Page 11 of UNAwere

I’m met with a scowl as he comes around the corner, toothbrush shoved into his mouth, his fist clenched tightly around it, and I grin. His eyes go to my mouth, and something flickers over his face, but he grunts again and turns back into the bathroom.

I get into the bed and lie down. It’s lumpy and smells musty, but after the long drive, I’m keen to sleep. I curl up, tucking the blankets around my shoulders, and close my eyes.

I’m awoken by the smell of coffee.

When I open my eyes, I see Briggs’s broad back, standing by the small shelf that holds a kettle, some cups, and complimentary tea and coffee. He taps the teaspoon against the edge of the cup when he stops stirring and then turns, two cups in hand. When he sees me watching him, a guard rises across his face, and his jaw hardens.

He hands me my cup without a word, and I sit up in bed, thanking him.

‘I love coffee,’ I murmur.

He’s gone back to sitting in his armchair, tapping a message into his phone. He sips at his coffee every so often, his mouth twisted.

‘This isn’t too great, though,’ I say. ‘What brand is it?’ I spy the empty packet on the shelf. ‘Oh, yeah, I don’t like that one too much. And it’s instant, which is never as good. Although there is a really decent instant coffee that you can get from the store in Vallis. I think it’s called Beantopia? It’s quite nice. Like, for an instant coffee.’ I wave my hand. ‘You know, ’cause sometimes it’s not possible to have actual coffee at home. Do you like coffee? It looks like you do.’

‘I like coffee,’ he confirms.

‘Nice! Me too. How do you have yours?’ I try to angle my head to see into his cup, but he’s too far away. ‘Black? You seem like a “I take my coffee black” kind of guy.’

He looks at me, face deadpan. I guess he didn’t like the gruff tone I took to my voice to mimic him.

‘I wasn’t mocking you,’ I murmur. ‘I just like doing voices sometimes. My sister used to like it, but now she thinks it’s lame. She’s into a lot of stuff I never got into. Like nails. She gets hers done, and they’re always really pretty. But me? Bitten to the quick most days. And I know it’s a bad habit, and I’ve also heard some really gross facts about what’s under your nails, but I can’t seem to quit.’

‘Are you ready?’ Briggs asks, standing. He slips his phone into the back pocket of his jeans, and I only then notice he’s changed his shirt. It’s a beige corduroy, and I prefer this one over the plaid.

‘Yep! I’ve just gotta pee.’

I get up and set my empty cup on the table, quickly ducking into the bathroom. In ten minutes, I’m dressed and ready to go. Briggs waits for me by the door and doesn’t say anything when I cast him a quick smile as he opens it for me.

We’re back on the road for three hours of mostly silence when it gets to me again, and I have to start talking.

I groan, stretching, eager to fill the truck’s quiet cabin with noise.

‘Don’t you want to put on the radio?’ I ask. ‘Even if it’s just a talk show?’

Briggs sighs but doesn’t say anything. His sunglasses are back on, and the window is back down, wind roaring in at us.

‘I’d rather listen to house music for twenty hours straight than listen to two seconds of a talk show,’ he says.

I laugh. Mostly because his voice is so serious, and I wonder why he has such strong feelings about talk shows. But then it dawns on me.

‘Oh. You don’t like people talking so much?’

He doesn’t confirm or deny.

‘Gee, you must be stoked to be stuck with me, huh?’

He doesn’t confirm or deny.

‘I get uncomfortable in silences,’ I tell him. ‘Like… they physically hurt.’

‘Hurt?’ His brows knit together, like he’s angry he feels the need to ask.

‘Yeah, my skin starts crawling. It’s just… ugh.’ I writhe in my seat.

‘I appreciate silence. It means things are still. That there’s no danger.’

My brows raise slightly. ‘That’s… like… the most words you’ve said to me this whole time.’