Chapter 63 – Day of Rest 8
Darkness still covered the room like a dense, warm, silent blanket. It wasn't the darkness of fear, nor of insomnia. It was the kind that precedes dawn, when the world hasn't yet decided if it wants to wake.
Cody opened his eyes without a jolt. No gasp, no shock, no confusion. Just a slow, deep breath, as if his body had been waiting for that exact moment to return to itself.
The room was silent. No footsteps, no voices, no distant laughter. Only the occasional creak of the wood, as if the building breathed with him.
He stayed lying down for a few seconds, unmoving. Feeling.
And what he felt was… nothing.
No pain.
No stabbing in his side.
No burning in his shoulder.
Just his body. Whole. Silent. Present.
Slowly, he sat up. The sheet fell to his waist, revealing his bare torso. The air was cool, but not cold. His skin prickled slightly, not from discomfort, but from the awareness of being awake.
He placed his hand on his side, where days before he had felt the bear's claw. He touched it carefully, like someone checking a wound that no longer bleeds.
And there it was.
The mark.
Not an open wound.
Not a scab.
Just a faint line, barely visible, as if his body had decided to leave a memory without pain.
He leaned toward the lamp by the bed, but didn't turn it on. He didn't want light yet. He wanted to see with his fingers, with memory.
He ran his hand over his shoulder, where he had taken the blow. Another mark. Rounder. Softer. Like a signature danger had left, but without claiming territory.
He rose slowly, feeling the cold floor under his feet. He walked toward the mirror, guided by the dimness. He didn't need clarity. Just confirmation that he was still himself.
In front of the mirror, he stopped.
His reflection was only a silhouette.
But enough.
His eyes were open, calm.
His face bore traces of fatigue, but not suffering.
His lips… still had a faint tone, as if the lipstick had resisted disappearing completely. He smiled. Not out of vanity. Out of absurdity.
"I'm an emotional battlefield," he murmured.
He turned toward the window. The curtains were closed, but a line of blue light was beginning to filter through the edge. Dawn was near. The world still slept, but was already stirring.
Cody sat on the edge of the bed, back straight, hands on his knees. He breathed deeply. Not to calm himself. To affirm himself.
His body was whole.
His mind… not so much.
He remembered the tree.
The kiss.
The laughter.
The blue mark.
Lindsay's embrace.
Heather's awkward gesture.
Beth's gaze.
And then the silence.
All of it had happened.
All of it was in him.
But now, in that still-dark room, there was no one else.
Just him.
And the marks.
Not as wounds.
But as memory.
He stood again, walked to his backpack. Pulled out a clean shirt, put it on slowly. Then sat on the floor, cross-legged, facing the window.
The sky was beginning to change.
From black to deep blue.
From blue to soft gray.
Soon, the sun would appear.
And with it, noise.
Voices.
Decisions.
But for now, there was silence.
And in that silence, Cody allowed himself something he didn't often do.
To simply be.
Without thinking what to say.
Without planning what to do.
Without worrying who was waiting.
Just being.
He breathed deeply.
Felt the air fill his lungs.
And for the first time in days, he felt no weight.
Not in his body.
Not in his soul.
Just marks.
And that, he thought, was enough.
The sky hadn't yet decided between night and day when Cody left the cabin. The air was fresh, with that scent of damp earth that only appears when the world is silent. No voices. No challenges. Just the crunch of his steps on gravel and the whisper of leaves moving in the wind.
He carried no backpack. No jacket. Just a clean shirt, comfortable pants, and the need to walk.
Not for exercise.
Not for strategy.
Just for distraction.
His feet carried him along the path that circled the camp, skirting the trees, moving away from the cabins. He had no destination. He just wanted to move. To breathe. To think.
And he thought.
First of his body.
Of how it no longer hurt.
Of how the wounds were only soft marks, as if danger had decided to leave him memories without punishment.
Then he thought of his family.
Not the one that birthed him.
But the one now waiting at home.
The parents of this body.
The ones who had welcomed him with affection, though he still didn't fully understand how he fit there.
He remembered the kitchen.
The smell of coffee.
The awkward laughter.
The questions he didn't know how to answer.
And the silence that sometimes became warmer than any word.
He thought of his friends.
The ones he had made since arriving.
Erik, with his adorable clumsiness.
Kevin, always in trouble.
June, with eyes that seemed to read more than she said.
He thought of shared moments.
Of secrets.
Of jokes.
Of the times he felt part of something.
And then, inevitably, he thought of them.
The girls from his home.
The ones who had marked his story.
Roxy, with her explosive energy, contagious laughter, and that look that always felt like a challenge.
Eve, with her soft voice, deep silences, and that sadness that never fully left.
Mia, with her firm sweetness, unbreakable loyalty, and that way of hugging that seemed to stop time.
Becca, with her sharp intelligence, elegant sarcasm, and that way of protecting without anyone noticing.
Each had been a universe.
Each had taught him something.
And now, far from them, in a camp where challenges were physical and emotional, he wondered what they would think if they saw him now.
With marks on his skin.
With kisses on his lips.
With a bear in his history.
With a girl in his mind.
Would they recognize him?
Would they understand him?
Would they miss him?
He stopped by a large tree, leaning his back against the trunk. Looked up at the sky, where blue was beginning to take over. The stars would fade, one by one, as if retreating to make room for the sun.
Cody closed his eyes.
And for a moment, he allowed himself to feel.
Without nostalgia.
Without sadness.
Solitary gratitude.
For having lived.
For still being alive.
For having memories worth keeping.
And for being here, in this new chapter, with new people, new challenges, and new ways to love.
The wind blew stronger.
And Cody smiled.
Not for what he had lost.
But for what he could still build.
---
The sky was beginning to turn orange when Cody returned from his walk. The cool dawn air still clung to the trees, but the heat of the day was already hinting at the horizon. His steps were calm, unhurried. His body felt light, as if the bear's marks, the tangled emotions, and the unexpected kisses had been left behind… at least for a while.
He entered the cabin without making a sound. The others were still asleep, wrapped in their own internal battles and confused dreams. Cody took off his shirt, dropped it onto the chair, and headed to the bathroom with a towel over his shoulder.
The shower greeted him with steam and silence.
Hot water fell across his back like a long caress, washing away the dust of the path, the sweat of the night, and the remnants of lipstick that still resisted disappearing. He looked at himself in the fogged mirror, tracing a line with his finger across the glass. His reflection appeared slowly, as if it too needed time to return.
The scars were there.
Not as wounds.
But as medals.
He washed his hair, scrubbed his arms, stayed under the stream for a while, letting the water do its work. He wasn't thinking of Gwen. Nor Heather. Nor Lindsay. Only of the coffee he hoped to find in the dining hall. And of the Chef, who was probably already awake, grumbling about something.
He left the bathroom with damp hair, a clean shirt, and an energy that didn't come from rest, but from clarity. He felt good. Not perfect. But good.
The dining hall was almost empty.
Sunlight streamed through the windows, painting the floor in golden tones. The air smelled of fresh coffee, toasted bread, and something else… something the Chef had cooked without following any official recipe, as always.
Cody walked in with a relaxed stride, drying his hair with the towel. At the back, sitting at a table by the window, was the Chef. Not cooking. Not shouting. Just having breakfast. A cup of coffee in one hand and a plate of eggs in the other.
Cody stopped at the entrance, feigning indignation.
"So this time you didn't make me coffee? After everything I suffered? The claws, the drama, the kisses?" Cody said theatrically.
The Chef looked up, still chewing. A smile appeared on his face, more sincere than sarcastic.
"I thought you'd still be in bed. Bear claws aren't exactly a relaxing massage," the Chef replied, voice rough but amused.
Cody approached, dropping the towel on a chair. Then he struck a pose, one hand on his hip and the other pointing at his face.
"I couldn't stay there. The world needs my presence. And now I've got more style. Look at these marks. I'm like an upgraded version of myself," Cody said, exaggerated.
The Chef let out a dry chuckle. "Upgraded? With lipstick on your lips and scars on your side?" he said, pointing with his spoon.
"Exactly. I'm like a graphic novel hero. Tragic, attractive, and emotionally complicated," Cody said, sitting across from him.
The Chef poured him a cup of coffee without another word. Cody accepted it gratefully, inhaling the aroma like part of a resurrection ritual.
"How'd you sleep?" the Chef asked, cutting a piece of egg.
"Like a champion. No pain. No nightmares. Just me, silence, and a smile I don't know where it came from," Cody replied, sipping.
The Chef glanced sideways. "Where do you think?" he said, inquisitive.
Cody shrugged. "Maybe from the treehouse. Maybe from the girls. Maybe from the bear. Or maybe… from me," Cody said, smiling calmly.
The Chef nodded, like someone who knew he didn't need to say more.
Cody settled in, sipping more coffee.
"You know what's strangest?" Cody said, looking out the window.
"What?" asked the Chef, without looking up.
"That after everything… I feel good. Not perfect. But good. Like something's fallen into place," Cody said reflectively.
The Chef handed him toast. "Then eat. Because whatever's coming will knock it out of place again," he said, half-smiling.
Cody laughed, taking the toast.
The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of silence only shared by people who've seen each other at their worst. The Chef didn't ask about Gwen, Heather, or Lindsay. And Cody didn't offer details. They just shared coffee, bread, and the certainty that the day hadn't truly begun yet.
"You know what I thought this morning?" Cody said, breaking the silence.
"What?" the Chef replied, still eating.
"That I'd rather fight the bear again than the girls," Cody said dramatically.
The Chef let out a dry laugh. "Everyone says that. Until the bear shows up with lipstick and jealousy," he said, pointing at Cody's lips.
"Don't joke about that! I've got enough emotional confusion without imagining that," Cody said, feigning horror.
"Then stop posing like a protagonist. And start eating like one," the Chef said, pushing the plate of eggs toward him.
Cody took another sip of coffee, gazing out the window.
The sun was already up.
And the day had officially begun.
The dining hall was still calm when Cody finished his coffee. Sunlight was streaming through the windows, and the air filled with the murmur of the first footsteps in camp. The Chef stood, stretching his arms as if the day weighed on him before it even began.
"Are you going to help me, or did you just come to steal coffee?" the Chef said, half-smiling.
"Depends. Are there cookies?" Cody replied, rising with the cup still in hand.
"There are eggs, bread, and a mountain of work. So move your ass," the Chef said, heading to the kitchen.
Cody followed, grabbing an apron hanging from a hook. He tied it on with exaggerated style, like it was battle armor.
"Ready for war," Cody said, tightening the knot.
"More like ready to clean grease," the Chef replied, firing up the stove.
They began preparing ingredients. Eggs, onion, peppers, ham. The Chef chopped with precision, while Cody peeled potatoes with a technique that left much to be desired.
"Do you know not all heroes cook?" Cody said, looking at his battered potato peeler.
"And not all cooks survive bears," replied the Chef, without lifting his gaze.
Cody laughed. "You're going to keep bringing that up?"
"You think I'll forget you faced a bear with a stick and an intense stare?" the Chef said, tossing peppers into the pan.
"It was more than a stare. There was strategy. And shouting. And a little desperation," Cody said, dropping the potatoes into water.
"And girls. Don't forget the girls," the Chef said, flipping the pan.
Cody paused. "Yeah. Gwen and Heather were there."
The Chef looked at him seriously for the first time. "Why did you do it? For Gwen?"
Cody thought for a moment. "Not just for her. It was for both. Gwen was trapped. Heather was screaming. I couldn't stay still. I couldn't watch them in danger and wait for someone else to act."
The Chef nodded, saying nothing for a few seconds. Then went back to chopping onions.
"That says a lot about you," the Chef said, voice lower.
"What do you mean?" Cody asked, curious.
"That you're an idiot with values. The good kind. The kind that doesn't cook easily," the Chef said, dropping the onions into the pan.
Cody smirked. "Is that a compliment?"
"It's the closest you'll get from me," the Chef said, without looking up.
The sound of sizzling oil filled the space. Cody began whisking eggs in a bowl while the Chef prepared the pan.
"You know what's strangest?" Cody said, mixing.
"What?" asked the Chef.
"That I didn't think. I just jumped in. And now that I think about it… I don't know if it was bravery or stupidity," Cody said.
"It was instinct. And instinct isn't judged. It's recognized," the Chef said.
Cody leaned against the counter. "If it had been another friend, I'd have done the same. It wasn't just about them. It's about not leaving anyone behind."
The Chef looked at him. "Even if it wasn't someone close?"
"Yes. Even if it was someone I barely talked to. If they're in danger, if I can do something… I do it," Cody said.
The Chef nodded. "That's not common. Most wait for someone else to act."
"I don't know how to wait," Cody said, with a sad smile.
"And what pushes you for each of them?" asked the Chef.
Cody stayed silent. Then spoke slowly.
"Gwen… she sees me. Not as the drama guy. She sees me like she knows there's something more. And that makes me want to be that something."
The Chef nodded. "And Heather?"
"She doesn't trust easily. But when she does, she does with everything. And if someone breaks that… she breaks. I couldn't allow it," Cody said.
The Chef flipped the pan on the griddle. "And Lindsay?"
Cody smiled faintly. "Lindsay feels more than she shows. And when she shows, it's without filter. She hugged me like the world was ending. How could I not protect that?"
The Chef stayed silent. Then plated the food.
"So it wasn't for one. It was for all," the Chef said.
"Yes," Cody replied.
"And for you," the Chef added.
Cody looked at him. "For me?"
"Because you needed to know you could do it. That you were more than the likable guy. That you could carry something bigger," the Chef said.
Cody lowered his gaze. "Maybe so."
The Chef handed him a plate. "Then eat. Because what's coming will demand even more."
Cody took the plate, but didn't eat right away.
"Do you think they know?" Cody asked.
"What?" said the Chef.
"That I did it for them. That I'd do it again," Cody said.
The Chef looked at him. "Maybe they don't know yet. But they'll feel it. And that matters more."
The bread was golden, the eggs beaten, and the aroma of breakfast began to fill the dining hall. Cody and the Chef worked in sync, as if the kitchen were a stage and the two of them the only actors aware the curtain hadn't yet risen.
Cody lined up plates while the Chef flipped tortillas with precision. Steam rose like a soft mist, and sunlight filtered through the window, painting the kitchen in warm tones.
"You know what's going to happen when my family sees this?" Cody said, breaking the silence.
The Chef didn't answer immediately. He just raised an eyebrow, still moving the spatula.
"What?" he finally asked.
"Everything. The bear. The girls. The kisses. The scars. The poses. The lines. Everything," Cody said, leaning on the counter.
The Chef let out a dry laugh. "They'll think you're in a soap opera."
Cody blushed, but didn't answer right away. As he peeled a potato clumsily, his mind drifted back to those days before it all began. He didn't say it aloud. Didn't explain. But it was there, like a silent root holding up his words.
He had been at home. In his house. With his parents. With their routines. With their silences. Everything familiar, but also… distant. Not from lack of love, but from lack of time. From lack of presence.
"My mom's going to go into interrogation mode. I know it. I can see it," Cody said, with a nervous smile.
"What's she like?" asked the Chef, without mockery.
Cody stayed quiet for a moment. Then spoke slowly.
"She works a lot. Always busy. Always has something in her hands. But when she stops… when she sits with me… you can tell. She looks at me like she wants to recover all the time she wasn't there. And even if she doesn't say it, I know she loves me. I feel it."
He didn't say it just to say it. He said it because he had seen it. Because he had lived it. Because in those days, between solitary breakfasts and reheated dinners, he had learned to read love in gestures that didn't always come with words.
The Chef nodded. "And your dad?"
"He works nonstop too. Sometimes I don't see him all day. But when he shows up, he leaves me something. A gesture. A phrase. A 'how's it going?' that seems simple, but carries weight. He's not very expressive, but when he hugs me… you can tell he doesn't want to let go," Cody said.
The Chef plated the eggs. "So they do see you. Even if they're not there."
"Yes. But not always. There are days when I'm alone. When the house is full of silence. And I stay there, waiting for someone to arrive. For someone to ask," Cody said.
"And do they?" asked the Chef.
"Yes. But late. And I've learned not to wait. To carry myself. To cook for myself. To talk to myself. To write things I don't show," Cody said.
The Chef looked at him with respect. "Does that weigh on you?"
Cody thought. "Not like before. It doesn't hurt anymore. But it marks me. Makes me look for signals in others. Makes me read gestures. Makes me want to be there for others, because I know what it's like when they're not there for you."
The Chef stayed silent. Then spoke.
"That explains a lot."
"What?" Cody asked.
"Why you ran at the bear. Why you didn't hesitate. Why you throw yourself in for others like you're filling a void," the Chef said.
Cody lowered his gaze. "Maybe so. Maybe that's it."
The Chef poured coffee into a jug. "And how was it before all this started?"
Cody didn't answer with dates. Didn't say "the month before the show." He just let the memories speak for him.
"It was… calm. But also lonely. I was there, at home, and everything worked. But something wasn't moving. Like I was waiting for something to start. For something to call me."
The Chef placed the plates on the counter. "And do you think your parents will understand what you did here?"
"Maybe not. Maybe they'll just watch the show and say 'that's our son.' And laugh. And worry. And hug. And then keep working. But me… I'll know they saw me. Even if just for a moment," Cody said.
The Chef handed him a napkin. "Then wipe your marks. And get ready. Because what's coming won't cook easily."
Cody took the napkin, wiped his lips, and smiled.
"I'm ready. Even if I don't look it," Cody said.
The Chef looked at him. "That's what matters."