Chapter 16
Amber rests peacefully on the mound of clothes that I had arranged for her to lay on. The quiet rhythm of her breathing has become a soothing backdrop in the dimly lit Rooftop. The bulb has begun experiencing some technical difficulties. Still dim, it flickers now and then, taking turns to leave my eyes grappling for light, before turning back on again. It’s the first moment of tranquility she has had since our world was upturned by the earthquake and tsunami. Since she’s fast asleep, I allow myself the stolen privilege of gazing at her.
I study her face, not with the scrutinizing eyes of an ex-Navy SEAL, not with my ever-rising skepticism, not counting any cost in assessing a situation, but with a tender curiosity that catches me by surprise. Her features, delicate yet resilient, are softened in repose, and I find her unexpectedly beautiful. I had never expected to see myself in such a vulnerable position with anyone, let alone Amber. At the moment, it’s as though I can see through her clothes, past her skin, past her blood vessels—rushing through with her blood straight to her heart—to see the strong-willed woman I’d encountered on the plane and the beautiful woman I’m trapped here with.
Amber’s peaceful expression reveals a vulnerability I hadn’t seen before, and it calls out to something within me. Despite the chaos that surrounds us, there’s a sense of tranquility in this moment.
My thoughts wander as I watch her, and my rational mind tells me to pull back, to keep a safe emotional distance, yet my heart is strangely open, receptive to the connection we’ve begun to forge.
As I stare, caught between vulnerability and strength, I see a small bug make its way across Amber’s hair. I can’t tell what insect it probably is, but it’s slow, probably thinking we’re one of the several objects that had been long forgotten up here. Instinctively, I reach out to brush it away, wanting to shield her from any discomfort. My touch is gentle, but it’s enough to rouse her from her slumber.
Amber blinks, her eyes adjusting to the dim light. I retract my hand, feeling a twinge of guilt for having interrupted her rest. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” I say, my voice reflecting my contrition.
Amber waves my apology away. “No need to apologize. How long have I been asleep?”
I can’t help but offer a touch of humor in the midst of our predicament. “Time is a tricky thing when your trapped in the d. Without a clock, it’s hard to say.” It’s a bittersweet reminder of the isolation we’ve endured.
Amber, undeterred by my sarcasm, chuckles softly, her laughter a soothing sound in the dimness. “True enough. This place feels like a world of its own.”
In the midst of our uncertainty, Amber’s laughter is a brief respite. She places a hand on my shoulder and supports herself to stand. She stretches and yawns for some thirty seconds and begins to walk toward the rubble that had been lying in the corners of the rooftop for years. I wonder what she’s up to, but I quietly keep on watching.
There’s a door just before the pile of rubble, and she opens it. Oh, I think. She’s pressed. She had figured out where the bathroom was. I smirk, finding her resourcefulness funny.
Soon, she returns. She walks back up to where I am and sits beside me. We are quiet for a moment, but then she breaks the air, concern slightly shrilling her voice.
“What if we never get out of here, Derrick?”
I wait for a moment, then I mutter, “Then archeologists will find our bones in some hundreds of years. So, we had better lay well.”
“Stop, Derrick! It’s not funny,” she cries.
“I’m sorry but even if we scream, we are not sure anyone would hear us. So let’s just be calm and think of what to do.”
“But all we’ve been doing since is lamenting, sleeping, and eating canned mackerel.”
“At least.”
“Oh, Derrick,” Amber says, her voice a soft murmur, her hands cradling her head. “I’m scared. I really am.”
Her vulnerability tugs at my heartstrings, and my protective instincts spring to life. In this confined space, there’s no room for barriers, no masks to hide behind. The vulnerability we’ve seen in each other has brought us closer.
Without hesitation, I shift closer to her. The instinct to comfort her, to make her feel safe in the midst of our shared fear, is too strong to ignore. My hands reach out, gently cupping her face, my fingers brushing against her cheeks. My touch is tender, a silent reassurance that I’m here, that she’s not alone in this.
Amber leans into my touch, her eyes searching mine for a glimpse of solace. There’s an unspoken understanding between us, a silent pact that acknowledges our fears and the deepening connection we’re forging.
My thumbs softly caress her cheeks, as if I can wipe away her worries with a simple touch. She lets out a sigh, her body relaxing against mine. There’s a hint of trust in the way she surrenders to my hold.
“Amber,” I say in a voice that’s barely a whisper, “we’re in this together. We’ll find a way out. I won’t let anything happen to you.”
Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, it’s as if we’ve forgotten where we are the chaos outside, and the uncertainty that looms over us. In each other’s presence, we’ve found a rare island of comfort, a haven amid the turmoil.
My arms instinctively wrap around her, pulling her close, as if I can shield her from the harsh realities that have befallen us. The gentle warmth of her body against mine is a reassurance, a reminder that in this dark moment, we’re not alone.
As Amber leans into my embrace, she doesn’t put up any resistance. Her fear, her vulnerability, I feel it all come together in this simple act of seeking comfort. My arms encircle her, holding her close as she lays her head against my shoulder. On the dimly lit roof, amid the uncertain times, there’s a silent understanding that binds us.
“Thank you,” she mutters out to me.
I stroke her hair in response. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I’m doing it.
“Do you miss your parents?” I ask.
She holds on for a while and then turns her head to mine, freeing my hand from its grip on her hair. “First of all,” she starts with a sly smirk, “I’ve never known my father, and I don’t know if my mother is worth missing.”
Our discussion meanders longer, and she goes ahead to tell me more about her mother, and the lifelong squabbles they both had been having, and how she had to keep up staying with her the whole while.
“What about your father? You say you’ve never known him?” I inquire gently, the question laced with curiosity as I regard Amber.
She takes a deep breath, her eyes focused on a distant point on the roof as if she’s recounting a story from long ago. “I’ve never met my father,” she begins, her voice steady. “In fact, I don’t even know his name. My mom, Lisa, never really talked about him.”
The weight of the unspoken mystery hangs in the air as Amber continues. “You see, my mom had a brief relationship with a man. It was one of those whirlwind romances, the kind that’s passionate but short-lived.” She offers a small, almost wistful smile as she recalls her mother’s story. “It was during a trip to Europe, I believe. From what I found out, they met, sparks flew, and before they knew it, they were caught up in something intense.”
I listen intently, caught in the narrative she’s spinning. Her words are like a tapestry, slowly weaving together the story of her existence. “She got pregnant with me during that time. And when it was over, when they had to part ways, she found herself alone, carrying a piece of that encounter with her. I still don’t know if she ever told him she was carrying me. I’m not sure what to believe. What I know is that I’ve never actually known him before.”
Amber’s gaze returns to me. “Mom returned to the States with the secret of her brief romance, and me growing inside her. She never tried to find him, never looked for him. Maybe she wanted to protect me from the complications of a relationship that had ended so suddenly. Or perhaps, she just couldn’t bear to open that chapter of her life again.”
A deep sigh escapes her, carrying the emotion of her mother’s choices. “She raised me and Jess alone. I adored her so much when I was little, but my resentment for her grew as I grew. But I’ve always wondered about my father, about who he was, what kind of person he might be.”
Amber’s words linger on the rooftop quietude. There’s a melancholic undertone to her story, a profound yearning to fill the void left by the absence of her father. The vulnerability she’s displayed in sharing this deeply personal part of her life is a testament to the bond that’s been growing between us, and I understand her very well.
“You know, I actually had a dad. I probably still do, but I never wished to have anything with him,” I blurt out.
“Why do you say so?” she asks, curiosity etched in her eyebrows.
I laugh. I don’t know why I do. “He was a comical demon. He was so hard on us, my mom and my siblings. As the first child, I suffered more from his abuse and no one could interfere. Not even my mother, unless she wanted to sleep with a swollen eye.”
“And you know what pained most?” I say, sitting up with a stirring anger. “Whenever he was done with all of this, he would kiss our foreheads and hug us. A few times when we had sustained severe injuries, he would take us to the hospital and cry with us in our pain. And when we were healed up, he would resume with a higher dose of wickedness.”
“He cheated on my mother,” I continue, “and we all knew about it. He did this several times. Sometimes even at home when we all were around. No one ever dared to question him. And when he was done, he would come out and hug my mother, telling her that he loves her, and this and that. And she never left him.”
Amber looks so shocked. Her lips have parted in a gape that I’m sure she’s not aware of. Not minding, I continue the cascade of my tale.
“He had always said I wasn’t man enough. And he would beat me up for long minutes or put me in dreadful punishments for hours, just for me to become man enough. I was ten or eleven when he made me sleep outside in the garden all night, to learn to withstand the cold and be a man!”
“Wait, what? A ten-year-old?” Amber looks petrified.
“It was worse,” I tip in. “I resolved to run off to join the Navy SEALs when I was seventeen. I didn’t tell anyone I was leaving. But I left and never returned.”
“Do you still hear from them?” she asks.
“Uh, I kept in touch with my mother and siblings for some years. But lost contact with them after a while,” I say.
“And you’ve not tried reaching them?”
“It’s harder than it seems.”
“Not as much as you’d make it seem.”
“Maybe.”
There’s brief silence. Amber then raises her right hand toward my face. Her fingers slowly stroke beneath my jaw line, just by my left ear. “What’s this scar?” she asks.
I raise my hands to feel the scar. My hand brushes against hers, and she drops her hands down. My mind races back with memories of some morbid sights. “It’s from one of the times I was deployed to Afghanistan. I narrowly survived a gunshot that had swept past my skin. Thank goodness I had moved a little more, or it would have gone through my neck.”
“Wow. You’re such a brave man,” Amber mutters. I look into her eyes, as they stare at me. I don’t know when her head lays on my shoulder again. “Maybe we should get married in here and at least, die married,” she says.
We pull away from each other in some eruptive laughter. I laugh till my eyes are filled with tears. It had been a long time since I last laughed like that.
It’s a moment that leaves me both surprised and grateful. Surprised by my own vulnerability, and grateful for the companionship that Amber offers.
The conversation we’ve had stirs something within me, igniting a spark of determination I’d thought was reserved for my days as a Navy SEAL. The connection Amber and I have formed is beyond mere camaraderie. It’s become a shared strength, a will to overcome the odds stacked against us. Amber’s vulnerability, her story, has touched me in a way I never anticipated. We’ve leaned on each other in this underground world, and it’s time to transform that reliance into action.
I stand, my eyes scanning the rooftop, our neighbor”s rooftop, and searching for a way out. Our dialogue has become the catalyst for my old instincts to kick in. This is no time to let fear paralyze us. The possibility of escape could be within our grasp.
“What’s the matter?” Amber asks, looking concerned.
“Oh, nothing,” I say. “But we won’t just keep waiting down here for anything or anyone! I have to find a way out for us,” I conclude.
I walk around the rooftop looking for anything we can use to possibly float ourselves to safety. At first, it seems like a hopeless effort. Then I see a glimmer of hope, an old ski-board thrown in the corner. My mind instantly goes into survival mode, and I try to imagine, if this board is our ticket off this roof. I looked over the roof and the water was high, there was no way I would trust jumping off and swimming, although I am a great swimmer. We did several water rescues when I was in the Navy.
I grab the board and try to measure how far we actually are from the water. I can reach the water with the board, that is hopeful. Now, I just have to figure out, how to get us off the roof onto the board. I begin to question my thoughts, with doubts of fear. The water is cold, how far will we have to go, is help close by? All these thoughts begin to cloud my mind. Then I decided, I will leave Amber here safe and go get help. I know she will be scared, but I cannot just sit here and wait for help and help my never come.
”Amber”, I say with reservation. ”Do you trust me, to go get help? I promise I will be back for you as soon as possible”. Then Amber”s face drops and I can see the fear in her eyes, even amidst the dark sky.”You want to leave tonight? What if the building collapses while you are gone, what will I do?” ”I was thinking, at dawn break, if no help has arrived. I know my way around this city, we are not far from the navy base, I can go get a boat and get you to safety”. ”Derrick, I do trust you, lets see what the morning holds, maybe someone will come to rescue us, I do want to get off this roof and go find Alex”. I reach out for Amber and slowly pull her into my arms, and we fall asleep under the stars. A night to remember as tragic as this day has been, this moment is so comforting and fulfilling.
The sound of birds chirping awakes me, and instantly I am preparing to go get help. I peek over and Amber is in a deep sleep. I kiss her on the forehead, make sure the duffle bag of supplies is at arms reach and I instantly go back into navy seal mode. I throw the ski board over the roof into the water, and seconds afterward I plunge into the cold ocean waters, which initially sends a shock through my body. My mind reverts back to years prior, it”s not about me, I am trained to save lives. I look through the water and I can see the sky, I aggressively swim to the surface and there is the ski board, within arm”s reach. I grab the board and start paddling my way for safety.