Albert Peterson - The Hibernia Strain

I come across Emma’s stash of chocolate. She’s obviously a big chocolate fan. Being a self confessed chocoholic, I understand her addiction and cast no judgement. Instead, I grab a large handful of various treats and abandon that area of the house, locking myself in the bedroom. I barricade myself in; ensuring I’ll be undisturbed.

I go to lie on the bed. As my head hits the pillow, Emma’s scent lifts into the air around me and I breathe it in through flared nostrils. I think of how intoxicated I was by this smell when she stood so close to me in the alleyway. I hope she’ll be safe. I know she’s in good hands with Shawn.

I tear open the wrapper of a chocolate bar and take a voracious bite. Even though I’m hungry, my stomach still doesn’t feel quite right after the dose of nutmeg earlier.

As I’m chewing fingers of tiredness start to caress my mind. It’s only the afternoon but I haven’t slept since yesterday morning. I’m fading fast.

I can’t help noticing I have a warm sensation around my extremities. Is this a sign that it’s the beginning of the end for me? I say a prayer in my head and plead with God to protect me. It’s all out of my control now.

I decide to give being courageous in the face of adversity a go. There’s no point in crying now. I slide the sword alongside me underneath the bed covers and then curl up.

I swallow the final gooey mouthful of my snack as I drift off into a deep overdue sleep, with thoughts of the beautiful Emma rippling through my psyche.

Please let me keep my promise.

Twenty seven minutes! It’s been twenty-seven minutes since either of us said a word. It’s half an hour since we drove off and left Matt behind in that shithole of an apartment.

She’s sitting next to me in the passenger seat with a vacant expression on her face. I’m staring out the windscreen of my new wheels at the road with a puzzled look on my face. I’m still trying to make sense of the piss poor excuse for an explanation she gave me as to why we had to leave Matt behind.

Matt, who is the closest thing I have to a brother, made it plenty clear that it was vital we part ways for a while and that Emma would explain everything. I know Matt well enough to listen when he has his serious face on.

Unfortunately, once we pulled off and Matt was out of sight, all I got from her was a minute or two of sobbing, before she spit out a muddled hysteric account involving somebody named Jason and nutmeg flavoured vomit.

Matt’s got a level head, but when it comes to women he’s made some dodgy choices. Although he’s never really talked much about it, I know he’s gotten messed around pretty bad a few times.

It occurs to me that she may be shaken up and upset, and that possibly some restraint and compassion may be in order on my behalf. BUT NO! The situation is too serious, and besides, that’s never been my style anyway.

I mean, who is this person sitting beside me? Did she flutter her eyelids at Matt just so she’d have a convenient knight in shining armour to escort her through this mess that’s going on? Who is this Jason character she mentioned? Some ex boyfriend from what I could gather from her rambling.

I turn my head and give her the eyeball in an attempt to provoke a reaction of some kind, conscious of the fact that she may still be a bit bent out of shape from our little exchange earlier. I get nothing, not a flinch!

I turn my head and face forward again. The roads are empty except for the odd car I see speeding by on other roads in the distance, and the increasing number of cars I’m encountering, apparently abandoned on the side of the road.

Frustrated by the lack of response from Emma regarding when, where or even if we’ll see Matt again, I turn back to her and without thinking I say in a crude tone, “So who the hell are you again?”

I regret my lack of finesse almost immediately. The aggressive manor of my question doesn’t go unnoticed by Emma either, as it seems to have opened the flood gates on something that had been brewing since the journey began.

She springs to life with a barrage of indecipherable ranting and abuse, from which all I can make out, is along the lines of, “How the hell did I let myself get caught in this situation with a juvenile psycho like you,” which I think is a reference to our earlier argument.

I hear Matt’s name interspersed in the verbal avalanche, but I can’t tell in what context. I’m no stranger to provoking this kind response in women, but given recent events, and the fact that it’s been ages since I’ve slept, my ability to tune it out is failing me.

I find myself wondering if Matt’s sudden need to be alone wasn’t an elaborate ruse to unload this toxic chick on me. I dismiss the thought as unlikely… but possible.

In an attempt to break her rant I shout back at her, “If you’re so interested in Matt; why did you leave him back there?”

She pauses for a moment as her eyes tear up. I can’t tell if this is a result of sorrow or rage.

In a more focused and accusing voice she looks at me and says, “Well YOU didn’t hang around too long after he asked you to leave either.”

I dig my fingernails into the steering wheel in an attempt to restrain myself. In my sleep deprived state I can’t take this shite anymore.

I take a sharp turn off the road into an empty supermarket car park and bring the car to an abrupt stop in the first parking space I see.

Turning in my seat to face Emma, I raise my finger in an aggressive gesture and begin a rant of my own.

“ Listen to me you bitc…”

Before I get any further Emma cuts in with, “You can’t park here; it’s a disabled parking spot. You ignorant prick!”

There’s silence in the car. I’m left with my mouth open and my finger in the air like a knob, totally at a loss for a response to such a random, off topic criticism.

The beginnings of a coy smile form on the edge of Emma’s lips, and the two of us let out a muted chuckle as the tension dissipates.

For the first time she starts speaking to me in a more natural tone. She explains all that’s happened and why Matt stayed behind.

I realise at this point, that it’s concern for a mutual friend that has us both on edge and it’s possible she’s not the opportunistic succubus she first appeared to be… the girl is alright.

With tensions relieved for now, it seems like a good time to pick up a few essentials. The supermarket is locked up, but the sight of that box in the back seat that Emma brought from her apartment, filled with supplies, is motivation enough for me to justify a bit of breaking and entering.

The content consists of a half empty bottle of diet Cola, a packet of biscuits and five tins of beans. Her pathetic selection of food reeks of student lifestyle.

I’m not sure of the best way to approach this little heist, especially considering Emma’s reaction to my story about how I got my new jeep.

I’ve never been overly sensitive about rubbing someone the wrong way but I’m not stupid either. I’m well aware I’ll be spending the next few hours in tight quarters with her and she’s already pushed me over the edge once.

I glance back with a cringe at the beans, and while considering the best way to approach things, I’m taken by surprise with the sudden, sharp sound of shattering glass.

I turn around to see Emma awkwardly making her way through the broken window, with one leg on the ground and the other on the three foot high window sill.

I happily cross my arms and smile at the sight I’m faced with, as Emma’s skirt rides up revealing a pair of little white panties covered with tiny love hearts. What a girly girl, just Matt’s type.