Chapter 30
Ari
My body feels too heavy. My bones are full of sand. My brain, too cloudy. I could be dying, I don’t know. But when I hear Vincent retching, the sound yanks me upright. My body doesn’t care that its weak once my brain realizes he’s in trouble.
He’s hunched over near the fire pit, gasping and sweating, his brown face somehow pale and ashen. I crawl out of the shelter and approach him, scared of what I’ll find.
I manage to peel his backpack off of him just before he vomits again. After, he tries to speak, but ends up shaking his head.
“What?” I ask.
“Don’t…don’t drink…” he trails off, vomiting a third time.
“Vincent,” I say, but it comes out like a whisper.
He shakes his head and waves me off, his mouth open like he wants to speak.
But all that comes out is a low groan. I hear his stomach as he stumbles away, rumbling like it’s full of rocks.
I watch as he crawls slowly through the brush, desperate to make it… somewhere.
I follow, just barely making it to the tree line before I see him collapse onto the sand, flat on his back, his chest rising and falling way faster than it should.
“Stay over there,” he rasps when he sees me. “And don’t drink the water.”
He doesn’t want me to see him like this. He’s embarrassed, and that’s something I’ve never seen before from him. My heart sinks. My eyes fill with tears. I don’t care that he’s weak right now. I don’t care that his body is expelling the sickness. I just want him to be okay.
But you have to secure your own oxygen mask before you help everybody else.
I need water. He found water. But it’s bad.
There’s a fix for that.
Boil it.
I drag myself back to our spot and think as hard as I can. I need metal.
I dig and dig and dig until I get to Ms. K’s stuff. I turn her camera over in my hands, rolling my eyes at my stupidity. A camera won’t help, idiot. I dig again, freezing when my finger brushes up against something hard.
I pull it out.
A pink Stanley cup with Kiara written across the side in glitter.
I fling the top off, running it over to the fire pit, smiling at my good fortune. I pile up some dry twigs and small logs, then use Vincent’s lighter to spark them up.
The water he collected is mostly free of visible dirt, but I can see stuff floating around in there.
Without thinking, I pull my shirt over my head and lay it over the top of the cup.
I pour the contents of two of the bottles through the shirt, smiling as the filtered water drips slow and steady into the metal tin.
This just might work.
My shirt caught the biggest particles. If anything else made it through, I guess it deserved to make the trip. I have more pressing concerns right now.
I look around, finally finding a long stick. I slip it through the handle of the cup and hold it over the fire, waiting patiently for this to work.
The smoke stings my eyes, but I barely blink.
I stare at the cup, watching as the pink outer shell cracks, then slides off the exterior in ugly clumps.
Kiara is the last to go, and I feel guilty about it, like I just cut through her name on a birthday cake.
But sorry to this woman. It had to be done.
Finally, after what feels like hours, the water inside begins to boil. A lump forms in my throat as I realize I did it, and maybe this means he’ll live. We’ll both live.
Waiting for the water to cool is torturous.
I can’t pour it back into the plastic bottles while it’s hot, but I can’t boil the next batch until I transfer the first one.
So I wait. And wait. And wait. Finally, the steam disappears and the water is cool enough to pour.
I refill the two bottles and quickly start the next batch. As the second batch cools, I sip.
I go slow because I’m not a hundred percent certain I trust it. But the alternative is death, so it just is what it is.
By the time I make my way back to Vincent, he’s lying naked on his back at the edge of the water, his soiled clothes piled up a few feet away. I take him his bottle, kneeling beside him and speaking softly.
“This one’s safe,” I say. “I boiled it.”
His eyes open slowly, but only halfway. “Thank you.”
“Here, take a few sips.” I slide a hand under his head and lift it, holding the bottle to his mouth. “Just a few sips.
I manage to get a few mouthfuls into him before he shakes his head. I set the bottle next to him, then feel his forehead with the back of my hand. I don’t know why. It’s not a cold or the flu. It just feels right to do it.
“Are you coming back?”
He shakes his head again. “I’ma sleep out here.”
It’s not what I wanna hear, but it makes sense.
“I’ll be right back,” I say. “Keep drinking.”
I take several sips of my water before I return to Ms. K’s suitcase. I cut the last bit of fabric from the interior, then fill the middle with leaves and a pair of her pajamas. I roll it up and grab Vincent’s blanket before heading back to the beach.
I lift his head again, pouring as much water into him as I can before placing my makeshift pillow under him. I lower his head carefully, then cover his limp body.
“Keep drinking,” I say. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He nods.
“Goodnight.”
I kiss his cheek, then back away towards the tree line, watching for…something. I don’t know what. Maybe that he’s changed his mind. But he just lays there, exhausted and lethargic.
Dinner for me is three macarons and five almonds. And water. I finish the bottle, already feeling less beat down. I boil one last batch before I call it a night, finally crawling into the shelter a little after sundown.
It feels way too big in here without him. The space beside me, the place where he usually lies all warm and solid, feels cold now. Hollow.
I can’t sleep.
I keep listening for the sound of him. Maybe his low voice. His footsteps. His laugh. Even his jokes. The way he teases me. But all I hear is ocean.
It’s too big, that sound. It makes me feel small and inconsequential. This is what it would feel like if he left me all alone out here.
I bury my face in my hands and cry. And not just for him.
For me.
For the sky that won’t open up and give us rain.
For my family, who has no idea I’m still alive.
For all the things I’ve lost.
And the thing I found that feels so precarious right now.
I don’t know how long I slept. Time is strange out here. But at least I’m still here. And I have to pee.
I relieve myself and head straight for the beach. Vincent is kneeling at the shoreline, rinsing his face in the water. He still looks weak, but he’s alive.
“Hey,” I call softly.
He turns, eyes glassy, and gives me a weak smile. “Hey, you.”
Relief floods through me, rushing so hard and sudden it makes me suck in a breath.
“You feel like grabbing my soap for me?”
“Of course.”
When I return with his things, he pulls up onto his knees and bathes himself, his movements weak and shaky. I notice sand stuck in his hair and reach out to brush it away. He flinches at first, then relaxes into my touch.
I fill his empty water bottle with the sea and pour it over his head, using my fingers to slowly and gently work the sand out of his thick coils.
His hair is so much longer now. He stops moving and tilts his head back, his eyes fixed on me.
When I look down at him, I see something in those deep brown pools. Something I can’t name. But I feel it.
He reaches up, his hands shaky as they find the back of my legs. His fingers clutch at me like I’m a life raft floating in the expanse of the sea. Like I’m the only thing he has to hold onto.
“Don’t leave me,” he murmurs against my thigh. “Please, Ari. Don’t ever leave me.”
I stare down at him, struck by his words. I’m struck by the desperation.
And then, I say, “I won’t.”
And I mean it.