Chapter 6

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The days were getting colder, and with that came a lot more pain than previous. Not to mention the added pain from simply reopening it. I was getting less and less sleep each night until I couldn't sleep at all. So, Rosé and I made a combined decision to wait until I was better to find the police station. And by combined, I mean she made the decision. I watched as she climbed the fire escapes to the top floor of an apartment building and kick the window in so she could get in. I followed her through the broken glass after her sweep and took in the small flat I was now occupying.

 In it was a couch, a TV, a small kitchen, and a hallway, which led to a bedroom and bathroom. It was nicely decorated, and looked to be owned by someone with a decent amount of money, especially considering the size of the apartment. Rosé raided the kitchen for food, checked to see if there was electricity(there wasn't) and dragged in everything from the truck as I laid on the couch, trying to rest my eyes. She brought the notebook too, which was my cue to start on inventory.

I had it opened to a clean page on my lap, but my hands were folded across my chest like I couldn't move. My eyes felt heavy, though I couldn't close them, and my head felt next to split open. When did I last sleep again? Rosé sighs a few feet away from me, dumping the last of our supplies onto the floor.

"Okay, that's everything from the back, other than the bike. Get to writing, Os."

I reluctantly sit up and pull myself off the couch and onto the floor, which takes a considerable amount of strength. Rosé sits beside me and starts organizing things, from our clothes to our portable stove and food. She's particularly interested in the weapons, which would be the obvious thing she'd be attracted to.

"So, I was thinking. We need to have some way of holding these things. Keeping your knife in your pocket isn't the safest thing to do. And anyways you need a more ranged weapon, a knife isn't going to do shit until you're close enough to get torn to shreds."

I keep writing as she fiddles with my old baseball bat, trying to fit it in a stray arrow sheath we found, which was useless considering we didn't have a bow or arrows. It fits pretty nicely, all things considered.

"You could use this, it's a lot easier to manage." She mumbles, trying to sling it around her. The string is too tight. If I could carry it at all, I'd have to tie it to something. 

I glare at her, which makes her grin.

"Who's the running-man and who's the kung-fu master?"

"You never studied kung-fu, Rose," I deadpan.

"It was a joke. I'm just saying, I know how to control things like that. You know how to run around really fast. A bat's going to be a lot easier to use and it's more effective than the knife, which, like I just said, is too short."

I write down a few more items before I reply.

"What about a gun? I mean, we have two."

Rosé puts the bat back inside her bag of goodies and pushes it away, laying down, pulling her legs onto my lap. I shift to be more comfortable and lay the notebook on her legs.

"If all goes well we won't have to use the guns much more, Os. But yeah you can use one when you're better."

I start to protest but think better of it. I've seen those things in action, the kickback can knock a bastard out, and with my arm, I would at least break my nose after one shot.

As I continue writing everything that we have, Rosé yawns and drifts off. I let her sleep, even after the list is done, which takes about twenty minutes to finish. I try to lean my head back to get to sleep but I can't get into a position that isn't painful. That, and my mind is preoccupied with, well, everything. So instead of sleeping like I so desperately need, I open the notebook again and start to draw. 

The first things I doodle are just random things around me. I draw the pile of our things and an interpretation of the painting on the wall, then a few sketches of random people I can dream up. Then I draw Rosé, which is practically muscle memory at this point, considering how much I've drawn her in the past, especially high school when I couldn't find anyone else to model for me.

I've started on the details of the sketch when she stirrs. I turn the book to a new page as she sits up and stretches, her stomach showing slightly when she lifts her arms. I clear my throat.

"How was your nap?" 

Rosé shrugs and moves to sit next to me, her legs are off my lap but our thighs are touching and her head is on my shoulder. Suddenly I'm grateful for the cold air coming in through the window. 

"Didn't really sleep. It was more like my eyes were closed and I was resting. But I didn't sleep."

She flips the page to my drawings and chuckles. 

"Got a little crush on me, Os?" She teases, poking at my side. My stomach does a flip.

"We are not bringing that up again. That was eleventh grade!"

She starts to laugh, and I can't help but smile from the infectious sound. She turns and looks at me in the eye. We're close enough that I can see the different shades of cloudy blue in her eye and the near black rim around the deep brown of her other eye. I hear the familiar beating of my heart in my ears and turn back to my notebook.

"So I think we should update what we know. In the book, I mean." I say, picking the pen up and tapping it against the page.

"Sure," Rosé says. "I mean, we did make some important discoveries. Like how they don't know how to use things properly."

"And we need a name for them. It's better than calling them things, or something like that."

I write down everything I can remember about them while Rosé thinks about new names for them. 

"Infected, monsters, gross." She thinks out loud. I laugh and write them down. Rosé glances over my shoulder and sighs.

"Damn, it's almost dark."

I turn to the window and see what she's talking about. It must be about five or so, but the sun is setting.

"Do you want to stay up, I can turn on some of the flashlights," Rosé says, reaching for the pile. I shake my head.

"No, we should at least try to sleep. No use wasting the batteries when there are perfectly good beds."

She shrugs in agreement and stands, offering her hand for support. I hold onto her as I stand, making sure I don't move my arm too much. She leads me into the master bedroom and moves into the closet to find, or, well, steal something to change into for bed. I simply strip down to my boxers and tee-shirt, slide into the bed that isn't mine,  take two pillows from the top of the bed and put them at the foot of it. One is for my head, and the other, my arm, so I don't hurt it. I lay, facing the wall until I hear the closet door open and close. 

I feel the bed buckle a little as Rosé climbs in and positions herself to sleep.

"Goodnight, Ozzy." 

"Night, Rose."

I don't sleep at all, but it's not just the pain that keeps me up.

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