What Lasts in Us

CHAPTER SIX

"Can I have my pack?" I ask from my position on the bathroom floor. It's hard to call it a separate room when the door's missing.

Nate stands in the doorway – actually, he leans against the doorjamb – arms crossed over his chest. He almost fills the entire space with his body. A look of displeasure flits across his face before disappearing, and since our argument, since him helping to clean up my forehead, everything seems to be okay – at least by my definition of okay.

"Come on. It's not like I don't know you've already been through it."

Dog tugs at my fingers, wanting attention. His tiny claws click against the floor tiles.

Still Nate hesitates. But then he finally moves, disappearing from view before returning, my dirty-falling-apart-trusty pack in his grasp. "I had to make sure you weren't hiding any more weapons," he says. He tosses my pack onto the floor in front of me, minus the wooden bat I usually have attached to it. Hopefully my good ol' bat is just out of sight, not tossed away because he was worried I was going to hit him over the head with it. If it is gone, I might hit him with something else.

I push Dog gently out of the way so I can upend my pack to take stock of my belongings. Not much, but each item is important.

Single battery flashlight, with five extra batteries for backup.

Hairbrush and hair-ties, because priorities.

Full bottle of vodka, which can be used in celebration, for sterilising injuries, or when I get to the tail end, a Molotov cocktail.

Toothbrush and paste, plus soap, except I'm missing the all important ingredient of water. Currently, my half-empty bottle of water is for drinking. The soap can only be used when I come across a stream or river or dam or any large body of water.

A box of matches, down to the last six. I only break these bad boys out when in a real emergency, but thankfully an emergency hasn't occurred within the last six months.

Clothes, including two bras (dirty, in desperate need of a wash), one thermal undershirt for the colder months and colder nights, two shirts from the bureau across the room, my dirty Darth Vader t-shirt which has seen better days, a pair of jeans, and two pairs of socks, because socks are hard to come by. If anything, socks are harder to come by than food. It was like the first thing people grabbed when the world was ending was every pair of socks they could find.

A razor for shaving, because I still want to have smooth legs and armpits. If anything, I miss the feeling of climbing into a freshly made bed with newly shaved legs. But in all honesty, I still shave out of habit. Also, if stuck in a sticky situation, it can be used as a weapon.

Three strips of venison, so hard and crunchy I'm kind of scared I'll break my teeth or cut my lips on it.

A hardback copy of The Road by Cormac McCarthy, which I can almost quote word-for-word because I've read it that many times. It helps to fill in the spaces late at night when I can't sleep, when the voices get too loud. I also have a hardback copy of The Tale of Peter Rabbit, which is there on sentimental merits.

A map of America, because they're hard to come by.

And – bingo. My stash of tampons. I would cry and probably die if I didn't have this box with me, which, might I add, was completely full and unopened when I'd found it maybe two, three weeks ago. I don't know about you, but I felt like the luckiest girl in the world when I came across it. Whoever had been there before me and missed it, you're missing out big time.

I open the box, trying not to be like a kid at Christmas, and realise that Nate's still here, watching me, unmoving. I doubt he understands my love for this one box of tampons. He's probably confused and worried by why I hold the box to me as if it's one of my most cherished belongings. Which it is. My precious.

"I think you might want to leave," I say. I neatly fold up all my clothes and rearrange the inside of my pack.

I know how guys get about tampons. Something about blood flowing from the vagina freaks them out. Which I don't understand, because it's just blood.

There's a slight change in Nate's posture, but it's not from embarrassment or anything of the like. "Is it true some girls get really horny when they're on their period?" he asks.

I give him a pointed look as I unwrap the tampon. "Are you wanting to have sex with a girl when she's on her period?"

He shrugs his shoulders before peeling away from the doorjamb. "Just curious," he says before leaving.

It's all said and done within thirty seconds, but I don't tell Nate that. I need a breather. I need a couple of minutes to myself so I can gather my wits, my thoughts, my belongings. And so I can take a break from him. I need to recharge, I need to get used to having a companion - both human and canine.

I remain on the bathroom floor and rearrange my pack a second time. Dog in the meantime slips under the bed, finds an old sock - one that I definitely do not want to use - and stays there, quite happy to chew the material. I can only assume it was lost when the owners of this house were forced to leave.

Everything's in order as I get to my feet and re-enter the bedroom. I spy Nate in the hallway, leaning against the wall.

"All good?" he asks.

"I'm ready when you are," I reply.