Page 28 of Factory Controller

I can’t help but think about his backstory, either. Growing up in New Orleans, being part of a family. Being a part of anything, that must feel really good. Even when I was at the Factory school, I avoided getting close to anyone. I acted friendly with my roommates, but none of us were there by choice, and I think they too just pretended to be my friends. The main thing we had in common, aside from living together, was an incredible drive. What we wanted most of all was to get out of there and start living our lives.

To make sure mine wouldn’t lack for anything, I focused on my studies.

People act illogically. They can lie to you, disappoint you. Hurt you. Leave you. Not numbers, though. Two plus two is always four. Well, for accountants at least. If you follow the order of operations, you’ll always arrive at the correct answer, even if it takes a lot of effort to find.

There are no orders of operations for people, for relationships. It’s all a chaotic, jumbled mess. Even now I can’t see the path going forward for myself and Trent, yet I feel as if there is one. Will I find it, or just stumble blindly onto it?

For the first time in years, I think about what it might be like to be with someone again. Not just on a physical level, but connecting in a real emotional sense. I guess I could do a lot worse than Trent…

To this day, I’ve not lost the habit of keeping everyone at arm’s length. I still do not have many close relations, just a few casual work friends I maybe go out with once every other month. None of them are foster kids, and none of them went to the Factory school. There’s not much common ground to forge any type of connection.

Much like Trent, I’m all alone in the world. Being around him makes me think that maybe, just maybe, I don’t have to be anymore. That thought scares me more than all the jaguars and snakes in the Amazon combined.

“Hey,” Trent says as we stagger up the opposite side of a gully. “Want to take a break?”

“God, yes.”

He gestures to the left of the path. I see a tree, possibly split by lightning, bent over in half, forming a moss-covered bench of sorts. Somehow, impossibly, the tree still lives, just enough of its trunk intact to keep the leaves growing.

I figure it’s a pretty good metaphor for my heart. I’d thought it was dead too, but Trent is waking it up. I can’t figure out if that’s a good thing or a bad thing in the long term, however.

I settle gratefully onto the moss-covered seat—after checking thoroughly for bullet ants, venomous slugs, or whatever nasty might be lurking about. Trent sits close beside me. Really close, demonstrating a familiarity I’m not sure I’m ready to let him have as of yet.

I don’t scoot away, though. I stay right where I am.

“What’s going to happen if we can’t figure out where we are?”

Trent gestures toward the south. “We’ll run into the Amazon or a tributary sooner or later. When that happens, we pick a direction, any direction, and keep walking by the riverbank.”

“Why?”

He chuckles, his breath warm on my skin. “Because there’s one rule in the Amazon rainforest; Rivers are life. If you walk along a river long enough, you will run into a settlement of one sort or another, guaranteed.”

“And what will we do when we reach one of these settlements?”

Trent considers this for a moment. “We’ve got a number of options in that regard. We could hire a boat to take us downstream to Macapá, or, if one’s not available, we could at least ask for directions.”

I let out a gentle laugh. “Wow, a man who’s willing to ask for directions. I could learn to appreciate a guy like that.”

Trent’s eyes widen slightly. Suddenly I’m aware of his masculine presence more than ever before.

“Uh, I was just kidding,” I say, aware of how banal I sound.

“Were you?” Trent smiles gently. “What would be so bad with appreciating me…or better yet, appreciating each other?”

His arm snakes around my shoulders. I shake like a captive mouse. He feels so warm, so strong. So good. My heart beats at my chest like a caged bird. We turn toward each other by mutual unspoken agreement.

“Heather…” he breathes my name like a revelation, moving in close to brush my cheek with his lips. Trent moves in with a slow, deliberate pace and kisses my lips as well.

I grab him behind the head and mash myself into him. For a few frenetic moments, our make-out grows past the point of casual exploration and blunders down the road toward out and out carnality.

In that moment, I realize how bad I really do want him. Maybe even need him. All I know is, I don’t want him to stop kissing me.

He pulls away, stroking my cheek with his thumb before standing up. “We should get moving.”

Once again, we ignore the fact that we were just holding on to each other as if our lives depended on it. I don’t know what his problem is, let alone mine. It’s like, if we say out loud what’s happening, it won’t be real.

We make camp, because it’s obvious we won’t find a settlement before dark. Trent builds a fire and sets canteens filled with river water beside it, practically touching the flames. We’re out of tablets and it’s the only way we can get drinking water.

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