Chapter 28 #2
He reappeared, moving to the side of the boat and looked down at her. ‘Stop panicking.’
‘I’m not panicking—’ she began, but the lie dissolved as another wave lifted her, showing her a glimpse of coastline far in the distance, too far away to be of any comfort at all. ‘Just bring the boat closer.’
‘You’re wasting energy,’ Martin shouted.
Something about the detached way he spoke had terror blooming in her chest.
He had done this on purpose, waiting until she was far enough out before moving the boat further away.
She kicked towards the boat, arms clumsy as her earlier confidence evaporated. The water no longer felt buoyant, and every stroke seemed to move her less than it should.
‘Martin, please.’ Her throat was thick with emotion as tears threatened.
‘Come on. You can make it.’
Not reassuring encouragement. It sounded more like he was goading her.
The distance between them seemed to go on for ever. One second the boat looked closer, the next it seemed to slide away again.
Poppy’s breath came too fast and her arms burned.
Don’t panic. Don’t panic.
But it was too late. She already was, and try as she might to not think about it, all she could focus on was the worst possible fear that he intended to leave her here.
Her legs thrashed harder. Water splashed into her face and she choked again, coughing and losing the rhythm of her breathing.
‘Please, help me,’ she begged.
Martin remained where he was, one hand gripping the rail. She could see his face clearer now, but not fully his expression. The sunlight hit the scar on his cheek, making the ridged skin bright and raw-looking.
‘Roll onto your back for a second,’ he called. ‘It will help you get your breath.’
‘I don’t want to get my breath. I just want you to bring the boat over.’
Even as she shouted the words back, the effort made her voice crack.
He exhaled or maybe laughed. She couldn’t quite tell. ‘You know you’re making this harder than it needs to be.’
His words hit her like a slap. He was enjoying this.
Anger now mixed with her fear and she started swimming again, this time with frantic determination. Her hands clawing at the water as she desperately tried to reach the boat.
‘That’s it,’ Martin encouraged as she eventually neared, though his tone was infuriatingly smug. ‘I told you that you could do it.’
Poppy reached for the ladder, but a swell lifted her, smacking her against the hull instead. Pain jolted through her shoulder and she gasped.
‘Careful now.’
‘Shut up!’ she spat.
Her hand found one of the metal rungs and she clamped her fingers around it so tightly, her knuckles hurt. She clung there for a moment, her cheek almost pressed to the side of the boat, as she sucked in ragged breaths.
Martin appeared at the edge, looking down.
She glared up at him. ‘Why didn’t you help me?’ she demanded.
‘You didn’t need my help. You had it under control.’
Poppy stared at him, too breathless to respond.
Her hands trembled as she tried to lift one foot onto the bottom rung. Her body was like a dead weight as she pulled herself up the ladder, the metal slippery beneath her toes once she was out of the water.
She almost lost her grip, but immediately Martin reached down, catching hold of her forearm.
‘Careful,’ he warned.
Poppy flinched at the contact, even though his grip was firm and steadying. ‘Let go of me!’
‘Then climb.’
Humiliation burned through her, hot and bitter. He stood back and watched while she hauled herself the rest of the way up, one shaky step at a time. As she eventually swung her leg over the side, her whole body quivered with exertion.
For a second, she just stood there, dripping seawater, her chest heaving and her heart banging against her ribs. Relief flooded through her so violently, it made her dizzy.
Martin picked up her towel from where it had fallen on the deck and held it out to her, and she didn’t miss the way his gaze slid down the length of her body, lingering for a moment too long on her breasts, then back up to her face.
She snatched the towel from him, quickly covering herself. Her skin prickled in the light breeze, despite the warmth from the sun.
‘You let yourself get worked up.’ He smirked.
‘Worked up?’ She stared at him in disbelief. ‘You think I was just worked up?’
‘You were never in any danger.’
He sounded so pragmatic, as though he believed he was being reasonable.
‘You moved the boat!’
‘What?’ Now he stared at her, looking shocked, as if he didn’t quite believe her accusation.
‘You moved it,’ Poppy snapped. ‘You did it on purpose.’
He continued to stare at her for a moment, but then he had the audacity to start laughing.
‘If I’d have started the boat, you would have heard the engine.’
‘But—’ she began, then stopped, realising he was right.
‘It drifted. That’s what happens when the anchor isn’t down.’
He hadn’t used the anchor?
Poppy thought back, realising she had never seen him put it down.
‘The sea moves, so that means the boat does too.’
He spoke like he was trying to explain it to a six-year-old.
‘You could have helped me,’ she insisted, even as her face burned.
‘And come after you for drifting a few metres?’ He gave a small shake of his head, as if she had suggested something ridiculous. ‘You were swimming fine.’
She had been so certain he had moved the boat on purpose. But he was right. There was no way he could have done without her hearing the engine.
Yet again, her own fear had directed the narrative.
Still shaking, she wandered over to the front of the boat, lowering herself onto the bench seat. As she pulled her towel tighter around her shoulders, salt water trickled down her legs, pooling on the deck beneath her feet.
Out here, with only the sea around them and Martin moving quietly about the deck, it was impossible to decide what the worst part was.
Had she just imagined the threat or had something far worse just revealed itself?