Read more of Ella at The End Of The World
I feel like a human again. I’ve had a shower, used an actual toilet, eaten some proper food, rather than that preserved muck, and now, dear reader, I am typing this to you, on an actual bed, with proper pillows, and blankets.
I have to be honest. I did expect the bunker to be a bit more like something from one of the Fallout games, or something. It’s really just a regular house with some add ons, but I won’t complain, because it’s better than being on the road.
We all take turns, for guarding and watch duties, in teams of three. There’s six of us, in total. Me and Martin, his mum, Mary, his sister, Mary (Yes, that does get confusing. We call her Little Mary for clarity), their son, Jude and her husband, Thomas. Martin’s mum normally comes with us. I have a feeling she doesn’t like me, which suits me just fine, because I don’t like her either. I know it sounds petty, especially after I wrote a recent entry about how the apocalypse brings everyone together, and whatever, but the end of the world doesn’t appear to have endeared me to her. My only crime, for those wondering, was making her son want to move away from home, but she needn’t worry, because little Norman Bates is back at home with Mummy, so she got what she wanted from end of the world Santa, in the end.
Reading that back, I sound really harsh, but it’s not as if I can have it out with them in person, and talk about all this unresolved conflict (you’ll also be surprised to learn that Martin and I still haven’t discussed what happened at my mum’s house). This blog is a way of getting it out, so I don’t go mad in the middle of the night, and knife the lot of them, like the bloke from The Amityville Horror. I do like big Mary, sometimes. She can be funny, kind, and quite nice to be around, but then it’s like she suddenly remembers she is supposed to hate me for stealing her precious boy from her, and switches it up on me, out of nowhere.
Martin either can’t see it, or doesn’t care, because he’s in his element, living his “Mummy’s boy” fantasy. She dotes on him, and keeps making digs about how “a wife should really be taking care of her husband”. I try not to let it bother me, but it would be nice if he would actually stand up for me, occasionally, or maybe even point out that he always took the lead on those things, because he actually likes cooking and so on.
Maybe I’m just inventing reasons to be upset, because there’s still so much unresolved upset between us. I know we need to talk about it, but now he’s back here, I don’t see it happening.