Dweller - Jeff Strand [72]
Screw him.
Screw that stupid, selfish, murdering monster.
Toby didn’t need him. What value did he bring to Toby’s life? Some growling and some fucking hand signals? Wow, how could he ever live without that? He might not get to hear Owen’s one-word vocabulary anymore. “Toby.” What a loss.
Toby got madder and madder as he walked away from the shack—the shack that Toby had done most of the work on, thank you very much. It wasn’t an architectural marvel, but it was a shitload better than the filthy cave he was lurking in for two decades, and if Owen didn’t appreciate his efforts, then Toby would just leave him out in the woods to rot. He could sit there and tear apart his beanbag some more and grow old and die and decay right into the wood.
And screw walking away. He was going to march back there and tell that asshole that he was on his own from now on. If he wanted to be a great big jealous baby, he could find himself another best friend, somebody with absolutely no life who had nothing better to do all day long than sit in a shack with an animal.
He went back and pushed open the door. “You know what, Owen, I just want to say—”
Owen rushed toward him.
Then threw his arms around him and gave him a hug.
Toby was still pretty pissed, but he patted the monster’s back as they hugged. “It’s okay. It’s okay, buddy.”
Owen pulled away. I’m sorry, he signed.
“You should be.”
Owen looked so sad that Toby couldn’t help but feel his anger fade away. He tried to keep it—Owen deserved to have Toby furious at him—but he couldn’t.
“Everything’s going to be okay,” Toby assured him. “I’m not going to let a woman come between us. Nobody, no matter who it is, will ever come between us. We’re friends forever.”
Promise?
“Cross my heart. Hope to die. Stick a pitchfork in my eye.”
Stay?
“Of course. I’m not going anywhere, Owen.”
As he walked home, it occurred to him that he hadn’t even considered the idea that Owen might try to rip a big chunk out of his chest. They’d been friends for a long time, but…wow, that could have gone terribly wrong.
And Owen had gone on a rampage before.
Toby needed to remember what he was dealing with here: an animal. Maybe one that was closer to a human than any other creature on the planet, but still, an animal that liked the taste of human flesh.
Perhaps he needed to consider moving Owen back to the cave.
Nah. If anything, he wanted his friend to be closer, now that he’d have less free time to spend walking through the forest.
There was no magical moment.
Toby would’ve expected one. He and Sarah would be sitting on the couch, watching a movie. He’d reach into the popcorn bowl, she’d reach into the popcorn bowl, their buttery fingers would touch, there’d be a jolt of pure romantic electricity, and suddenly they’d be passionately kissing, spilling popcorn everywhere.
Or, after months of angst, Toby would confess all, tearfully explain that he loved her, that he couldn’t live without her, and that if she wasn’t ready that was okay, he’d wait for her. And she’d tearfully say that she was ready, that she’d been ready for a while now, and they’d kiss and cry together and then make love.
It wasn’t like that. For a few months, they just hung out like friends. Not dating—Sarah always paid her own way—and nothing more physical than pats on the arm and good-bye hugs.
And then they were holding hands while walking downtown, window-shopping. They didn’t mention it, didn’t acknowledge any kind of change this might mean in their relationship—it just felt natural to hold hands, and they did it without comment.
Then quick good-bye kisses.
Then quick hello kisses.
But it still felt like friends who just happened to be affectionate. No big deal.
She studied a lot, and during that time Toby hung out with Owen. Sarah and Toby shared secrets—she told him how she’d felt watching her husband die, and he’d told her about the freakish night when some sort of escaped animal slaughtered his girlfriend—but, of course, he could never tell her the whole truth.
More kisses.
Snuggling on the couch