7 / knit
Sooner than expected, they're running out of money. He watches her grapple with the reality of being human with such grace. Unlike her vampire friends, she can't seem to unlock the secret to bottomless wealth and worry-free spending. Motel 6 is a luxury, licorice is an indulgence. By his estimation, they won't be able to afford either after one more week.
Kai has more money by rights back home, but as things are he doesn't have access to it, and it would be a pain to ask for until he can visit Portland and settle some affairs. Meanwhile, he just wants her to feel stuck with him. But he proves himself a good provider.
At a gas station, as usual, she fills the tank and he buys the snacks. When he comes back to the car, he has her red vines and a blue piece of paper clamped between his teeth.
Ignoring the wet stain of his dental record on the paper, she reads as they sit and shiver in the winter of her car. Rather than tear off one of the phone number tabs provided at the bottom, he tore the entire flyer down from the corkboard. "Limit their options," he says, grinning slyly.
She doesn't smile back, but it's in her eyes. At the look of it, he can feel his slyness slide away and he's just smiling at her. Like an idiot.
"This could work," she says.
"Yeah?"
Even if it is doubtful, her approval feels so fucking gratifying it gives him full-body tingles. He smacks his knees just to have an outlet. He can't be seen tingling in front of her.
"Should we call them?"
"I already did. The guy says he can meet us at some little shop, next town over. It's like a general store, or something. That's where they sell it."
"You didn't lie to them, did you?"
"I might've mentioned we have a little experience."
"Kai!"
"What? It can't be that hard. Anyway, if we don't figure something out, we could be sleeping in the car soon. I don't know about you, but I need warmth to survive. I mean, I guess we could spoon to stay warm, but—"
"Shush, I get it. I know. We need jobs."
The image of spooning Bonnie in the backseat while their breaths fog up the car distracts him for a second. Hot.
"You really think we can do this?"
"Hm? Oh, for sure. And if we fail, we could always just head back to Portland. Shack up at the old homestead."
"Yeah, I'm good," she says.
She starts the engine and warm air rushes at them from the dashboard.
"Five bedrooms and a whole lotta land, I'm just sayin."
"There's no way in hell I'm ever going back to that place."
"Your call. I personally just love the way hotel showers always run cold."
"Well if we get this job, we won't have to worry about that for a few months, will we?"
"I doubt a cabin made of Lincoln logs will be much better."
"At least we won't have to deal with other people," she mutters, checking the rearview mirror. The way she rubs her lips together to spread her chapstick doesn't escape his notice.
"Oh, I almost forgot," he says, reaching into his back pocket. "You're gonna have to wear this." He works out the little plastic capsule he scored from the quarter machines and holds it up between his fingers, leaving the blood red cap on for the nuance of it all.
"Will you marry me?" he breathes, overly dramatic yet only half-joking.
She eyes the cheap ring in the plastic bubble with the foulest of frowns.
"I might've also mentioned we're a married couple," he explains.
The punch she delivers to his upper arm is painful, but just to make her angry he reacts as though ticklish to punches. He'll take her abuse as an optimistic maybe.
"What is wrong with you?"
"Old people trust married couples more than single youths."
"Sure, unless your wife shows up with her husband dead in the passenger seat. How's that for trustworthy?"
"Go ahead, call them back and tell them we're just friends, we might as well show up with a suitcase full of doobies and condoms and a bunch of Motörhead CDs."
"I swear to god, what I wouldn't give to sever the connection between you and your coven right now so I could just end you. And we are not friends."
"Oof, I miss you talking dirty to me, baby."
It happens in just a fraction of a second, so quick it might go unnoticed if he wasn't paying attention, but her eyes flick down in disgust to where he bites his lip and he can't help but feel checked out.
"How do condoms fall into your category of criminal possessions?" she asks, bemused, if not entirely put off by him like she usually is.
"Do you really have to ask?"
She doesn't seem pleased by this response.
He squeals his chip bag open and pushes his luck a little further.
"If we're not friends, does that make us enemies with benefits?" he asks, tossing a handful of bugles into his mouth and chewing loudly. The face she makes is priceless, but she doesn't respond. And that's fine with him. He knows he isn't her favorite person, but he isn't dumb. He has a sense of what they are. What they're becoming. He pipes down as she shifts into drive, grumbling something unintelligible to herself as they roll out onto the highway.
Give her time, he thinks to himself. One day soon she'll realize that he's growing on her like a cyst she can't get rid of. He'll knit himself so inextricably into her physiology, she'll begin to feel like she can't live without him. He's done this to girls before. Before he ditched them. He was once quite good at making breakups painful, punishment for some slight or other. Making them want him the most just before he cuts them off completely.
He knows what he's doing. The only difference is, for all her slights on him, he doesn't plan on ditching Bonnie ever again.