Broken

“Yeah, heads are funny like that,” I replied, trying to match his dry…whatever it was, but he didn’t respond, which I found kind of strange.

Maybe he isn’t joking… I thought, which made me feel slightly uncomfortable, though I resisted the urge to shiver.

For the next few minutes, he worked on cleaning and rebandaging my head in silence.

I endured it for as long as I possibly could but eventually, I decided that it would be a good time to start a conversation, if only to get me out of my own mind.

“So, what’s your name? My name is Carrie,” I offered, trying to sound as friendly.

“My name is Johnathan,” he retorted, almost angrily.

“Oh, well, do you like to be called Johnathan, or John? Or Johnny?” I grinned, trying to show that I was attempting to playfully tease him, but he leaned his head around to my face, specifically to glare at me.

“Do I look like a Johnny to you?” He insisted and, in that moment, unless it was a rendition of The Shining, no. He didn’t.

Holy shit…I jumped out of the pan and into the flames! This guy’s just as crazy as the guide. I thought but tried to remain calm. If this guy was teetering on the edge of his own sanity, I wanted to keep him from figuring out that’s what I thought about him.

“Um…Johnathan it is, I guess,” I answered, trying to keep a sense of positivity and lightheartedness to my conversation.

Although, he didn’t reciprocate, he apparently finished with my wound and cleaned up the First Aid kit.

Afterward, he went to the sink, washed his hands, and turned, grabbing something off the top of the fire. Carefully, he brought it over to the small, makeshift kitchen. He poured something into a bowl and delivered it over to me.

As he neared me, I could smell a roast, with broth, like a soup. I wasn’t sure what it was, but the prospect of food, even before he said a

nything to me, made my mouth water and my stomach growl.

At this point, I didn’t care much about what it was; it smelled delicious!

“Here, it’s soup. It’s got vegetables and meat, to help you heal. You’ve been here a day and haven’t had anything more than one cup of tea. The last thing you need is to be fighting dehydration, hunger, and trying to heal.”

I took the bowl from him readily and grinned, “Thank you.”

Taking food from him right now wasn’t any kind of concern, especially since I knew he was right. I was never going to get anywhere if I didn’t regain my strength.

Instead of sitting on the bed like I vaguely remembered him doing when we first met, he grabbed a stray chair, which was propped up against the wall and straddled it backwards as he sat, at a distance, away from me.

Again, I thought this was odd, but I tried to convince myself he was trying to give me room to eat; not treating me like I had The Plague.

I ate the soup, barely even tasting it. The parts that I did pause to enjoy were good, but I was far too hungry to care about taste.

He didn’t say anything while I ate, but he stared at me curiously. It was almost as though he was trying to gather information from me but didn’t want to ask.

“I’m sorry,” I answered when I was finished, gingerly placing the bowl next to me on a wooden nightstand. “I’m just so hungry…”

“I live in the woods. Do you think I give a fuck how you eat?”

The reaction was a bit harsher than intended for the context, which made me pause, but I didn’t say anything else. I had the feeling I was upsetting him, but I didn’t know why.

Maybe he simply didn’t like that I was here, or perhaps there was a different reason altogether but whatever it was, I still thought his actions were weird.

Nevertheless, I chuckled and pretended his rash reaction didn’t affect me.

“I guess you have a point.”

“How’s your ankle? I don’t want to move it if I don’t have to. The swelling looks better now.”

“It hurts a little,” I answered honestly, but nothing too bad.”