Awakening in a bed was a strange feeling.
I didn't like it.
It was too comfortable. Dangerously comfortable. If I didn't get out now, I never would.
I crawled out (in the process, redefining the word groggy) and trudged downstairs to Chelsea's room.
She greeted me with an overwhelmingly unexpected torrent of exuberant energy. She announced that if I was hungry, there was a whole kitchen upstairs that was ours for the taking.
These words roused Scrib, who'd been sleeping on the couch in the living room. We bounded upstairs to the kitchen, and for a moment, we could only gawk. Food seemed to pour from every cupboard and drawer in sight. The counters were laden with fruit and an abnormal amount of fresh cakes.
We had so many choices, we couldn't decide what to make.
In our confusion, we tossed a whole bunch of random shit into a pot, selectively spiced it, and chowed down.
Having finished our meal, we began receiving vulgar texts from our lost travel buddy, Fernweh. He'd grown sick of Rose, he was telling us that he wanted to pawn her off on us and get rid of her before he ended up killing someone.
We needed to come get her.
What?!
No way! It wasn't our fault that they'd ditched us two days early and we'd ended up taking different routes. Fernweh had been on the road for far longer than I had, he knew that travel groups rarely stick together.
If he was so tired of her, they could come to Vernon and he could leave afterward.
Besides, we were already planning to go to the beach. This, however, turned out perfectly: the beach was halfway between Vernon and Kelowna, where Fernweh was staying for the night with his father.
His dad offered the two of them a ride, and we were left with the promise of reunion. Fernweh, too, was left with a promise: he would be unshackled from the chains of Rose.
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