I’m angry, but I don’t know why.

It’s not directed at Mia, I know that much. She didn’t mean anything by coming into my room. Truth is, I’m embarrassed of the empty bottles, and I don’t want her to see all the newspaper clippings. I don’t need her to see how badly the accident is breaking me inside, and how obsessed I really was over it for a long time.

I’m actually better than I used to be, although it’s probably hard to believe. I find it hard to believe myself. I drank a lot more back then, and before I had this house built, I floated around between shitty motels. I did drugs, fucked random women, and lived a hard life. At least until I decided that I needed to go to prison.

Which is why I had this place built. I couldn’t go to the real cops, because the bastards that sent the bomb would catch me and kill me. Instead, I made a prison of my own design and moved into it, and I’ve been here ever since.

I thought it was over. I thought I could run from the world and be okay. For a little while, I was. The mountain and the solitude were good for me. I was happy with nothing but Jones and nature.

But eventually after a few months, I started drinking again, and drinking a lot. I think I agreed to do the magazine profile, not out of loyalty to Murray, but because I wanted to do something to save my own life.

Maybe it’s working. I don’t know. I haven’t been dinking as much as I was, not since I met with Mia that first night. Things haven’t been easy, but they haven’t been too hard. I’ve been managing. If I hadn’t done something, I know I would have drank myself to death alone out here, with nobody but my dog to mourn me.

Another early morning. I head outside and into the generator shed. The working generators are humming along nicely, and so I get to work, trying to fix the busted fuel line. It’d be great to get Wi-Fi and some of the other non-essentials back up again. Fortunately I was smart enough to consider the movie room essential, though that’s the only entertainment that’s getting any power right now.

Mia checks in on me once or twice, but mostly she stays inside. I don’t blame her. It’s bitterly cold out today, well below freezing. I could feel ice forming on my beard as I walked over here. I need to make sure Jones doesn’t stay out too long.

I think letting Mia stay here was a mistake. Actually, I know it was a mistake. She wants me to trust her, to tell her the truth about what I did, and I want to. That’s the scary part: I want to tell a journalist my darkest secret. But I’m not afraid for myself.

I’m afraid for her. I don’t know what they’ll do to her if they find out that she knows. They’ll do anything to keep their little secret, to make sure that I don’t talk, which is why that accident happened to begin with. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I got someone else that I cared about killed.

Most of the day passes like this. Although I didn’t really think it could be done, I manage to get the fuel line up and running again. I bring in some new gas, refill the generator, and power it up.

The thing works. I laugh to myself and shut down the backup generator, grinning as I head toward the house. I slow down before I go inside though, wondering what the hell I’m going to do now.

I can’t let myself get this comfortable. I feel so guilty, but I know it’s a mistake to get close to Mia. I keep thinking about her body, that kiss last night, the way she feels when I fuck her. It makes my goddamn blood boil with desire, and that’s what pushes me away. She wants to get in my head, learn all my secrets, but I don’t know if she even understands what that means.

She’ll think I’m a monster. If I tell her the truth, why those men died that day, she’ll think I’m evil. And I’ll deserve it, but I don’t know if I can handle that.

I take a deep breath and let it out. I head inside, stomping the snow off my boots, mind spinning, trying to decide what to do.

Something smells good. I head into the kitchen and Mia grins at me.

“Hungry?” she asks.

I stare at the food. She prepared sautéed vegetables, some chicken, and even made what looks like soup.

“It smells really good,” I say. “You did all this?”

She shrugs. “I can cook.”

“Wow.” I laugh a little bit. “This is really great.”

Suddenly all my anger melts away. All my resistance, my confusion, it just disappears.

“Take a seat,” she says. “I’m almost done.”

She pours me a whisky as I sit. I can’t stop smiling as she bustles around the kitchen. She looks fucking gorgeous, her long hair loose around her back. She brings over some dishes and serves everything out before sitting down at the island across from me.

“Go ahead,” she says.

I take a bite, and it’s delicious. “Wow,” I say.

She grins and digs in as well.

“Thanks for this,” I say.

“I figured you’d need a hot meal after working out there.”

“This is exactly what I needed,” I say. “And I got the generator working.”

She perks up. “Really?”

“Really. I mean, it’s a hack, but I think it’ll be okay until I can get it repaired for real.”

“That’s so great!”

Without thinking, she leans across the table, and kisses me. I kiss her back, and when we finish, she sits back in her chair, blushing.

“Sorry,” she says, after a minute. “I don’t know where that came from.”

“It’s okay,” I say. “I liked it.”

She smiles, still blushing, and starts eating.

I watch her for a second and sip my whisky. I wonder why I was angry, or why I ever questioned this. Sitting here with her, having a meal, this feels good. And kissing her feels right. Frankly, it all feels fucking right, and maybe that should scare me. Or maybe I should just accept it, embrace it, and let myself feel decent for once.

I’ve been punishing myself for so long, it’s like I’ve forgotten how to be happy. But just seeing Mia like this, smiling and laughing, it’s slowly bringing that part of me back. I’m slowly awakening to what it’s like to be happy again, and it feels so good. Even a simple gesture like someone cooking a meal for me is a total revelation after being out here alone for so long.

Maybe it’s not so wrong of me, to be happy with her. Maybe I can be decent again, if I just let myself. But I have to tell her the truth, sooner or later, and let her decide if she wants to be with a man like me.