Page 197 of Paradox
I slouch down and let my head fall back on the top of the bench seat.
The sky is so full of clouds that it feels like late afternoon instead of mid-morning. Everything looks grey; the road, thewide expanses of land beside it where trees used to be before they were cleared away for new developments, and the scattered houses on large properties that are growing more and more frequent the closer we get to Daintree.
A gas station comes into view. There's a family with a caravan. Two kids are running around, stretching their legs while their father fills up the tank of their truck.
Three cars pass us in the opposite lane in quick succession.
That's too many.
I squeeze Eden's hand tight. "I don't wanna do this."
"I know," he says, squeezing mine back. I hold out, hoping that he'll say something more. Maybe suggest that we keep driving straight through Daintree to the coast. We can spend the day there. The beaches this far north are usually deserted this time of the year. It would be the perfect intermediate outing. We'd begetting outwithout having to actually see anyone in close enough proximity that we'd be forced to interact. Nothing planned about it. Just the sound of waves crashing on the rocky sand over the mounds of driftwood; the pebbles scratching together beneath our feet as we walk. No car horns, or indiscriminate chatter of people I don't care about.
No pressure.
No confrontation.
No looks of disappointment bearing down on me.
"Don't do it," I whisper when I see the turnoff sign for Daintree.
Eden's hand slips from mine to grip onto my thigh.
The truck turns, and I feel my body being pulled to the side as my future is once again dictated to me.
Within seconds there are roadside buildings popping up out of nowhere.
Now I can only see the mountains in the rearview mirror.
Eden's fingers feel like a vice on my leg.
I grab his wrist and tug his hand from me.
I pull my feet up onto the seat and hug my knees.
"I don't want to do this."
"I know," he says, but keeps on driving.
"Eden, please."
He gives no response.
I look to my left and see him gripping the steering wheel so tight his knuckles are white.
"If you don't want to be here either, all you have to do is turn around."
I watch him shake his head. His long hair gets caught behind his shoulder, accidentally revealing his spider web tattoo.
I shaved that patch of hair a few days ago because I missed seeing it, now I hate it again.
It's such an easy thing to hate.
It's dumb and frivolous, and I'm allowed to despise it.
Like he knows my thoughts, Eden runs his hand through his hair, bringing it over to the other side to hide the tattoo.
I hate that spider, but I don't hate him.
