In his arms I feel that same, strange sensation that commandeered my system the moment he first said my name on the raft, and again later when he laced our hands together on the beach.
Somehow, when he’s touching me, all our simmering animosity falls away and what’s left behind is…
Something good. Something right. Something real.
“Do you want me to go?” he asks, voice muffled against my hair. I feel his fingers flex on my stomach.
Fighting the urge to snuggle closer to his chest, I ball my hands into fists beneath my chin and breathe deeply in and out. When I speak, I don’t even recognize my own voice.
“No. Please… don’t go. Don’t leave me.”
He’s eerily still at my back, but when I say that, I feel him relax.
“I’m not going anywhere.” His voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it. “Go back to sleep, princess. We’ve got a long day ahead of us, tomorrow.”
Usually when he says princess, it’s laced with sarcasm and derision. An insult, meant to hurt me. Maybe it’s because I’m half-asleep, but this time… This time I’d swear it sounds like sunshine as it rasps from his mouth against the thin shell of my ear. Warm and welcome in the chill of the night.
If he says anything else, I don’t hear him. I’m already asleep — safe in a set of strong arms.
When I wake in the morning, the gale has passed. Pale sunshine basks the world in a warm glow. The fire is blazing merrily. A neat pile of fresh logs and coconut husks are stacked nearby, ready to burn. Sitting beside my backpack I find a ration packet and a soda can, filled to the brim with fresh water.
Someone’s been busy this morning.
There’s no trace of Beck. No indication he spent the night with his body wrapped around mine, warding off the cold. I’d be damn near sure I dreamed the whole thing, except for a faint indentation in the sand at my back and a strange flutter inside my chest I can’t quite rationalize away, no matter how hard I try.
I take slow sips of my water, pretending it’s a steaming cup of coffee as I stare out at the ocean. It’s truly a spectacular sight. Aqua blue waves crest against the snowy white sand, rhythmic as a lullaby. This beach belongs on the front of a travel magazine or an office calendar. Most people would pay thousands of dollars to wake up to this view.
To me, it’s nothing more than limbo. Not quite hell, but certainly not heaven. I’m neither damned nor saved; simply another of those restless souls Dante described, locked in an eternal waiting room. Eyes ever scanning the horizon for an escape route or exit.
It feels somehow wrong to hate a place as gorgeous as this one. To resent something so truly beautiful it makes your breath catch inside your throat and your heart stutter inside your chest. But pretty packaging isn’t enough to make me forget I’m not here by choice.
A gilded cage is still a cage.
I finish my water, duck behind some bushes to relieve myself, and strip off my thin button down. In addition to the coffee stain, it now bears several streaks of dirt and grime — as does the rest of my body. I run my fingers through my stiff hair, wishing for a comb or an elastic with which to tame it. Sunburned, salt-streaked, and half-starved, I can only imagine what I look like.
On the other hand, I don’t need imagination to know what I smell like. My nose twitches as I catch a whiff of myself — caked with sea and sweat and blood and all manner of bodily fluids. It’s been a lifetime since the crash, longer since my last shower, an eternity since I’ve looked in a mirror or brushed my teeth or applied deodorant.
There’s a thin layer of gunk growing on my teeth that no amount of swishing with water can remove. I seek out the small bag of toiletries at the bottom of my backpack and dump out the items with excited fingers. There’s a travel-sized toothbrush, peppermint paste, several tiny TSA-approved bottles of hair products, a comb, a razor, and even a mini floss dispenser. I feel like a kid on Christmas morning as I squeeze a scant dollop of toothpaste onto the end.
Who knows how long I’ll have to make this tube last?
The small act of brushing and flossing brings me more joy than I’ve felt since we hit the first bump of turbulence three days ago. Three days. Can it really only be that long? My whole world has shifted so rapidly in such a short span of time, it’s difficult to reconcile in my mind.
With a minty-fresh mouth, neatly combed hair, and a healthy layer of deodorant, I feel like a brand new girl. Later, I’ll see about washing my clothes. The thought brings a genuine smile to my face.
Thrilled by the prospect of doing laundry! Mom would never believe it, if she were here.
I brush off the sand clinging to my legs and sweep my eyes across the stretch of dense forest surrounding our camp. There’s so much plant life here, I’m certain there’s a water source somewhere nearby. A stream, a brook, a waterfall. I’d settle for anything. Hell, even a salty bath in the ocean would be better than another day in this dirty dress. The chiffon blue fabric, which once swished so prettily around my legs, is so sun-bleached and stained I hardly recognize it.
A moan of pain snaps me back into my senses.
Ian.
Shame floods me instantly. I’ve been so distracted by superficial concerns, so worried about my damn appearance, I’ve neglected him completely. I curse myself for being so caught up in improving my own quality of life, when there’s a man dying a few feet away. As I rush to his side, I’m suddenly happy there are no mirrors here.
I’m not sure I’d like the person I’d see looking back, at the moment.
That girl I used to be — the peppy cheerleader who cared about perfect hair and proper makeup and coordinated outfits — isn’t welcome on the island. There’s no place for her here. No purpose.
I must shed her like a second skin, shake off the person I once was…
And become someone stronger.
Chapter Nine
A G O N Y
I’m crouched by Ian’s side when Beck walks back into our camp. There’s no sound, no true indication of his arrival. I sense him like you might a coming storm. The air goes static and I simply know, as every hair on the back of my neck snaps to attention, that he’s standing behind me.
I turn in time to see him dump several large coconuts on the ground. He’s not looking at me; his eyes are on Ian.
“Good morning,” I say haltingly.
His nod is brusque. “Now that you’re awake… shall we get this over with?”
I bite down on my lip to keep from snapping at him. “You could’ve woken me.”
“I figured you could use the rest. And—”
“And what?”
His eyes finally flicker up to mine. “I’m in no rush to see how this turns out.”
Can’t argue with him there.
Heart in my throat, I turn back to our patient as Beck crouches down beside me. He swears colorfully when he catches sight of the leg. I had a similar reaction a few minutes ago, when I pulled off Ian’s blankets. The wound is even more inflamed. In addition to the dried blood, there’s pus forming at the breaks in his skin. Worst of all, his toes have turned black at the tips from lack of circulation.