Running Scared

We build a temporary camp at the edge of the forest, remaining close enough to still be able to see the building. It's an irrational thought but I'm too scared to move back further into the woods in case it vanishes when we return. I'm embarrassed to tell Grahame though, so I tell him my reluctance to delve deeper into the forest is because I'm tired. His argument for our safety falls flat quickly; he would never admit it but I know he's exhausted and he's glad for the excuse to stay where we are.

It's not much, our make-shift home, but it's enough for now. A blanket spread across the floor, some of our clothes bundled up beneath it for more comfort, forms a bed and a plastic sheet that Grahame had found back in the Community is nailed into the tree trunks and stretched across above the blankets in case of rain. The other end of the plastic sheet is held down by a few heavy stones but it still flutters against the wind; being as close as we are to the open, bare field, we're exposed to the elements.

Against our better judgement, Grahame is hunched over a pile of dry sticks, his hands working furiously to light them with the matches he's brought so that he can start a fire. From the bed, I watch his shoulderblades roll against the fabric of the Enforcer's uniform, his fingers pinching at the matchstick even as the flame burns further down. The darkness has set in, bringing the cold with it. I blow on my hands and rub them together, trying to warm my fingers. From here, I see Grahame's labourious breathing turn to fog.

"Come on, " he mutters, holding the match against the bundle of sticks."Come on, come on, come on!."

All he's managed so far is smoke, black wisps curling up from the wood. He's used up four of our matches already, supplies that we desperately need. He leans in closer, holding on till the last second, the flame kissing against his fingertips. I hear him give a yelp, followed by a curse, as he drops the burnt out match into the bundle of sticks with the other failed attempts. He sucks on his injured thumb, turning to me with resignation, his mouth turned down in a grimace.

"I've never tried to start a fire before, there's never been a reason." he says bitterly, scattering the unlit fire with a violent kick as he stands. "I'm sorry."

His voice is all failure, a gnawing anger at himself for not being able to do this one thing. Again, I find myself trying to soothe him and I can't help but wonder how he came to be this way - what exactly happened for him to have such a low tolerance of himself when things don't go quite to plan?

"It's alright, Grahame. We'll figure it out tomorrow." I promise him, starting at a noise through the darkened trees.

The forest is alive with sounds I've never heard before and every snap or rustle has me jumping out of my skin. I keep expecting Enforcer's to charge out at us at any minute and I haven't been able to keep from whipping my head around whenever I hear something. A shudder works its way down my spine and I bring my knees up to my chest to ward against the chill air.

Grahame shakes his head, motioning a hand towards my shivering body. "If we don't freeze on our first night here!"

"That's not going to happen. We'll just have to, I don't know - huddle together. Collective body heat or whatever."

"Are you sure about that?" he asks hesitantly, turning his collar up to offer his bare neck protection.

"Well, we don't have many options here, do we?" I say irritably, glaring at him. "But I'm open to suggestions, if you have any?"

He half shrugs, gives me an 'It's-your-plan-not-mine' kind of look before ducking under the plastic sheet and dropping onto the blanket beside me. We stare at each other for a long minute, neither of us willing to make the first move because the last time we were in a situation that required intimacy, we'd consumed the most potent alcohol that the Community has to offer.

I hear his teeth gently chattering, and I feel goosebumps along every inch of my skin, so I dig deep for whatever courage I can muster, grab his shoulders and force him to lie back, taking myself with him. His face is unmasked surprise but he wriggles on the blanket, searching out as comfortable a position as he can get on the ground, settling when he's face to face with me.

I try and avoid looking at him but this near, it's impossible. His breath warms my cheeks and nose, my skin tingling at its contact, his eyes as dark as the sky, glinting at me - I could lose myself in those eyes. We lie awkwardly, side by side, a slither of a gap between us. Still not good enough.

"For the love of god, Grahame, put your damn arms around me!"

There's a brush along my forearm and he stiffly leans in, his limbs bending at unusual angles. I try to curl up but I end up kneeing him in the groin.

"ARGH!"

"Oops! Sorry - it's not easy lying on frozen ground!" I complain, preparing to roll away from him. He stops me though, grips my elbow with icy fingers that I can feel through my jumper.

"This is ridiculous, just...here - " he mutters, reaching for my face. He lifts my head from the ground, sliding his arm beneath it, letting me use the crook of his elbow as a pillow.

His fingers, calloused from years of working in the greenhouses, slide down from my neck, trailing across my shoulder and along my back to rest on the curve of my hip, his arm forming a barrier between the unborn baby and the world. This seems better, more natural. As the embarrassment fades and the cold becomes biting, we shift and squirm closer to one another, the tips of ours noses touching. I'm starting to feel drowsy when a thought occurs to me although I'm not quite awake enough to find the right amount of conviction.

"This doesn't change anything though," I grumble, my voice heavy with oncoming sleep. "It doesn't mean I'm going to snuggle up to you every night."

He laughs quietly, his breath blasting heat onto my face. Around me, his arms shake from the motion but it's gentle, almost lulling me.

"According to the baby book, we can still - you know - while you're pregnant."

I stifle a yawn, my knee bumping into his. My words come out in slurs but it's clear enough for him to hear.

"Keep dreaming, Grahame."