Worth The Fight ✓

Chapter Seven

QUOTE OF THE CHAPTER:

"Nobody likes being alone that much. I don't go out of my way to make friends, that's all. It just leads to disappointment. "
― Haruki Murakami, Norwegian Wood

Dedication: @Corlaya (for being so sweet and her thoughtful comments. Go check her stories.)

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CHAPTER SEVEN

We sit on rocks, our clothes and hair wet and bodies trembling. Sometimes nervous glances at each other follow, but mostly we don't look, speak or even breathe. I can't stop thinking about what has happened just like ten minutes ago and why I struggled to back off. Furthermore, now I have to deal with this nervous tension between us and I don't think any jokes can resolve the problem.

I'm helpless. I've never been in an awkward situation before, I've created some for others but never been at there myself.

I squeeze my hair, trying to dry it, but my clothes are so wet that makes me shiver. It's a cold night, since we are not at summer, and I am angry at Calvin for making such a childish joke. Yet I know that I should say something - be playful and annoying because it is how I always am. What's just happened won't change it - Jack, you aren't even virgin. Don't act like a nun.

"It's fucking cold," I murmur, with a soft and complaining voice, my eyes fixed on the sand that drops from my hair fall on. Then, my eyes dart on Calvin, who has now stood up and seeking something with his eyes. I wait till he picks some wood pieces, walks over to me and digs a hole. Then, he fills the hole with some material that can be burnt. I watch him patiently, as he rubs the woods together and lights a fire out. My face lightens up with the flames rising from the hole. "Wow," I say happily, "Fire!"

He looks up at me, smiling.

"Shit, how did you learn to do that?"

He sits before me, rubbing his hands over the flames. He doesn't answer for a while and I don't push it, enjoying the sudden heat that fire provides. Now, it's only the fire that lights our faces, and environs since it's almost midnight. I'm startled by how quickly the time passed by but how I actually like being here.

I examine him with my eyes, trying to understand why he suddenly closes himself down and doesn't utter a word. He peers at me suspiciously, and catches me up staring at him. "What?" He asks as though we've been talking and my confused looks are meaningless.

"You haven't said anything."

"Haven't I?" He says airily. Then, he clears his throat, straightening up and our bodies facing each other. "We used to camp once a month," he starts off. "With dad. And well, naturally you need to set fire to heat up. He taught me," - he looks at me - "And it took sometime to figure out. It isn't as easy as it seems, it needs practise."

"Really?" I say. "It seems pretty easy here."

He rolls his eyes and leans down to grab two pieces of wood. "Take these," - he hands me - "and set a fire, then, Jack." He looks at me daringly and I narrow my eyes in turn.

I take the woods from his hands defensively. Then, I try to rub them as he did but for a while, nothing happens. He presses his lips together not to laugh at me and when I look at him nervously, he just lets it out. "I- I'm sorry," he says between his laughters.

I throw them down nervously, folding my arms together. "They are wet," I say. "Of course, they won't work out."

He picks them up again and hands me. "So," he says, holding my hands, therefore the woods, and doing the way he has lit them before. And it works. But there, I'm not really paying attention to his amazing camping skills but the actual distance between us. Why am I caring so much about it, dammit? This is one touch, Jack, don't be a dickhead. "Is this your fault or the woods now?" He snickers as he retreats, and looks at me with a safistied grin.