love in a wasteland

There was something that was beautiful in the wintery nights. Just to watch the silvery snow fall, slowly coating your car in a thin blanket. When the silence weighed lightly, and the hum of an engine, or the snoring of the man next to you wasn't anything other than a beautiful song to tired ears.

Achille heaved a soft sigh, as he pressed gently on the accelerator. The sun was beginning to come down again, painting the day in shades of purple and blue the new beginning reflected in the snow in front of them. He moved one hand from gripping the steering wheel, and moved it downwards, to where his boyfriend was, rubbing the glove gently against his cheeks. Boss stirred almost immediately, grabbing it, and kissing it. In such dire circumstances, this act of pure love, motivated by nothing, made Achille crack a smile. Maybe everything was going to be alright, he told himself. He let Boss cling onto his hand, as he continued the sombre drive.

Despite the momentary happiness, feeling of paranoia was not something he could just shake off, and he found himself checking the mirrors more often than not, and hoping the car would reach the next checkpoint just a little faster. This was not the time that Achille enjoyed driving in. He could see, in the distance a gas-station, and he heaved a sigh. At least, there another human would be there, and he could step outside, steal more drinks for the rest of the journey. He didn't think, after all, being sober was something that matched the circumstances of the condition that he and Boss were in. So, he slowly pressed down again on the accelerator, trying to reach the gas station before the clouds abandoned the moon. Boss stirred again, mumbling something incoherently, and Achille smiled. If only all his worries would be washed away when he slept. But that never happened. Even in his sleep, he would be plagued by nightmares, of gaping wounds, of hearses and graves. Boss didn't seem to be a victim of that, as there was a small smile that adorned in his face. It made Achille's smile grow just a bit bigger. Sure, everything was falling apart, and they were both fugitives from the circumstances, but his boyfriend had a cute smile, and that was all that mattered to him.

The gas station was growing nearer, and the knot that had formed in Achille's stomach began to unwind itself. A temporary sanctuary was better than no form of safety. As the miles rolled about, Achille found his breathing becoming easier. Soon, they would be able to rest from the danger that they had placed themselves in. Thirty minutes away became twenty, became ten, and the alarm bells in his head were fading into something non-existent. And then they were there, and Achille released a sigh that had become trapped in his throat without his knowledge.

Leaving the car on, in case they needed to make an emergency exit, Achille freed his numbing hand from the grasp of Boss, who kept letting out protesting whines at that.

"It's okay," the dryness of Achille's throat made his voice sound raspy, grating to the ears. "It'll all be okay. I'll be back in a second."

As unpleasant as Achille found his current voice to be, it seemed to be enough to satiate the asleep Boss, who stopped complaining about the absence of human warmth. Shifting his attention, Achille slowly opened the car's door, and stepped onto the snow. It crunched under his weight, and he let out a ragged breath, as he turned to close the door, sealing Boss inside the car. Turning around for a moment, surveying the place that he had parked in, he found no signs of life, and he was unsure if that was a good or bad thing. Carefully, he moved to the back of the car, and opened the trunk. The shaking hands wrapped themselves around a copy of the Holy Bible, and he opened it. The pages had been crudely cut to make room for a gun, and he picked it up. He wasn't sure if God was going to answer his prayers and keep him safe but this gun sure as hell was going to.

Placing it in the holster, Achille made his way inside the gas station. The sliding doors greeted him automatically, but there was no one inside, the aisles abandoned, and the decorated posters on the walls advertising concerts were the last vestige of better days. Well, at least Achille wasn't about to feel the guilt weigh him down as he stole. Carefully, he weaved through the store, picking whatever seemed least likely to perish and had actual nutritional value. Or whatever could get him intoxicated the fastest. Either criteria worked for him.