Page 70 of Citadel

We’ve eaten every bite of food we had with us, finishing the last of the jerky this morning. Your body gets used to deprivation, so I haven’t felt as hungry as I would have expected. But if this goes on much longer, I’ll start to lose even the slight curves I’ve developed over the past two years and be as scrawny as I used to be.

After finding a small clearing in the woods near the river that’s started running parallel to the road—Cole says he thinks it’s the New River but he isn’t entirely sure—I collect dry branches to set up the campfire while Cole goes into the woods to hunt.

I hear a muffled gunshot after a few minutes, and he returns with a possum.

Not my favorite meat but better than nothing at all.

While he skins and tears the meat into strips to roast on skewers over the fire, I fill the pot with water and boil it, letting it cool off before I refill our water bottles.

Since it’s a warm evening, I’ve been sitting on my hoodie rather than wearing it, but after I get up, I notice how disgustingly dirty it is. Maybe it’s having seen Breanna washing clothes yesterday, but I suddenly get the urge to do mine.

I’ve been wearing them for days. They’re not in good shape.

“I think I’m going to rinse out my clothes,” I tell Cole. “They’re pretty gross.”

“Okay.” He’s collecting the bloody carcass of the possum. He always gets it away from our camp so it won’t attract predators. “You can put on one of my extra shirts if you want to wash everything.”

I glance down at myself since his eyes are on my chest. Then I notice that my tank top, which was originally white, is so dirty it varies in color between beige and mud brown. “I might do that. Thanks.”

He disappears to dispose of the carcass, and I rummage in his pack until I find the gray T-shirt he rinsed out the other day. It’s not what I’d call clean, but it’s better than what I have on. I take off my jeans, tank, and panties and pull the T-shirt on instead.

It’s way too big for me, of course, hanging almost to my knees. Since I’m going to wash my clothes, I grab all of Cole’s spare clothes—he’s got two pairs of underwear, three shirts, and a second pair of camo pants in his pack—and I decide to wash those too.

All I’ve got is Cole’s bar of soap, so I use it sparingly, getting out the worst of the grime and using the water and rocks in the river to handle the brunt of the cleaning.

I’ve only gotten through two pieces of clothing when Cole returns.

He doesn’t notice anything immediately. He does some stretching, extending his arms and then leaning over against a tree to stretch his back. Then he strips off the sleeveless undershirt he’s been wearing for the past two days and comes closer to me to wash up in the river.

As I hand him the soap, I pick up his undershirt to add it to my pile.

This is what gets his attention. He grows still, scanning the shirt in my hands and then the other clothes in the pile. “What are you doing?” he asks gruffly.

“I’m cleaning clothes.”

“You’re cleaning mine?”

“Yes. I was doing mine, so I figured I could do yours too.”

He isn’t simply surprised. He looks annoyed. “Why?”

“Why?” I frown up at him. Why the hell is he glaring? “Why shouldn’t I?”

“Because I can do it myself.”

“I know you can do it. But I was trying to be helpful.”

“I don’t need help. I can take care of my own shit.”

I’m getting annoyed now too. What the hell is his problem? Is he really so unwilling to accept a simple act of kindness from me? “I know that. But I don’t mind. I’m doing it anyway.”

He leans over and sorts out his clothes from mine. “You don’t have to do my fucking laundry. I don’t want you to do anything the fuck like that. I’m not like those fuckers who’ve got your sister.”

His use of variations offuckthree times in one comment is proof of his state of mind. But I suddenly understand why he’s gotten so upset. “Cole, I know that.” I reach up to grab his jaw and tilt it down to make him look at me. “I know you’re not like them. I was just helping you out because I wanted to. Not because I’d ever think you’d demand it of me.”

He breathes heavily through his nose for a minute. “I’m not them,” he mutters at last. “I’ve been an asshole plenty, but I’m not them.”

“I know that! I knew it the very first time I saw you on the beach two years ago. I know you’re not like them. That’s why Iwantto help you out.” I gently pull the clothes out of his hands again and add them to my pile. “You’ve been keeping me alive, Cole. You’ve saved my life so many times I’ve actually lost count. You put your own mission on hold to help me out.”

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