She wakes up to seeing him shaking his legs and feet, biting nails and cradling his head with his arms, trying to make himself smaller.
Like an image of hers.
And he notices her stare.
"Um, this? Sorry, I've been actually drinking, a bit, okay, I mean I've been quite a drunkard these past few months, and um, I haven't drunk anything for about a week now? I guess? And I think it's getting to me. Sorry."
She just kept on staring for another minute, before standing up and taking her bags to move to another place. Without waiting for him she moves along, until he forced himself to stand up, slapping his self in the process and ran after her without asking anything.
It's just that, right now, following her seems the best choice.
The bike was still there, but the tires have been bitten by most likely rats that have infested the nearby sewage system and now walk around the place like it's theirs.
Sighing in defeat, she clutches her bags in the same position, one in the front and one at the back, before stretching a little and starts walking across the road littered with dried blood, feces, torn limbs and shattered bones.
He almost tears up from being anxious but he pulled himself together, or tried doing so. His arms have some scratches, and giving it more attention, she notices his untrimmed nails somehow marked with red as well.
But she doesn't speak up. The illusion will go away in its own time.
"Um, hey, so, where are we going now?"
She ignores him again and walks on, until they both reach a short bridge, with the sun at its peak and without any shade to hide under they can feel its heat, which might be a bit too much with their drained strength.
The road towards the next town in sight looks unusually clean, upkept it may seem except for a handful of scattered leaves that might have been brought along by the winds.
In some way, they both hoped, but for different reasons. To her, perhaps they might have escaped before the event happened. To him, some people might have survived through the ordeal and made it possible to live there.
Which seemed to be an irony, but rest assured with their state of mind it is exactly what they're imagining.
Either way, it seemed plausible. But grim, to be honest. If they have escaped, if they were really able to do so, where would they have gone to that will ensure staying alive? If they actually survived through it all, would they even be capable of interacting normally with others without being hostile?
Reaching past the middle of the bridge and looking at the river gleaming with the sun's reflection, it just felt more desolate.
They reach town and notice all the unkempt lawns upon entering a subdivision. No voices tearing through the silence or people filling the street.
Unless they're all trying to hide upon noticing their arrival.
She moved ahead, pausing from time to time to look around, trying to get a glimpse of any possible sign of someone, anyone who is there as well.
And she suddenly clapped, but no one clapped in return. Except for the startled reaction from the stranger whom she still calls an illusion in her head. Despite all the sensible voices inside her saying he's absolutely real.
But it felt unreal. She tries to answer back in her head, it is not real.
"Hey, I think no one's staying here. The place feels kind of clean without all the… all those parts lying all around but maybe they have escaped before it happened?"
She just looked at him as if he had grown another head which at this point had made him kind of irritated but he himself doesn't find himself trustworthy so in some way he understands that in her eyes he's just an additional baggage of unreliable mess.
He just doesn't know she's looking because she thought it's her own thoughts she just heard, just spoken through another voice, as it reflects what she initially hoped upon stumbling there.
"I mean, if somebody's here they could have tried attacking us already. Or if they're hiding, somehow, we'll notice things? I think?"
She ignored him once again and just walked forward towards a cream-colored house with a veranda. Not to sightsee obviously, but to serve as a vantage point in case of anything that might happen throughout the course of the night. It easily unlocks as she twists the knob, welcoming her inside is a skinny cat lying on the floor trying to claw the nearby leg of a wooden table. She stares at it for a while before moving into the kitchen area, while he quickly came close to it to check its condition.
It's all rotting foods, save for a bottle of honey and the pack of cat foods left in the cupboard. A cup of coffee has seemed to have fallen on the floor with all the brown stain on the peach rug in front of the sink. She notices a small stairway almost hidden by a large unhanged canvas only filled with scattered shades of greens and blues. As she steps into it a sunbeam hits her eyes, passing through the cracks in the window glasses painted black and she reaches out her hand to it, as if expecting someone to hold it.
But no one reaches out to her. Just like any other day.
"Miss?"
Her thoughts were broken by the familiar voice that filled her ears for days now. Though unwelcomed at first, she somehow felt at ease upon hearing him. She hears him breathe deeply multiple times before facing her again.
"I got scared for a moment there, I thought you just disappeared just like that. This is quite hard without us knowing how to call each other."
Blank stare.
"… but I guess you're not comfortable with exchanging names so how about this, you can call me, um, hmm, Jacket? Maybe? 'Cause I've been wearing this jacket for weeks now, then, you can call me Jack as well for short um, it's lame isn't it? Yes."
Awkwardly he looks at everything else except for her, assured that she had found him to be worse than she expected him to be. Unable to help for anything except being a baggage carrier.
Which honestly is not a necessity with how she had made it through without having someone else beside her.
She ignores his words and proceeds to follow the stairs towards the upper floor, perhaps filled with bedrooms or storage space. Either way, supplies are supplies wherever the source is.
"Um, okay, I'll look around again here, in case we missed something, knock on the wood if you need help," he says as he starts moving towards the living room again, trying to sneak below worn pillows and rug, hoping to find something. Anything that would be of help.
She on the other hand reaches a room with its door ajar, and slowly she walks inside, not as quietly as she wanted to as the wooden floor creaks with every step no matter how lightly she threads on it.
A torn canvas. Painting-filled walls. Brushes scattered.
Whoever owned this room was able to convey their story just by how it looked, from the bright summer scenery of beaches and food filled with bright hues, to the flat and chaotic strokes depicting loneliness. And anger for some reason. That's what it made her feel and she approached the unfinished canvas in the middle of the room which seemed to look like a portrait, but it only depicted the upper half of the face, eyes looking directly to whoever had painted it.
Are you still alive?
The thought fills her mind, and she wonders how the people who lived there spent their remaining days. Or if they were able to leave on time.
Where are they now?
She breathes deeply and cuts off her own thoughts. Curiosity is good, but not every curious thought needs to be answered.
And then the sound of glass shattering broke the silence. She should have, but she walked on the same pace, not really rushing to where he is. Not really worried as attachment at this point would be impossible, but his presence did kind of help in calming her down when she had her moment.
Though he is not real, isn't he?
"I swear it's the cat who did it!"
He starts explaining upon seeing her looking at the scene of what seemed to be a broken mug now scattered on the floor.
"How is that cat still here though? Promise I didn't break this!"
She ignores him once again upon hearing the same reasoning, over and over again.
And for some reason he stops and plops down on the nearest chair he could pull towards him, sighing.
"…do you remember how it happened? For some reason, I feel like I should know, but I can't. I just can't recall it for some reason. But at the same time I know for sure it happened. I just can't… point out what it is anymore."
Instead of walking away, she listens and looks at him with an expression that seemed to say, go on.
So he continues.
"The sense of loss feels too real to be just an imagination. And the smell of blood… it's been stuck in my head. I know it happened, but what is it?"
No response.
"Do you remember?"
Instead of what he hoped, for her to answer in any means, she just blinks once and goes back to the cupboard to take the bottle of honey and checked the labels on the cat food whether they'd be considered edible for her.
"I know it sounds kind of nonsense, but I don't understand it myself. Do you remember anything at all?"
Nonsense indeed.
Of course it happened.