Young Writers Society

Chapter 10 Part 1: You Know He Had to Do it to Em

Matt kept his head low as he walked into town.

He took an unassuming posture; relaxed but withdrawn. He didn't speak to anyone he didn't need to, let his hat shade most of his face, and ignored the heckling salesmen and women by their colorful booths in the market. Music trickled down the alleyways somewhere from a bustling tavern, with the chatter of buyers and sellers otherwise adding to the choir of noise. The sun still beat down with the same persistence of the desert, but there was a fresh breeze in the air that cleared the dust from his lungs. The moisture in the air was slowly rehydrating his coarse hands, and he could feel the humidity rising as the sun descended from the sky.

After an afternoon of walking through the streets, he found his way to a less desirable part of town; an inn, just beside a loud and rowdy bar (amongst other things). He settled Elliot in the nearby stable, giving his horse a small kiss on the head before making his departure.

When he finally made it to his room, he dropped his bag to the floor beside the bed and fell back into it with his legs dangling off. It had been two days since he'd left Clandestine back in the forest, and his mind had been in a haze ever since.

He didn't doubt that she would've found her way to the road and made it to the town as well. Someone like Clandestine would be able to manage herself with the money she had on her and would start hunting for jobs again just as she had in the last town they'd met in.

He did, of course, briefly consider the possibility that they would run into each other again, but it was unlikely. The town was large, busy, and well-populated. He didn't plan on staying more than a night, and he didn't plan on being social either. If everything went as planned, he would sleep in the inn that night, wake up, and leave. No one would notice him, and he'd be on his way.

But there was still something he needed to take care of. With a sigh, he sat up slowly and looked about the room.

The room was longer than it was wide. He sat on the twin-sized bed that sat beneath the room's one window. To the left, on the adjacent wall was a small fireplace. Though the fire wasn't lit, there was a small stack of wood beside it in a wire frame. A worn-out circle rug covered most of the floor, and the triangular pattern running across it in whites and pale reds was faded and matted in the walk-ways. The walls were covered in a pale yellow wallpaper, and on the wall opposite to the fireplace there was a simple desk and a chair.

Matt made a bee-line for the desk, and with a quick movement lifted it up and carried over to the door, placing it up against it. He glanced back at the chair, pausing for a moment before he grabbed it and added it to the blockade for good measure.

With the hall-door secure, if only for a few extra seconds, all he had to worry about was the window, so he returned to the bed and sat down, reaching down to his bag to pull out his journal.

He turned the leather-bound journal in his hands, tapping his fingers against the cover in trepidation.

Every time someone read it, it felt just as invasive as the last. And every time someone read it, he felt the overwhelming urge to throw it away. To burn it. The past four years of his life in the pages, consumed by flame, destined to be forgotten with the passing of time despite how desperately he clung to them.

In all his travels, he only had two constants: his journal and his horse. If ever he lost them, he would get them back. But the more he thought about what lied between the pages the more he thought about the moments where its existence only sabotaged any and every possible relationship he could ever have under an alias.

His eyes flicked over to the fireplace.

Writing keeps me sane. He brushed against the pages with his thumb. It helps me remember. He pulled out a sparkstone from his pocket. It helps me process.

Hesitantly, he pulled the folded up maps out of the journal's worn-out pages. He slipped them into his jacket pocket, and didn't let himself open the journal, lest he be tempted to rethink his decision again. He got up and stacked the wood in the fireplace, placed his journal at the center and sent sparks into the pages. As he watched the flames slowly eat away at his words, he backed away, shoving the stone back into his pocket and trying to desperately convince himself he'd done the right thing as the dread settled in.

It's more trouble than it's worth. It's more trouble than it's worth, he repeated to himself.

The less you hold on to, the better.

--

Clandestine waited before she followed after Matt.

She didn't want to admit it was mostly because she was sulking, but it was. That, and she didn't want to run into Matt on her way to the town. She knew he was probably traveling fast to get away from her, but she didn't want to risk the indescribable awkwardness that would result in. She could just imagine: her, merging onto the road. Him, slowly turning back to look at her. Or worse: not looking at her at all as he sped away.

She was relieved when she finally made it into the town, though.

She couldn't stop herself from consciously searching the crowds for Matt and Elliot when she entered the streets, but by that time, it was already evening. The sun was getting low in the sky, and people were starting to close their shops and head home to rest. Only a few taverns still had their lights on, so she settled for the one that looked the least intimidating. It had a nice friendly little sign that read 'drinks and a warm meal,' and that was all she wanted after a long day of traveling alone and feeling terrible about herself.

After tying up Billy, she dragged her feet into the tavern. An unusual blend of smells hit her, but none of them were unwelcome. Among them, she could identify different savory and spicy flavors of food, which immediately made her mouth water. She hurried her way up to the counter and made her order, spending a little extra for a big bowl of stew that she gratefully held between her hands when she found a table in the corner of the establishment where she could mope by herself.

Even though it was a hot day, she enjoyed the feeling of hot food warming her stomach. And though she usually enjoyed chatting with strangers she was feeling unusually withdrawn. She watched interactions play out around the room; the couple who looked like they were arguing quietly, the woman who was falling asleep as she poked at her fish, and the guy who was drinking a beer just a table down. He looked pretty young, and a little like her. He had darker skin and thick, black hair, apart from the premature greys around his temples. She wondered if he was from the north, like her. Even if he was, it wouldn't mean he knew anyone she did of course, namely because of her age, but she did enjoy coming up with a made-up past about him in her head for her own entertainment.

And all was going well - until the guy made eye contact with her and noticed her staring.

"Oh! Uh, sorry," she laughed with her teeth grit into an uncomfortable smile. "Spacing out is all," she mumbled.

"No worries," he said casually, smiling back with more sincerity than she had. His gaze drifted down to her bowl and lingered. "Rough day?"

She followed his gaze, not really understanding the correlation between a bad day and good food, but then realized it was probably plain on her face if anything. Lynette had always told her she wasn't very good at hiding her emotions.

"I guess so," she said with a shrug of one shoulder.

"Mm," he hummed with a nod of his head in understanding. "Sorry about that. Hope tomorrow is better for you."

Clandestine nodded, but she didn't really have hopes for tomorrow. She rested her chin in one palm and poked at the remains of her stew. "Yeah," was all she said as she stared out into the tavern. She had expected the conversation to end there. Most conversations did when they came to a lull like that, but then he asked a question.

"What happened? If you don't mind me asking?"

She turned her chin in her palm and looked over at him, her lips pursing into a frown. "Uh," she dropped her eyes. "A friend kind of, uh, left me. On bad terms. It was mostly my fault, really. Or at least, I think it was. I really don't know anymore."

"I'm sure it wasn't entirely your fault," he replied, his sympathy clear in his tone. "But that's awful. I'm sorry they left you. Were you close?"

Clandestine dropped her hand from her chin and went back to cupping her bowl in her hands as she stared down into it.

"I thought we were," she said quietly. "But I guess not. I think he's... different than I expected him to be."

A pause. She looked up to see the guy taking a sip from his drink, only to make awkward eye contact with him again while he was doing so. She cleared her throat and looked away, and he put his cup down abruptly, doing the same.

"Most people are," he said. "Different than you expect, that is."

Clandestine furrowed her brows. "That makes it sound like everyone's a liar."

The guy chuckled. "We all lie in little ways, but who am I to say? Besides, was he a liar?"

Clandestine grinned, trying to join in the laughter, but couldn't.

"Yeah."

There was another lull between them. She was content finishing off her stew and regretting putting so much trust in Matt on the front end of things. She knew she had a tendency to jump into things head first without thinking, but most of the time, they ended alright. Or they did with monster hunting, anyway.

"Have you thought of going to look for him? Were you heading in the same direction?" the guy asked, looking over at her curiously.

That made her laugh. "He barely let me apologize before. I don't think he will again."

"True. I guess I just thought it sounded like you were still needing some closure. And in a big world like this, you might not get a chance to see him again if you don't think he'll stay in town. Was just thinking it might be worth it. If anything, for your sake. But hey," he smiled, shrugging with his glass in his hand. "You didn't ask me for advice, so I'll shut up now."

Clandestine stared at him.

She didn't want to tell him so, but he had a point. If she didn't try to look for him now, while he was still close, the next time she might find him, he could be under a gravestone - or worse, she'd never see him at all. She didn't know exactly what she'd want to say to him, but... she had been wasting all of her time moping when she could've spent that time looking for him. The least she could do was- was give him a piece of her mind! Or at least tell him he looked funny in his hat! Even though... she liked his hat. And his hair. And his smile.

She shook her head and stood up.

"Thank you, random tavern guy," she said with a firm nod.

"I think you're right. I've gotta go now."