Free Inconsolable by Ainslie Paton

drifting. She should’ve gotten to her feet and gone home. But he’d settled beside her after spending hours so far apart, isolated in body and spirit from her, locked in whatever private space he inhabited where living in a cave made sense, and having it trashed didn’t make you feel outraged. After showing such anxiety about being touched, out of nowhere he was there offering his shoulder.
    It’d felt like the most amazing gift. More immaculate than the sunrise. She could’ve roused herself, but he was warm and he smelled like spicy raisin toast, she couldn’t not lean toward him, take the strength of him as her pillow. To reject his offer of comfort would be sacrilege.
    But now it felt like mystical thinking, such stupidity. He might’ve done anything to her and she’d have had no way to fight him off.
    He didn’t slouch last night, curl into himself like he’d done when they first met. He’d been surprised, distracted, threatened. He’d stood tall, and he was imposing in a way she’d not fully grasped before. She’d remembered him as less somehow and then been stunned to realise he was more, and then staggered with how gentle he was, how hesitant to be near her, as though he didn’t trust himself.
    She needed to remember he was different, not easily categorised for convenience, likely troubled and because of that she could never be sure of him.
    She pulled his hoodie off and as it brushed her face, she caught a fruity toasty scent again amidst the salt. She rolled her neck and redid her ponytail, then eased her way to standing past the cricks and creaks inspired by her hard bed.
    The cave was a shambles. A tidy one, but there was nothing of the organisation and purpose he’d created there. All his books had been destroyed. The camp bed was in pieces. He couldn’t cook, he had no clothing, nothing to keep him warm for winter when it came.
    And there was no comfort in wondering how this had happened. She’d spent hours waiting, texting her last A-okay to Nat at midnight, wondering whether Drum had done this himself, and she’d never see him again.
    Part of her hoped he’d moved on to somewhere safer, somewhere better, part of her desperate to lay eyes on him to know if he’d been caught up in a bad scene and was hurt.
    Once it was clear Drum was confused by his trashed cave, she’d had a terrible moment of doubt. It would be nothing for a ranger or a maintenance worker to come here and do this. But it would’ve been more efficient to simply cart the stuff away, trashing it made a shocking statement. Made her feel slightly sick.
    She searched for her bag and found it crammed between the tarp and the ledge she’d sat on for the first half of the night. It felt strange leaving without saying goodbye to Drum. It felt strange having that thought. What she needed most was to say goodbye to him.
    She sent a text to Nat—checking in, knowing she’d cop an earful when they spoke—went home, showered and made it to the office on time.
    She spent Friday trying not to let her suspicions run her emotions all over the place. She made some discreet enquiries about Drum. Nothing that satisfied. It was Adro’s shout for coffee and she had a planning meeting over lunch and they got triangle sandwiches in, so it wasn’t till she was ready to leave for the day she noticed her wallet was missing.
    It could be in the car. It could be in the flat. She borrowed a fifty from Hugh just in case it didn’t show up, knowing Nat was good for another fifty, and that would hold her over if her wallet didn’t turn up, and the first time she could get inside a bank was Monday.
    It wasn’t in the car. She beat Nat home. It had to be somewhere in the flat. Somewhere not so obvious, because it wasn’t on the kitchen bench, or the table, or the hallstand. She ditched work gear for a pair of comfy old denim shorts and a t-shirt, too