did you know it doesn't even hurt
When they stop for the night, Freya has no idea how many times she's sung the Scooby Dooby Doo themesong, or the variant lyrics that they came up with after lunch (which she will deny to her grave). The trailer behind their truck is crammed full of extra supplies, which she navigates around to investigate the dinner situation. She's vaguely aware of Brendan moving around (between the fact they're in a fairly enclosed space, cramped all the more by their extra cargo and the fact she can hear his thoughts, it's hard to feel solitary for even a moment -- a fact for which she is quietly grateful, something that would've surprised her once).
Dinner is a quiet affair; Freya has run out of small talk for one day. They tidy up afterwards and she changes in the trailer's small bathroom, brushing her teeth and examining her reflection in the mirror. She doesn't feel sick, she doesn't look sick, but every time she closes her eyes she can hear Dr Welles voice don't let her die like this. Part of her wishes she hadn't been present for his death; it was an intimacy she never asked for. She's grateful that she didn't witness June's death and guilty for her gratitude, but that's not something she wants to think about right now. Not when they have a job to do.
She goes to bed, quietly, and stares at the ceiling of the trailer that's going to be her home indefinitely. Brendan's thoughts are trailing off into dreams and she's glad, because the sooner they get up in the morning, the sooner they can get on the road again, and the sooner she can find out maybe what's going on there. Like he said -- something lit up that board. With nothing else to focus on besides the bodies littering the country (don't let her die like this), it's easy to make the job her priority.
She thinks it's kind of funny, in a sad way, that she's going miles and miles across the country to find people that she's likely inevitably going to have to retreat from at some point, to maintain her sanity.
...it's not really funny.
She rolls over and goes to sleep.
Dinner is a quiet affair; Freya has run out of small talk for one day. They tidy up afterwards and she changes in the trailer's small bathroom, brushing her teeth and examining her reflection in the mirror. She doesn't feel sick, she doesn't look sick, but every time she closes her eyes she can hear Dr Welles voice don't let her die like this. Part of her wishes she hadn't been present for his death; it was an intimacy she never asked for. She's grateful that she didn't witness June's death and guilty for her gratitude, but that's not something she wants to think about right now. Not when they have a job to do.
She goes to bed, quietly, and stares at the ceiling of the trailer that's going to be her home indefinitely. Brendan's thoughts are trailing off into dreams and she's glad, because the sooner they get up in the morning, the sooner they can get on the road again, and the sooner she can find out maybe what's going on there. Like he said -- something lit up that board. With nothing else to focus on besides the bodies littering the country (don't let her die like this), it's easy to make the job her priority.
She thinks it's kind of funny, in a sad way, that she's going miles and miles across the country to find people that she's likely inevitably going to have to retreat from at some point, to maintain her sanity.
...it's not really funny.
She rolls over and goes to sleep.