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She watches me work the door before I finally kick at the wood, and it opens with a splintered crack. “I used to live out in Pennsylvania.” Her tone is dry, bored, conversational in a way that lets me know it’s weighted. “That’s where I was born. Out in dairy country. You can imagine how badly I wanted to get out of there.”
I step inside ahead of her to scope out the space. The room reeks of dampness, mold, and stale alcohol, which has probably seeped its way into the floor and furniture.
None of the furniture is new, and I’m not sure why it surprises me. Seems as though the Senator could have at least shelled out for a couch that doesn’t look like a nineties reject, especially for the kid. But then again, this place is a forgotten relic. A tax write-off, if anything, because it looks like it should be given to charity along with a pat on the head.
“You wanted to come to this shithole?” I ask Aria as an afterthought, remembering what she’d said about Pennsylvania.
“If you mean this cabin, then no. If you mean Empire Bay, then yes. It seemed to me like it was the best possible escape to come to a city where no one knew me, and I’d be able to lose myself.”
“It doesn’t always work that way,” I tell her. Once I’m assured the one room is clean, I move to the kitchen, the bathroom, the single bedroom. Sure. This will work. “The city isn’t the best place to go if you want to go for anonymity.”
I pop my head around the corner, and she’s standing in the middle of the living room. She shivers, her arms wrapped tightly around herself and her body small. Delicate. “No, that’s why I turned online. Once I had enough resources to get there. We’re always trying to escape something. Aren’t we? What are you escaping?” she asks.
“...Myself.”
It’s chillier inside the house than outside, but the fireplace is loaded with logs. Most of them look too small to do much except turn to ash, but a trip through the woods might rectify the problem. A small fire for warmth reduces the risk of someone spotting us.
“Oh, yeah, I see now how it wouldn’t work,” Aria replies.
“I don’t have a sob story past. Nothing more than any other person does. Anyway, this is it. And it’s going to do the job. There are some cans in the cupboard. A little past expiration date, nothing too terrible.”
“Think I’ll be able to get on the internet at all?”
“I’d say do your best to stay away from technology, okay?” What are the chances the electricity still runs in this place? I scratch the idea as soon as I have it. “It’s only gotten us in trouble so far. Unless you know of a way to somehow avoid detection.”
“Hasn’t worked for me today,” she mutters.
I’m surprised to watch her standing rock solid, worrying her hands in front of her, paler than before. Our eyes collide together, and she lifts her head, her chin tilted up. “What?”
“Get comfortable,” I order flatly rather than engaging the way she clearly wants me to. “We’re going to be here awhile. See if the water works in the bathroom and wash up. You’ve got dirt on your cheeks.”
It’s easier, I decide, to talk into the kitchen and flip the switch on the wall, the plate covering it yellowed with a combination of age and stale smoke I almost feel burning my nose. The overhead lights flicker overhead, a low buzz filling the outdated space before the fluorescent flares to full life.
Staring directly at the bulbs burns, but I feel nothing. Broken. Absent.
Functioning on autopilot.
The fridge was empty when I checked it, but the water in the taps work. A better inspection of the bedroom shows me a linen closet with several sets of clean but moth-eaten sheets for the single mattress. Fine, perfect. Fan-fucking-tastic. The couch in the living room isn’t big enough to fit me, even if I stack the two chairs in the room against it.
Aria hasn’t moved an inch, but the look on her face says she’s miles away regardless.
Feeling like an asshole, the bullet graze on my arm pulsing with every beat of my heart, I snap my fingers inches away from her nose.
“Honey, if you’re going to disassociate, do it after we’ve gotten this place situated.” The words come out in a monotone. “Right now, We’ve got to keep our wits about us. I’m going to go out and look for some logs to burn, see if we can get a fire going.”
Boy Scout, I’m not, but I like to think I’m good in an emergency situation. At least until I stare at Aria and realize how helpless I am at helping her.
“You did a good job losing anyone who might want to follow us,” she whispers. “I’m sure we’ll be fine.”
“Then consider wild animals. We’re outside of the city.”
There, a flicker of emotion. I’m unused to seeing her this way. And quite frankly, I understand Aria well enough at this point to see there are deep things happening inside of her for her to react this way.
Should I hold her? Should I tell her to get it together? Harsh or soft?
I’m out of my element, no good at relating to other human beings, especially women I’m attracted to.
There are several cans of beans and fruit in the kitchen cabinets. After grabbing some firewood and getting a small fire going in the fireplace, courtesy of a lighter scrounged from a drawer, Aria eventually pads into the room behind me. She folds herself down on one of the chairs with her legs crisscrossed on the seat and watching me.
