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He can’t say exactly how he came to be here, palling
around with Squid-Girl. Only that after everything, he’d
had to get the fuck out of L.A. The place didn’t hold
much appeal for her either, when all was said and done.
He can’t remember asking her to come along. And she never
asked where he was going, for which he was extremely grateful.
It’s not like they’re shagging either. He’s
not sure how he feels about that. That first day, he’d
offered to sleep on the floor of the cabin, all chivalrous-like.
But come nightfall, he’d woken up to find her nestled against
him beside the bed. Since then, it’d just been impractical
not to spend the long, empty days at sea sleeping beside each
other. Or just holding one another, not talking. She wasn’t
much for words, which was comforting, in its way.
At night, she’d stand on the deck for hours, staring out
at the moonlit sea. She’d been sick those first few nights
and he’d held her hair back as she retched over the side.
Two nights ago, he’d gotten piss-drunk and done the same.
She’d stood beside him uncertainly until he was finished,
then told him that he’d been a fool to have ingested such
poison in the first place.
Last night they’d gotten drunk together. She’d asked
him if he thought she looked like a Smurf and he’d laughed
his arse off until it seemed she might even join in.
They’d clutched each other in the bed that day and her
body had shaken as if she were crying even though there were
no tears. Not that she’d admit to such weakness. Not that
he’d ever mention it.
He has no idea how they came to be here, together, like two mourners
leaving a funeral. Or two ghosts. All he knows is, he’s
not nearly as certain as he once was that everything will be
better once they reach Italy.
END
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