Chapter 23 Vincent
Vincent
Breakfast is a handful of half-melted, half-crushed macarons. Pale green, pink, purple, and tan. Looks like some shit Ari would eat. They all just taste like sugar to me.
She sits cross-legged across from me, chewing quietly, her hair coming out of her braids a little around her edges, which is hella cute. I stare at her for a while before saying, “I think we should go ahead and move today.”
Her eyebrows lift, curious. “What changed your mind?”
I swat an ant off my leg. “Last night, I got to thinking. I realized that we keep putting shit off out of hope instead of doing what makes sense for us right now. I mean, it sounds good to say, if nobody comes for us tomorrow, or the day after, or next week…but that ain’t helpin’ us. It’s keeping us stuck.”
She stares down at the dirt beneath her. “You might be right.”
“I know I am. Remember last night, when I said something about avoiding the inevitable? I mean, that was about something else, but what if the inevitable is about us being stuck here for a while?”
She closes her eyes and exhales. “I haven’t even wanted to think about that,” she says. “Much less say it.”
“Me, neither,” I admit. “But the truth is, words must ain’t got that much power. Folks always talk about manifesting shit and speaking things into existence, but what about the things we don’t want? Staying quiet about bad shit ain’t never stopped bad shit from happening.”
She nods, her eyes glistening. A tear slips out when she blinks and rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away quick, her eyes fixed on the ground below.
“You can cry,” I reassure. “It’s okay. Cryin’ about it don’t make you weak.”
“I’m just…processing,” she says with a sniffle.
“Yeah. I know. It’s a hard pill to swallow. But once you get it down, the rest of your life gotta get lived.”
She looks away, breathing deep, trying to pull herself together. It’s weird how it feels like I’m strong when she’s weak, and vice versa. I wanna reach across and grab her and pull her to me, but I stop myself. She needs some time with her thoughts.
I had mine last night.
Laying beside her, staring into the darkness, frustrated as hell because she was right there, close enough to touch, close enough to smell, knowing I couldn’t do anything was torture.
My body wanted her in a way I don’t remember wanting anything or anyone else.
I didn’t sleep at all. Just laid there until I realized it—that we might really be stuck here for a while.
Laying there in the shelter I built, in the place I thought we’d only have to sleep in for a night or two, I think I went through all the stages of grief. It took the sun rising for me to reach acceptance, but I’m there. Now, I’m trying to get her there so it’s not too hard on her.
“Okay,” she says quietly. I look over at her and see that her face is calm again. “What do you need me to do?”
Together, we pack our shit. It takes longer than I thought it would, but we get what we need into four suitcases. I estimate needing two trips, maybe three.
First trip is easy. Light bags, clothes, and the food we have left.
We pick a spot about a two-minute walk from the ocean.
Ari didn’t wanna be directly on the beach.
She said she needed the cover of the trees to feel safe.
She ain’t wrong, either. It feels like the right balance between survival and sanity.
Second trip is heavier. I broke the shelter down, and all the pieces are heavy when you’re carrying them bitches for fifteen minutes. Ari totes all the leaves and small branches. I get the rest.
The third trip ‘bout kills me. I have the last of the logs perched on both my shoulders, feeling like the hardest workout I’ve ever done.
About halfway there, I happen to look up, and I notice some of the trees have small round fruit clustered on the branches.
I make a mental note of a potential new food source and tell myself I’ll double back tomorrow to check them out.
When I get back to the new spot, Ari’s already clearing out our new living area. She’s using the axe to clear brush and rocks, and it’s funny seeing her prissy ass doing something strenuous. It’s cute for about a minute, and then I think she should be somewhere resting while I do the hard shit.
She looks up when she hears my footsteps. “This feels weird, right?”
I drop the logs at the base of the biggest tree out here, then roll my shoulders to get out the ache and tension. “It does,” I say. “Had to be done, though.”
“Yes.” She smiles. “We stayed in our starter home as long as we could. Now it’s time to move into our mansion.”
I chuckle at that. “You playin’, but if you want it to be bigger, I can make that happen.”
“I was kidding.” She peers at me curiously. “You want to?”
“Do you want me to?”
She nods.
“Cool.”
I get to work. She helps this time, handing me branches, pressing her palm against my hand when we lift a beam into place, holding the corners tight when I go to tie them together.
It’s hard, hot, and sweaty work, but it feels good.
Something about building this new place feels like we’re taking some of our power back.
It goes quicker than the first time now that I know what the fuck I’m doing.
I give us about three feet of extra room, which ain’t much, but it’s enough that Ari seems happy.
I do three layers of leaves on the ceiling this time instead of two, and I reinforce the platform to support us better when we’re laying on it. It ain’t no mattress, but it’ll do.
By the time we finish building the new shelter, the sun is about to lay down for the evening, and I have just enough energy left to catch our dinner for tonight.
Ari stands next to me while I rig up the line, her eyes on the horizon, toes wiggling in the surf.
I can't stop glancing at her, taking mental snapshots of her pretty face.
She's glowing in this light. My island angel.
An angel that won't be pure for long, if I get my way.
After I toss the line in the water, she stays close, watching and waiting, quiet until she finally breaks the silence.
“You know,” she says slowly, “I thought about our conversation yesterday. I don’t really have terms, but…I do think you could be doing more.”
I glance over at her, amused. “Meaning?”
“I told you, I’m not just gonna fall into your arms like every other woman. I need more effort.”
“Hold up.” My smile turns into a laugh. “You sayin’ you want princess treatment? On a desert island?”
“Yes,” she says sharply. “Just because I’m stranded doesn’t mean I can’t have standards.”
Sounds like she means it.
I turn away from my makeshift fishing rod and give her my undivided attention. “What does that look like to you?”
“Well…” she trails off, deep in thought.
“One example could be like at the end of the night. Before we go to sleep, you could brush the sand off my feet. And rub them a little. Or, if it comes to the point where you have to start hunting, I want you to do it in my honor and bring back whatever you kill and present it to me. Like a gift.”
“Wowwww.” I shake my head in disbelief. “Princess treatment on a desert island. I done heard it all. We ain’t even got a fuckin’ toilet, but you want princess treatment.”
“Correct,” she says, eyes sparkling. “Because it’s not a dollar amount. It’s a mindset. You might be the only man here, but you still have to apply pressure.”
I burst out laughing, but not for the reason she probably thinks.
She’s staring at me with those big brown eyes, lips tight with disapproval, waiting for me to shoot her down, but the truth is, she just made me want her more.
I love that shit, when women get to making demands, cuz I’m the typa nigga that gets shit done.
Even on a desert island.
“Alright,” I say. “I hear you. I gotta work for it. I got no problem with that.”
My eyes follow her as she starts unpacking, and I know. I feel it.
It’s only a matter of time.