[15]

A Lesson In Respect

"And if I don't shut up?"

   She didn't respond. Just sat there, staring past the windshield. Wade huffed a breath through his nostrils and moved to turn the radio on, but Skipper slapped his hand away with a force he didn't know she possessed.

  "Ow! What the heck?!" He whined.

   "Don't 'what the heck' me, Mister," she growled, finally turning to look at him. "Seriously. I do not pay you to insult me."

   "So don't pay me. I'll insult you for free. Anyway, you sound like one of those snobby princesses."

   "That's not the point!" She screamed, and the sound rattled in his ears so much it actually caused him to swerve a little. Wade liked loud music, yes, but being screamed at was much different than listening to someone scream. Some would argue that both were unpleasant, though quite honestly, he would always opt for the latter; he hated being screamed or yelled at.

   "What is the point, then?" He hissed through clenched teeth, grip tight on the wheel. 

   "I'm starting to wonder that myself," she spat. "Maybe you should just be passive, y'know, treat me like the stranger that I am. Don't assume that just because you're my travel companion, you're also welcome to make insensitive jokes about my condition. I'm well aware that I am dying, Captain Obvious. I don't need you to remind me every two sentences. Seriously, if you hate this job so much, why did you even take it?"

   Wade glanced away to focus on the road instead, pretending he didn't hear her. His pride wouldn't let him be honest, therefore he refused to say anything. 

   Skipper waited for him to answer. When he didn't, she flipped the lock on her door. "Pull over," she ordered. "I want to get out."

   "No."

   "Yes."

   "Don't make me put it on child's lock," he warned, a growl entering his tone. Skipper unbuckled and reached for the door handle. 

   "Let me out."

   "No."

   "Fine, then. I'll just jump. You want me dead anyway, though I really don't know what I ever did to you. We hardly know each other."

   He felt like she was pouring lava and hot oil over his body with every word; her speech stung in places he didn't know his mind was wounded. He clenched his teeth and wondered if maybe, for once in his life, he should be the bigger person and swallow his ego. Maybe it would be like swallowing an Eggo. Kinda crunchy but syrupy. 

   Doable. Not too miserable. Right?

   Though it went against his pride, he took a deep breath and apologized to her. He told her he didn't want her dead, and that he was sorry for the macabre jokes. He tried not to make excuses for his dark humor.

   Skipper merely raised an eyebrow and stopped trying to open the door. Silence fell over the vehicle, and Charles didn't even dare disturb it with his sticky tongue. His early morning shenanigans must've worn him out.

   Finally, as they were nearing the beach, Skipper spoke. "If you really mean it, I forgive you. Just try to think before you speak. I'm tougher on the outside than I am inside."

   He wanted to argue with her, to tell her that her insides were probably quite strong too—seeing as this was her third bout with cancer—but instead he held his tongue and gave a simple nod in response. His insides churned with remorse. How could he have so carelessly ruined her good mood like that? She'd clearly been feeling sick yesterday. 

   "I can stay here if you'd rather enjoy the beach yourself," Wade offered once they had secured a parking space. "I'll let you borrow the Polaroid if you like."

   "Don't be a suck-up," she shook her head at him, purple messy bun bobbing slightly. "I would just appreciate it if you'd try to tolerate me, at the very least." 

Wade raised his eyebrows. "I thought I was tolerating you."

She shot him a look. "That does not include insulting me."

"But why can't you take a joke?"

"Because it's not a joke! That's why! Do you know how hard it is to keep a positive mindset about my illness when someone is constantly dropping subtle—or, in your case, blatant—reminders of my weakness? Of my potential to just...CEASE?"

Wade's breath caught because he knew—he knew—what it was like to be sucked into hopelessness. She just kept hitting the nail on the head, driving it home. It hurt. The truth really did hurt.

He could ignore it, but the pain would be worse once that nail was ripped out to be replaced by a screw, would it not?

"I'm sorry. I'll try not to be so dark around you. I thought being able to joke about that kind of stuff was a good thing."

She sighed and opened her door, hopping to the pavement. "Let's drop it for now, okay? I don't know how sick I'll feel tomorrow or if I'll even wake up for there to be a tomorrow. I want to enjoy today and not waste it arguing with you."

Wade shrugged. "So don't argue with me."

"You make that very difficult," she sighed, raising an eyebrow and snatching his camera. "C'mon. Let's go before those...whales decide to maroon themselves."

"That is a nasty image you've painted in my mind. Yuck. How dare you." He scowled, locking the car. Charles was asleep, and he'd be fine with the windows open a bit. Wade had left him some water in case he got thirsty.

   "You kinda deserve it, not gonna lie," Skipper informed him as she proceeded to the water's edge. He knew she was right and said nothing, instead following at a distance and allowing her to enjoy the beautiful day. 

   Every hour he'd check on Charles, and let him out for a stretch and something to eat. Surprisingly, the anteater didn't seem to mind being cooped up.

   As penance for his crimes (which, in truth, had been initiated by her busting into his room at the crack of dawn), Wade left a towel and umbrella out for her as well as some cold drinks. He figured the time they spent here would be sobering enough to allow a little alcohol. 

   He let her bury him in the sand and take pictures. Lots of pictures. He allowed her to tease him for being "doughy" (which he was not; he just didn't have a six-pack), and he helped her collect seashells for a necklace she wanted to make. 

   When it was dark, Skipper asked Wade if he'd take some aesthetic moonlight swimming photos of her. He did his best, though at this point he'd grown exhausted from behaving so well and let a few comments slip about her glow-in-the dark hair. 

   "You're just jealous," was all she replied.