Page 58 of Charlie and Her Sweet Escape
I cautiously turned to see that she was wearing a black long-sleeved shirt and long johns. No silky skin in sight. I swallowed hard. “No, yeah. I’ll just wear this.”
We both looked at my wet pants with muddy hems, and she frowned. “Didn’t you bring pajamas?”
Yes, but they were long johns that left little to the imagination. It wassupposedto be dark, and I wassupposedto have my own sleeping bag. We were only allowed so many items; I didn’t want to waste one on pajama pants that would get all tangled around my legs when I was trying to sleep.
“I don’t think we should get the sleeping bag dirty,” she said, timidly.
“I’ll just sleep out here.” Hadn’t I literally just decided that wasn’t an option?
“Oh. Okay.” She seemed taken aback. Did shewantto sleep with me? In the bag, I mean.
She looked pointedly at the cameras, but I pretended not to notice. Her brows drew lower over her eyes, and she went to the sleeping bag and climbed in. Something about her expression made me feel bad, like I’d misstepped somehow. And more than just because I was ignoring the cameras. But these were high stakes here. My sanity was on the line.
“I totally understand,” she said quietly.
I kicked my boots off and then sat to remove my socks and lay them out near the fire to dry. “What do you mean?”
“Just, you know, having to be so close. To me. It’s not ideal for you,” she whispered so quietly, I wasn’t sure I heard her right.
“I … that’s not it.” I mean, it was. But not for the reasons she was implying. Not because it was disgusting to me—but because itwasn’t. “It’s a tight space. I don’t want to crowd you.”
“Oh. I’ll be fine. It’s roomier in here than it looks.”
I highly doubted that.
She stared at me expectantly, so I let out a short breath and unbuckled my belt. What was the saying? Out of the frying pan, into the fire.
Out of the solitary life, into the sleeping bag with your sister’s best friend.
She closed her eyes and yawned.
I slid my pants and jacket off, debated on the T-shirt, then took that off too. I snagged my long johns from the bag and hurriedly dressed, though I was fairly confident Charlie wouldn’t peek at me. “I’m coming in.”
She scooted to the non-zippered side of the sleeping bag, her back to me, and I slid in behind her, feeling the warmth instantly. She squealed when my cold feet touched hers.
“Sorry,” I said. “I’m going to zip the bag, here …” I tried to reach it, and she moved to give me room, turning to face me as she did.
“I can’t breathe with my face jammed in the side,” she said. We both tried to adjust, her hand brushing my stomach as she moved, and I clenched every muscle.
“This zipper is being tricky,” I said, feeling the sweat start to bead against my skin. How had I thought it was cold in here a moment ago? It was so hot. A fiery furnace. The gates of hell.
My elbow brushed something soft—don’t think about it—as I pulled at the zipper, sliding it up, almost there …
A chittering noise sounded unexpectedly by our ears, startling Charlie. She shrieked and flailed as if to get away, her knee coming right into my groin.
I groaned as white-hot pain lanced through me, and I instinctively tried to curl into myself, but there was no room.
“It’s just a beetle. I thought it was a mouse,” she said, with a shaky laugh. “What’s wrong?”
“Just… dying…”
“Did I…? Oh my gosh, I kneed you, didn’t I?” She moved around as if trying to give me space, but all those limbs flying everywhere were making me think we were heading straight toward round two.
I grabbed her arms to hold her in place. “I need a minute,” I wheezed.
She held perfectly still. I had no idea how long we both lay there, waiting for my pain to abate, but it was long enough for the fire to bank all the way to a few glowing embers. Long enough for all un-friend-like thoughts to take a knee at the sideline.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, sounding like she’d been beating herself up for a bit. “I’ll sleep outside the bag.”
