"Do you know i would break beneath the weight
of the goodness, love, i still carry for you?
That I'd walk so far just to take
The injury of finally knowing you?"

Hozier
[Unknown / nth, from Unreal Unearth]

The morning was always the worst part of pulling a night watch. Those last couple of hours, when the sun would start to rise, were the ones where the weight of being up and on guard for the whole time with no rest was crushing. She had never gotten used to it; her thoughts running a marathon in her head never helped either. As she heard noises of the others getting up, her posture relaxed.

Tom was the first to come out of the door. "Good morning sunshine. Chill night?"

"Eh," she grunted, dragging herself inside, bumping into the man, who was still standing in the door frame.

"Did I do something wrong? Genuine question."

Sophia sighed loudly. "No, Tom, not everything is about you. Crazy, right?"

"Alright grump, did a dog chew on your new shoes?"

"I am exhausted," she shouted, enunciating each word. "And for the love of God, stop with your freaking rhetoric and talk like a normal person. Jesus Christ."

There was a pause, during which the two looked at each other. 

"I am honestly impressed that you managed to use the word rhetoric correctly, considering you forgot how to say shovel yesterday."

Without saying another word, the woman turned around, got into the room, and slammed the door shut.

"Wasn't she being weird today?" remarked Tom, still turned to her direction.

Marc and Anna, who were once again awkwardly spectating from the side, looked at each other. Then, the young woman replied: "She seemed the same as usual, to me."

"How would you know, you've known her for a day... Marc?"

"Well, I don't know... isn't the night guard a little hard for her? I think she told me something like that once."

The man scoffed, and went out.

He always had a knack for overthinking, it was his specialty. He also had good intuition, making him right a significant amount of times, enough for him to justify never stopping. Growing up he'd gotten calmer; the Infection brought all his bad habits back, including that one. 

He reviewed the interaction over, and over, and over again, trying to figure out what was wrong with it, even writing it down to make sure he remembered it to the last minute detail. For starters, she didn't ignore him to go straight to sleep like she usually did when after the nights. Not only she talked back, but also lingered and then prolonged the conversation. Was it possible that, for the first time in so long, she wanted to talk to him?

Since the other two didn't interrupt him, he was able to get lost in his lucubrations, until – think of the devil – Sophia came out of the house. It was way too early for her to be up. Of course, she looked even more miserable than before.

"Why aren't you sleeping?"

"I couldn't."

"Sure you haven't tried hard enough?"

She sighed. "What the hell does that even mean?"

"Just saying. I need you to rest if we want to go to the mall. Can't stand you when you're too tired."

"I can't stand you all the time, and somehow I still manage to do what I need to do."

"Ouch, I walked right into that one."

Sophia took a deep breath with her eyes closed, shaking her head. "I'll go to the river to freshen up."

"Are you going alone?"

"I'm not in good enough shape to take care of someone else."

He chuckled. "Fair enough. Be careful."

"I always am."

While he watched her go around the house and disappear behind it, Tom couldn't help but feel uneasy. Was he justified? Had she felt the same way when he'd gone with Marc?

"Marc, Anna, come out," he called, and they complied right away, without protest. He looked at one, then the other, back and forth. Things were much easier when it was just the two of them, he only had to worry about himself, or the Infected, or other nomads at most. It wasn't as straightforward now. "Both of you were being sketchy last night, and now Sophia has something going on. I know it wasn't me, so what did you brats do?"

"You know it wasn't you because she told you after having a constructive conversation?"

"No, you smartass, I know because she's my wife, I've known her for a very long time, so I know what makes her mad, and I didn't do any of it, therefore it can't be that. Now, I also know that both of you talked to her. You're telling me all about it". The two lowered their gaze, like little kids being scolded. "Marc, why don't you start?"

"Well... see... I-I just... I was just..."

"Speak up."

"We were... we were talking about... about what happened with you and... and I asked her when the last time she cried was..."

"That's it? Did she answer or did she tell you off?"

"She said she didn't remember... and then told me about when the travel ban happened... that's it..."

He scratched his chin: the pieces of the puzzle were starting to form some sort of picture in his head. "Your turn now, Anna. Make it quick."

"She asked me if you gave me crap for something. I told her what we talked about. She said that it didn't bother her because she liked you, and her mother didn't need to."

The man got up to go to the end of the porch, turning his back to them. Although it wasn't as bad as he thought it would be, he'd been having the feeling that she was starting to crack under the pressure for the past couple of days; those conversations had brought up some deep-buried painful memories, he was sure of it, and that couldn't have helped. "Do you know what small talk is?" he told the two, still facing the trees. "You could try it sometimes. It's not that bad. It's a great way to escape existential horror."

"Or ignore it," rebutted the girl in a flash. "I also asked her if she still liked you. Do you want to know the answer?"

"I doubt you can tell me anything new. But sure, go on, impress me."

"She said that you changed, both of you. That something inside of you two died." When she saw him shrugging, she added: "Tom, she needs you."

"Did she tell you that too?"

"She's struggling, anyone can tell. I don't need to know what happened before yesterday."

"I'm also struggling, Anna," yelled Tom, turning around to face her. He lowered his voice, keeping the harsh tone. "Everyone here is. I'm not going to apologize for not being able to read her mind. Besides, why do you even care? We feed you, we protect you, what more do you want? We are not a little brain-teaser for you to solve for your amusement. I don't know what you think you're doing, but I need you to stop. Stay out of it. Keeping everyone alive is hard enough. We don't have the energy to deal with your stupid shenanigans." He stopped for a minute. The complete silence hurt his head more than any noise could've. He pointed his finger, first to one, then to the other. "Now go inside and don't bother me, and especially don't bother her when she comes back. Are we clear?"

Marc and Anna nodded.

"Good. Go."

If he had known what the near future held, he wouldn't have been as firm in asking them to leave him alone. Needless to say, being stern wasn't his thing at all, he wasn't good at staying mad.

The quick trip to the river had turned out to be much longer than anticipated. Tom wanted to trust her, he really did, but he hadn't felt so much anxiety in a long time. He knew fear well, having felt it every day since they had left home, this wasn't the same thing. Was it about not being used to being apart? Was it the amount of time? Flashing images of his wife meeting her demise were tearing his heart into pieces; would 'be careful' be his last words to her? He shuddered, shaking his head like it helped to get rid of the thought. They had faced death so much, but he'd never learned to confront it, or even to confront the idea of it.

When he finally heard and then saw her coming from the back, he exhaled as if he had been holding his breath that whole time. "So much for quickly freshening up."

She looked at him like he was speaking gibberish. "What?"

"It's been two hours, Sophia. I've been feeling a bit... apprehensive."

"Hours?" She looked away, sporting a contrite expression. "I didn't know it had been so long..."

"Of course you didn't," he replied in a whisper, already going back to his post on the front porch.

"Oh, for God's sake, let me be. I can never get some rest."

"Let you be?" he asked, incredulous, turning around to face her. "I'm sorry miss, I would give you a divorce if I could, but unfortunately, we are stuck together surviving the end of civilization. There are no lawyers anymore."

"What the hell are you even talking about? A divorce? Do you hear how ridiculous you sound?"

"I don't know, do you hear how ungrateful you sound when I was just worrying about you?"

"I don't need you to worry about me."

All the good intentions of not fueling a fight that he had minutes prior, went out of the window at that very moment. The horrid emotions brewing inside of him for those two hours turned into anger and resentment. "Go then. Go away. What is stopping you? You seem like you could take care of yourself. Just go, if having me around is such a burden. But at least be mature enough to tell me to my face, instead of acting annoyed when I show that I kind of still care. You don't have to stay anymore. I release you."

"C'mon now..."

"What is it? Is that not what you want? Am I misinterpreting something? Enlighten me, please."

She threw her hands in the air, letting out an exasperated scream. "Could you stop being dramatic for a second? Again, I don't have something against you, because not everything that I do is about you. I lost track of time. That's it."

"All right, yeah, fair enough. I should suck it up and pretend like nothing happened like you do. It's easy and healthy, definitely not destroying you and our relationship."

"I didn't realize this was therapy time."

"Therapy time? Sophia, you don't talk to me, at all. The only time I get something out of you is when we fight or when there's an emergency. I mean, you killed a human man, and all that you could say was about planning our escape. There is nothing good about any of this, Sophia. We are strangers barely getting by."

"Yes Tom," she began, shouting back at him. "I killed a human man, and I did it for us. Can't you see? Everything I do is for us. I consume myself to the bone so that we can have a chance of surviving another day. What is there to say? I protect us, I protect you. There is nothing more to tell. There are no words."

"I don't want you to protect me, so you can stop now. Nobody asked you to be the martyr. You chose this by yourself. If to get my wife back I have to be a bit more in danger, I would be okay with it."

"Oh, really? Because you seemed very comfortable letting me do all the dirty work all these years. Are you sure you would be okay with it? Or are you just saying it to make yourself look better than you are? To make yourself look better than me? I didn't fight or yell or say childish insults alone. You were there too, even started it half the time. You are not better than me."

"Oh, I know. I am much worse than you. I am so scared every minute of every day. I am a coward. I can't keep up with you. And I fight and yell and say childish insults as much as you, or more. But I also miss you. Is that so weird? I miss you, so much. You're right here, and still, I can't reach you. It's like you're far away."

"Maybe you're reaching for someone that doesn't exist anymore. The woman you fell in love with, the one you said yes to. I can't blame you for wanting her... but she's not here. I am."

The couple stood there, looking at each other, hearts beaten up on the ground.

She was right. There were no words. No words with real meaning, at least. They were all rotten, putrid, poisoned.

Sophia got inside, same as that morning, as if nothing had happened. But something had happened, and it had been happening for a while. Perhaps, that was when they both realized how deep the wound was.

Those following silent hours seemed to not want to pass, as much as the preceding two. He never thought he'd crave another fight right away, to at least have some kind of interaction, to know that everything was like always, that all those things they had said were a mere spur of the moment, a product of their momentary anger.

He could have swallowed his pride and called Marc and Anna; it wasn't only about pride, it was about responsibility, about consequences, that's what he kept telling himself. He hadn't missed the turmoil of being around people because, despite everything, being with her had been easy. But he was starting to doubt that he had only gotten comfortable with scarcity, rather than with despair, and it wasn't much better. Tom had convinced himself that he was fine with how things were between them. That day was proving that it was all a lie.

He took the almost empty packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. It was all crumpled. There was one last smoke in it. He pondered if it was the right time to light it; in that moment, someone came out of the door.

"Before you say anything, please give me a chance to explain myself. I know motivation doesn't erase bad effects, but I believe it still matters, someone who kills for the sake of it isn't the same as someone who does it to defend themselves". She paused for a moment. "Well, it was a bit of a strong comparison, but you get what I mean. I promise I will leave you alone after, for as long as we'll spend time together."

Tom glanced at her, then at the pack in his hand. He put it away and sat down. Anything was good enough for a distraction. "Okay. Let's hear it."

She took a deep breath, relieved. "First of all, I was the one who insisted that Marc join me in this idea, he wasn't at all convinced throughout the whole thing, so don't be too mad at him. When Sophia told me about how you got together... it was beautiful. Seeing you fight so much... I thought that if I helped you get back to how you were, if I made myself useful, I would deserve all the things you're giving me... You were right, in the car. I wouldn't be half as kind in your place. I would not help someone like me. I realize now that it was not my place to interfere with your personal lives, I don't know you and you don't know me. But I meant well. I hope you'll consider that."

His expression softened. "You remind me of someone I used to know. It's not a compliment, by the way. He was very dramatic and stubborn. I don't know how his mom kept up with him. He didn't change a lot... maybe he's a little more responsible now," said Tom, gazing in the distance, distracted. "How old are you, Anna?"

"Uhm... I turned twenty like a week ago..."

His eyes went wide. She hadn't even had the time to finish high school. Young people like that were hard to come by: at that point, most had died or were living in settled communities. "How did you survive out there for three days on your own?"

"I used to be a Girl Scout. And lots of luck..."

The day was coming to an end; the sun was setting, leaving space in the sky for the stars. Sophia hadn't woken up since the fight, which was a blessing. He needed her to be in shape, he couldn't do much on his own. In the bad times, he reminded himself how different his life would have been if her mother – an enigma of a woman – hadn't insisted that she stay with him, instead of going to visit the family in the middle of the Infection crisis. This grounded him even at his angriest and most frustrated.

Right then, though, it didn't help. He wasn't angry or frustrated. What if she was right? He was too focused on a version of her from long before that didn't exist anymore, just as much as he wasn't the same man. He wasn't the nice, funny, a bit awkward guy with a heart of gold ready to scream his love from the top of his lungs. The doting husband was expecting something he couldn't deliver himself. Had he gotten too comfortable? Was he turning into who he hated the most? Into the opposite of what his mother, with all that she had sacrificed, had taught him to be?

Maybe they were too different; maybe insisting upon a relationship that was dead was useless; maybe the reason they were still alive was to keep survivng, to go on, to protect, to be secondary characters in someone else's story, forgotten even by themselves.

The night was a double-edged sword; that one was especially sharp.

A sound of creaking wood interrupted his thoughts.

"Hey," said Sophia, coming out of the house.

"You should go back to sleep. We can stay for one more day, there's no rush."

She walked around him and sat on his same bench. "I'm sorry."

He turned to her; the pale porch light was right behind, darkening her face, so he went back to look in front of him. "What are you apologizing for?"

"I don't know, everything? Today I've been worse than usual."

He chuckled. "It's fine..."

"No, it's not."

The man tried to reply, but the words got stuck in his throat.

"I'm sorry, Tom," she repeated. "Not just for today. I get upset at how unfair the world is... I've been unfair to you, and that's worse."

"I have not been better. I have been terrible, horrible. All you told me was right. I don't know how to confront my own faults, so I project them onto everyone and everything else. I pretend to be tough, to be wise, but I know nothing. I am a shell of a man. Being in your company is the only thing that makes me somewhat human". That was what he wanted to say, at least. Those ramblings got trapped in the doorless chamber of his mind; he spoke no words.

Sophia held his hand, closed in a fist on his lap. A few moments later, he started relaxing, and held it back.