46. Forty Three
Forty Three
Eden
Salt coats my skin in an itchy layer. The ocean hadn’t warmed enough to swim, but that didn’t deter Creed from splashing me every moment I had my back turned. It was only after he made the mistake of throwing water on Cecil that he stopped his childish antics. One flick to his ear broke his spirit.
The sun is low on the horizon, casting orange glimmers over the ocean. Creed is at the truck, grabbing the cooler to prepare us a simple dinner of lunchmeat sandwiches. Meanwhile, Cecil builds a fire in a sand hole. Hunched over the logs, he stokes the embers and mutters to himself.
He’s just as captivating as the salted sea.
It’s been a near perfect day, and I’m gripping onto these moments with everything I have. If this is the only birthday I’ll spend with Creed, I don’t want to take a single second for granted.
I’ve never seen him so happy. The childlike excitement is infectious, but impossible to match.
From the moment he dropped his pants (unabashedly flashing his backside in the process) and pulled on those swim trunks, it was like the flip of a switch.
He convinced me to put on my swimsuit, too, but I quickly pulled his shirt over top.
A flurry of sand shoots up and sprays down on my legs. Creed has unceremoniously dropped the heavy cooler beside me. Flicking the granules off of my skin, it’s a struggle not to crack up at his puckered lip and insincere apology.
Cecil raises his head as the flames finally begin to grow.
Creed lets out a whoop and lifts the lid to the cooler, pulling out a half loaf of white bread and various meats, condiments, and cheeses.
Spreading the ingredients out on the towel, he returns his hand to the ice once more and digs around.
This time, he brandishes a large bottle of clear liquid.
“What’s that?” I ask, unable to make out the label.
Cecil grabs for it, a self-satisfied smile in place. “Can’t turn twenty-one without a birthday drink.”
Creed is well and truly inebriated.
After insufferable pleading, I attempted to take a shot with him, but I promptly sputtered it out all over myself.
Never in my life have I tasted anything so bad.
Every time Creed takes a swig from the bottle, he shudders.
Cecil brought pineapple juice to mix, but his little brother is adamant that he doesn’t need it.
Men and their pride.
The three of us sit around the fire. A thick blanket is wrapped around my shoulders, my knees pulled up to my chest. The stars are high, and looking out to the ocean, we’re met with never ending inky blackness.
You’d think the water disappeared altogether if it wasn’t for the steady whoosh of waves on the shore.
Creed had been a flurry of conversation from the first drop of alcohol. Over the last couple hours, he jumped from topic to topic; sharing his opinions on anything from the benefits of salting pasta water, to how he thinks he could wrestle a shark if he had to.
Now, he’s grown quiet, and I let out a sigh of relief. My eyes are tired from tracking all the movements. Gazing into the fire, I catch green eyes on me between the dancing flames. The moment I meet his stare, Cecil blinks and looks away.
All too soon, Creed waves his hand to get our attention.
“I have a confession to make,” he announces. His face is screwed up in something akin to dread, and my chest tightens with anxiety.
Checking that he has both of our attention, he inhales deeply before proclaiming, “Eden has been training with Sylvie.”
My jaw drops. Cecil laughs earnestly, his eyes crinkling.
Creed looks even more apprehensive after his brother’s reaction. “You’re not mad?”
“No,” he manages between chuckles. “I knew.”
Flummoxed, I ask, “How?” We’ve been so careful. Everyone at the Refuge swore not to tell.
Eyes brimming with mirth are on me. “Because I know you.”
Such simple words, but something pleasant stirs within me, weaving throughout my veins and over my bones. Our eyes are locked, and I bask in the swell of emotions. It’s uncomfortable to feel anything so strongly, but it’s inevitable with these two.
Oblivious to the intensity of the moment, Creed suddenly shoots up and informs us that he’s going to be sick. It takes all of three steps before he’s retching in the sand, bracing himself with his hands on his knees.
The tension is there and gone. Cecil stands, dusts the sand off his jeans, and goes to his brother’s aid. The two stagger away, arms over the other’s shoulders. Tents are set up near the truck, and as soon as they disappear into one, I allow my thoughts to return to my mother’s journal.
The necklace weighs heavy on my neck, and I fiddle with the dangling bird. Will I see her? In some other life? I don’t want to be alone. One lifetime of seclusion is enough. The Fates are all about balance, aren’t they? So maybe, if I’m lucky, the afterlife is kinder to me.
The sound of shifting sand has me banishing the thoughts.
“He’s out,” Cecil announces, plopping down. Only, this time, he sits right beside me. Our arms brush, and I find myself wishing the blanket wasn’t there as a barrier. He’s wearing short sleeves and I’m curious if the bare skin is warm.
“Probably a good thing,” I say.
He snorts, leaning back on his elbows and stretching his legs out in front of him. His toes are so close to the fire, I cringe.
“Did you enjoy today? I figured you’d never been to the ocean.”
Taking a deep breath, the woodsmoke fills my lungs. It burns, but it’s kind of nice. I’ll never experience this again. My lips lift into a close-lipped grin.
“Yes, thank you.”
I can feel him looking at me, but I continue facing forward.
“I’ve been here once–that’s how I know about it.
When we were little, we came out here with our dad.
Creed was still a baby, so he doesn’t remember.
” His voice sounds far away, locked in a memory.
“It was one of the only trips we took, but it was out of necessity. My dad was in trouble, so we came here to hide out for a while. Lived in his SUV. At the time, it was like an adventure.” He shakes his head. I chance a peek.
With the amber glow, he’s impossibly beautiful. It hurts to look at him.
“Did you swim?” I ask, desperate for him to keep talking. He shares so little about himself, I seize the opportunity.
“Huh-uh. We tried to fish, though. I always wanted to come back some day and catch something, cook it up while it’s fresh. Thought it sounded good.” He exhales heavily through his nose. A half laugh.
Adjusting the blanket, it slips from my thigh. Before I can catch it, Cecil brings the fabric back up, his knuckles grazing the skin.
I clear my throat. His hand drops.
“Maybe you should leave the cooking to Creed.”
This time, when he laughs, it’s full and without restraint. “You’ve got quite the mouth for someone who doesn’t talk.”
My mouth? My cheeks flush for reasons I don’t understand. He glances at me.
“You’re ornery,” he amends. I shrug.
We sit in comfortable silence after that, the buzzing of my mind making it impossible to form a proper thought. His presence consumes me. We’re not touching, yet I feel him all around. I can even smell him, over the potency of ash and brine.
I’m losing my mind and finding it all at the same time.
Don’t hide from yourself. That’s what my mother said.
Turning my head over my shoulder, I push my hair behind my ear. Cecil was already looking at me.
“Do you think my father loved my mother?” If the question catches him off guard, he doesn’t show it. He does ponder it, though, eyes darting over the stars in contemplation.
“I don’t know. I don’t know if someone like that is capable of love.”
That’s what I thought, too. I was only too scared to admit it to myself.
“And me?”
Now he does look confused. He pushes himself up, angling his body so we’re facing each other.
“You?”
The words bounce around in my skull on a loop. They have been for months. For years.
“Can I love?”
The crease in his brow softens and he gnaws the inside of his cheek. The silence stretches long enough that I tear my gaze away.
“Of course you can.”
I dip my chin, considering leaving the conversation where it’s at. But if our time together is limited…
“Creed thinks…” I glance at him. “I might love you.”
Cecil stills, his expression unreadable. As far as I can tell, he’s stopped breathing. He’s a perfectly devastating statue.
Just a week ago, side by side in his bed, Creed said it. I’d been explaining a nightmare I’d had. A nightmare where Cecil disappeared into a rainstorm and never returned. Creed, as speculative as ever, had responded with, “Maybe because you love him.”
The words have haunted me since.
“Do you think that’s true?” I shouldn't ask. But I know that Cecil is brutal with his honesty.
He blinks, looks at the tent, looks at the fire, looks at me. His lips part several times before he’s able to respond. “I hardly think I deserve that from you, Eden.”
Of course he would say that. I disagree. So I tell him, “You do.”
His eyebrows raise a fraction of an inch, and he studies my face intently, like the answer to unspoken questions lie in the apples of my cheeks. For a solid minute, we watch one another.
Between one breath and the next, the rough surface of his palm slips to my jaw and his lips are on mine.
My heart stutters, my limbs grow taut. His mouth is warm, and tastes exactly how he smells. Warm, spicy, a hint of salt. I want to chase the flavor, but I’m too afraid to move.
The pressure of his hand on me is gentle, yet firm, holding me exactly where he wants me. There’s no telling how long his lips stay on mine, how long I’m stuck in the paralysis of my daze.
The warmth of his breath is replaced by the breeze. That’s all it takes for my brain to catch up with my body.
Before he gets too far, I release my blanket and close the space once more.
A sigh sounds, and I’m unsure if it’s come from me, him, or the two of us together.
My palms hover over his shoulders, unsure whether or not to touch him.
He’s sure in his hands, though, and slides one into my hair.
The feel of blunt nails against my scalp sends sparks down my spine.
A lightness I’ve never known washes over me. If it weren’t for his hands on me, I’m sure I would float away. I’ve never, never, known pleasure like this.
Our lips are moving. The pressure is clumsy and inconsistent, but I don’t have the mind to feel insecure. If anything, I’m as emboldened as ever, and I take this newfound confidence to grip his shoulders.
A brush of silky moisture against my bottom lip shoots a tremor throughout my body. With the blanket falling to my waist, I rise onto my knees and push closer to him. He meets me in the middle, one hand traveling down my waist to grip the shirt at my hip.
This is how it can feel. I never knew.
You know the end.
The thought throws me off balance, and I wrench myself back. His lips are parted and damp, eyes half lidded, breaths stuttered. The taste of him on my tongue is replaced by that of betrayal.
“I’m going to die,” I sign frantically.
Not how I planned on telling him, but there it is.
It takes a moment for his mind to catch up, but when it does, he falls back on his haunches and narrows his eyes. The mood has been thoroughly decimated.
“What?”
Our knees are the only things touching now, and I regret pulling away. That could very well be the last kiss I ever have. After I tell him this, I wouldn’t blame him for never wanting me again.
“I read my mom’s journal. She said that at the end of this, I die.”
The wind picks up, tousling the hair around the shell of his ear. Goosebumps rise on my arms, but I leave the blanket in a heap beside me.
“Eden…” He’s exasperated. Bringing a hand to his face, he scrubs at his jaw. My lips tremble.
“I know Veda says your mom sacrificed herself for you, but it was a coincidence, alright? You don’t have to die to protect anyone.” His eyes are imploring, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“But she knows—”
“Nobody can know that.”
“She must have seen it.”
“Then she’s wrong.”
Frustration mounts, and for the first time since I was a child, I don’t attempt to tamp it down. I let it flow.
“She was right about everything else,” I insist, my movements getting choppier with each fury fueled word. It’s my life that’s ending, not his. Who is he to tell me?
Cecil shakes his head dismissively, flicking grains of sand off the front of his shirt.
“It’s why I was born. It’s my purpose—”
“For fuck’s sake, will you stop with that!
?” His bellow carries on the wind, and I instinctively shrink.
The moment I do, his mouth clamps shut and his nostrils flare with a steadying inhale.
His stern expression falters and he reaches for me, but I lean back. His hand falls to the towel beneath us.
His jaw twitches like he’s testing out words on his tongue before he speaks them. There’s a lapse of tense silence, and I can’t take another moment of it. I don’t want to be angry with him, so maybe I’ll be angry alone.
Gripping the discarded blanket in one hand, I push myself to stand with the other. This time when he leans forward, he snags my wrist and I’m forced to sit back down.
“I can’t believe that.” He doesn’t look at me as he speaks, his words barely audible.
I yank in his hold. His grip tightens.
“Please,” he whispers. “Creed can’t lose you. And I… I can’t….” His gaze flicks up to mine. What I’m met with isn’t anger, or disappointment, or frustration.
It’s fear.
The conversation goes up in smoke, lost to the heaviness of unspoken things.
Words are futile, so I settle for what affections I can offer.
His hair is soft in my palm as I push it back off his forehead.
I press myself close once more, swallowing Cecil’s grievances.
Hands roaming and breaths mingling, we forge a closeness that is so foreign to me.
As the moon chases the sun across the sky, we chase the happiness that is all too fleeting.