grip her wrist as panic shoots through me. “I’ll try them first.”
“Maybe we should both wait.” Avery swallows, a faint tremble to her hand.
I give her a look. “Wait for what?”
“I don’t know.” She shifts from one foot to the other. “Something. More mint plants?”
“What if we can’t find more? I’ll try the berries, Avery, it’s no big deal.”
“It could be a big deal!” She jerks her hand from my grasp. “Just let me try them.”
I grab her hand once more. “No.”
Her eyes scan my face. “Please, let me do it.”
I am flummoxed by her present behavior. “You’re willing to try them, but you don’t want me to?”
“I don’t want either of us to try them,” Avery says. “But especially not you.”
Interesting. I scrutinize her pinched features, looking for clues as to what thoughts are going through her mind. I lift my hand and Avery hits the berry from it. My voice is remarkably calm when I ask, “What was the point of that?”
Her eyes plead. “Just…wait. Don’t eat it yet.”
Impatience trickles into my tone. “One of us has to try them to see if they’re edible. I’m doing it.”
“Why does it have to be you?”
“Why do you want it to be you?” I counter. “Is it guilt or something that makes you think you have to do this? You don’t.”
“N
o. Yes. I just—” Avery’s expression falters and then clears as she gives me a hesitant smile. “It’s almost like you don’t want me to die.”
I pop a berry in my mouth and chomp down before Avery has a chance to react. Tart juice squirts into my mouth and I swallow the berry, wondering if I signed my own death sentence. “It is, isn’t it? Strange.”
“Why did you do that?” she moans, dropping the berries she holds to set her palms to her forehead.
I’m not entirely sure. I just know that if it comes down to one of us surviving, it’s going to be her.
As the minutes grow, Avery holds her breath, her eyes wide and riveted to my face.
I make a choking sound and reach for my neck.
“Ben? Ben!”
Avery dashes for me, pulling up short when I drop my hands and grin.
“You ass!” Avery smacks my arm.
“I couldn’t help it.” I laugh.
“That was a crappy thing to do,” she says with a scowl. As quickly as it appears, the scowl fades and worry pinches the skin between her eyebrows. “How long before we know?”
I shrug one shoulder and look around us. “An hour or two, I would guess.” I meet her gaze. “Avery, if something happens to me—”
“Nothing’s going to happen,” she interrupts firmly.
“But if it does—”
Avery claps a hand to my mouth. “No.”
I smile at the ferocity of her expression. I carefully remove her hand from my mouth and tell her, “First thing, take my clothes. I won’t need them; you will. They’ll help keep you warm at night. Try to find another unoccupied cave and stay near it during the daytime, so you remember where it is—something we should have done and didn’t.”
A guilty look sweeps across her features.
“I know; waiting is not what you do.” My tone says I do not judge. “If at all possible, stick close to a water source. And don’t go exploring anymore. We’ve done enough of that already. Someone will find you. You’ll be okay, Avery.”
“Shut up, Ben. I don’t need to hear any of this.” Her tone is harsh, but her eyes shimmer with tears. “You’re going to be fine.”
“But if I’m not, you have to be prepared.”
Avery shakes her head. “I am not removing clothes from your dead body, so you just better stay alive.”
“So you can remove them from my living body, is that it?” I joke.
“Yes, and with pleasure,” she states plainly.
Blood surges through my extremities, assuring me I am one hundred percent okay. I have no response to that. I think of her slowly peeling away my clothing, one article at a time, and lust floods my system. I smile thinly and turn my back to her until I can get myself under control. It isn’t easy, and I wonder how much longer I can fight the pull to have Avery in my arms, under me, and around me.
“How do you feel?” Avery asks a couple minutes later.
“Meh.”
Avery touches my arm, her fingers like electrical currents on my pulse. “You feel meh? Is that an emotion? What’s wrong?”
I look at where her skin meets mine and raise my eyes to hers. “I want you to know—”
Avery’s mouth wobbles and she launches herself at me, her arms encircling my neck to the point where I can’t breathe. A cut off exhalation is all I can manage before I’m smothered by woman. I suppose it isn’t the worst way to go.
“Please don’t die. I didn’t mean any of what I said. Your hair isn’t boring, and you’re not short, and I think you’re handsome and I lied when I said what I said and I’m sorry. I always say and do the wrong things with you and I will never get over it if you die,” she babbles, choking me in the process.
“Avery,” I gasp, trying to untangle her arms from around my neck. I basically drop to the ground with Avery still hooked to me.
She covers my face in kisses, speaking nonsense the whole time, her lips finding mine. It’s a head rush sent directly to my core. I tell myself to pull away, and instead, I go still, our lips pressed together and nothing more. I carefully move my mouth over hers in a sweeping motion once, twice. I pause as her body relaxes into mine, our forms fitting together entirely too well.
I watch her face with her eyes closed, something sharp and sweet piercing my heart. I feel myself caving already. I realize I don’t stand a chance, not when there is no way to distance myself from Avery.
She opens her eyes.
It’s the look in them that is my undoing. There is fear in them, and sadness, and regret. I know it’s all for me, and I almost wish we could go back in time and do things differently. I wish we had that choice.
“Why can I never tell what’s real and fake with you?” I whisper.
“You can,” Avery insists.
“No.” I shake my head. “I can’t.”
“I’ll tell you then.”
She takes my hand and presses it to her cheek. A streak of dirt lines the side of her face. Set against her smudged features, Avery’s golden eyes are striking. They stare into me, bare of deception, and my heart jumps in my chest. For the first time, I wonder if we will make it out of this alive. The thought tears me up inside, and not for me, but for Avery. She has to make it, and that means I have to make it.
Her expression falters and she let’s go of my hand. “But I’m not telling you anything if you think you can find out information about me and then die on me.”
“I feel fine, Avery, I swear.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure,” I answer evenly.
She scratches her arm. “It probably hasn’t been long enough to know.”
“Talk to me,” I urge.
Sighing, Avery says, “I am Avery Eloise Scottam, born in Missoula, Montana on December 15th. I’m a Sagittarius. I am twenty-five years old. My favorite color is pink. My favorite subjects in school were Art and English. I love all unhealthy food and I especially love chocolate milk and hot chocolate.”
I sit us up, shaking my head. “Those are facts. Those don’t tell me who you are.”
“You know me.”
“I don’t,” I deny.
“Okay. Fine.” She swallows. “I…feel like I always need the approval of others, and sometimes, I do stupid things because of it.”
My jaw hurts and I realize I’m clenching it. “Like Duke?”
Avery’s chest is flush with mine, her face close. She watches me for a moment before talking. “You know, I don’t think you’re upset as much by the kind of person you think I am as you are by the fact that it doesn’t matter.”
I narrow my eyes. “What do you mean?”
She pushes herself to her feet and speaks directly to my soul. “You still want me, whatever bad things I’ve done, and you hate that.”
15
AVERY
I watch Ben until my eyeballs feel frozen in place, and I keep watching. It feels as if it’s been days, but it’s really only been hours since he ate the berry. If he dies, I don’t know what I’ll do, and not because I’ll be lost alone in an endless forest surrounded by hateful nature. I can’t do this without him. I don’t want to do this without him.
Maybe I’m not his friend, but he’s mine.
Ben sighs and lifts his eyes from the twig he spins between his fingers. “Would you quit staring at me like that? It’s creepy.”
“It feels like it’s been forever since you ate the berry.”
“With the way you’re watching me, yes, it does.” He has an interesting voice—part gravelly, part smooth, and altogether deep. It makes me think of rain and thunder. It’s generally stormy when directed toward me. Right now, it’s soothing rain after a day of hot, relentless sun. A balm to my eardrums. Because if he was suffering the effects of poisonous berries, he wouldn’t be speaking so well. This means the berries are edible, and of course, that Ben won’t die.
It seems to be the one form of good news out of this whole fiasco.
“How long do you think it’s been?” My teeth fee
l gross. I long for a toothbrush—not even toothpaste—just the brush to clean them. A hot shower or bath. Or both! Blankets. I’d kill for some blankets. And a mattress. I sigh dejectedly. I miss home.
I’m endlessly hungry, and I fear I may be ill at some point from drinking that unpurified water. It’s probably corroding my innards right now, bacteria growing all around my organs, disintegrating everything vital to being healthy.
Maybe that was Ben’s plan all along: Get me to drink the contaminated water. Then if I die, he can’t say it was intentional. He was trying to help. I’ll be gone, and he won’t have to worry about me anymore. He’ll have Duke all to himself once again.
All will be right in Ben’s world.
It isn’t as if Ben would miss me anyway—or Duke, for that matter. I’m nothing to either one of them. My thoughts pulse with mistruth, and I guiltily sink lower to the prickly ground. Ben isn’t trying to kill me. He’s actually trying to help, against his instincts, I’m sure, but still. Plus, Ben drank the water too. And he also ate the berry to check to see if they’re poisonous or not.
Ben answers, “I think it’s been long enough, but I don’t know that for sure.”
The ache in my stomach has turned painful, but I’ve had more sustenance than Ben’s had in a long while. He ate a berry, a single berry that may or may not be killing him right now. At least I had trail mix. I will never put it down again either.
I pace from one tree to another and back. “Just so you know, if you die on me, I will bring you back to life just to kill you.”
His lips twitch. “Noted.”
I grab a handful of berries. If Ben hasn’t died by now, or shown signs of being poisoned, I’m sure they’re fine. At any rate, I’m tired of being hungry. I lift them to my mouth, pausing when Ben speaks.
He warns, “Careful. If you eat too many at once, you could get sick from overdoing it. Your stomach hasn’t had much in it the last few days.”
I stick out my tongue and shove the berries in my mouth, chewing up the somewhat sweet, but mostly bitter, fruit.
“What are you going to do if you get diarrhea?”
I freeze, the berries a glob of mush in my mouth. To say that relieving ourselves in semi-privacy has been interesting is putting it mildly. If there was, so to say, an emergency of some kind? I cannot even fathom how that will pan out, nor do I want to. I swallow the berries, wondering if I’ve guaranteed myself future misery.
