Chapter 12
12
M aeve
When I open my eyes, rescue is still not here. Neither is the storm. The sky is bright blue; the crystal-clear ocean is a picture of peaceful paradise from TV commercials.
I stretch my aching body and stand up.
The island doesn’t look so hostile during the day. The sandy part of the shore doesn’t take much space, giving in to the life of the land with all its blooming greenness. The grass and palms start growing about fifteen feet away from the water, so I’d suspect this is where the high tide ends. Good thing I chose the tree far from it, or waking up would have looked much different.
And I know we’re on an island because we’re in the middle of an ocean in French Polynesia, an absolutely beautiful place that consists of numerous islands separated from each other by a massive body of water. And we were headed from Bora Bora to Maupiti Island which was supposed to be an hour and a half away by speedboat, according to what the nice captain said. So we could end up anywhere, including any number of habitable islands. It’s time to stretch my legs and go find some people. My unfortunate neighbor has probably found humans and left me here, alone and thirsty.
The more I walk, the thirstier I become. And the more desperate. It pains me to say it, but King was right—rescue hasn’t come yet, and I’m probably dehydrated. My head hurts, my skin hurts, my tongue is like a cotton ball in my mouth made of cotton disks. I don’t know if he ended up in some nice house and already called for help, but all I want right now is some water.
I keep walking I don’t know how long, until an already familiar voice calls out to me from somewhere.
“Hey, stop. Hey.” Louder this time when I don’t react right away because my brain simply can’t make my body move fast enough. “Hey, stop.”
I stop, my back stiff as a board as I look around. But I don’t see anyone. Disregarding the voice as part of my dehydrated imagination, I keep walking.
“Wait!”
I stop once again, my shoulders slumping as I turn around and find the stuck-up giant moving my way. I squint into the morning sun, trying to see him as my eyes adjust to the brightness shone in my face.
“Is it you?” I shield my eyes from the sun with my hand, my eyes burning. My tongue is swollen, and I can barely speak.
The closer he comes, the larger he looks. I let my eyes get used to the halo behind him, trying to figure out if he’s real or just part of my feverish imagination which tends to run wild from time to time.
How long can people survive without water before going crazy? Am I past that point? If not yet, then I’m quickly approaching it, because there’s no way it’s the same stuffy man I’ve seen. King is an office rat with a stick so high up his ass, it was probably scratching his tonsils. This guy, who ditched the jacket and rolled his sleeves up, looks like a natural, relaxed part of the local fauna. Who seems entirely too comfortable to be without a keyboard and a sharp Parker pen in his hand. And shoes. His giant feet are bare. The closer he comes, the more they look like skis.
Yep, dehydrated.
“It’s me,” he grumbles in an annoyed manner. “I found water, but I don’t have anything to bring it in. Let’s go.”
He turns away, gesturing for me to follow him. My default setting is to fight with someone who orders me around. But that’s on a good day, and this is a bad day. A very bad day. So I silently follow him, hoping he won’t murder me in the nearest bushes. Even though I know he probably dreams of doing so.
It’s when my eyes land on his back that I falter, nearly tripping. Sure, I know he’s big. He’s always looked imposing in that suit of his. But after our first encounter I stopped seeing him as a man and started seeing him rather like an annoying creature sending me angry glares every chance we meet.
But now… I feel like a veil has been taken off my eyes, and I’m seeing him in a new light. His shoulders are the broadest I’ve ever seen, stretching the dirty, white material of his shirt to the fullest extent. If he were any bigger, I’m positive it would rip. Wait , there is a rip. Right down the right side of his back. His pale skin peeks through, nearly blinding my poor eyes.
With every move, his muscles ripple beneath his shirt, hypnotizing me. On first look, I’d never think he had so many of them, and definitely not so prominent. Was he hiding all of that under that suit all this time? I press my fists into my eye sockets, wiggling them and trying to bring my old vision back because I’m clearly tripping.
When I stumble again, I roll my eyes at myself for being too thirsty and shift my attention from his back to my surroundings.
We walk in silence for a few minutes—ten? Or is it twenty?—through tall and short palms of different kinds. There’re no paths, no people, just chirping birds and a few chickens here and there. How did chickens get here? If there’re domesticated animals, there should be people, correct?
Soon, I hear the sound of splashing water. It’s not loud, but it’s there. Unless it’s my imagination, but I don’t think so this time. The more we walk, the louder the sound becomes.
King pushes green, hanging branches to the side, revealing a small waterfall of the purest color I’ve seen only on laptop backgrounds. Until this moment, I didn’t know something could look so pure. I rush toward the falling water and cup my hands under the stream, filling them with the icy goodness. And drink it.
I drink it until I can’t take anymore and only then do I sit my ass down on the plushy grass and look at my nemesis who delivered me to this wonderful source of life.
Now, when my thirst is satisfied, I can appreciate the view. And by the view, I mean my surroundings, not the fine ass in front of my face.
We’re in a small opening between the palm trees. Some are overgrown and some are not. And even though the place seems like a human hand hasn’t touched it yet, it looks in order. Like nature is taking care of itself without our interference, and it couldn’t have looked better.
The waterfall forms a small pond that doesn’t go anywhere. Most likely, there’s some sort of underground river or cave leading water away from here .
“It’s a small island.” King’s words take me out of my observation.
“What?” I look up at him, and yet again, he’s standing against the sun, and I still don’t see his face so I can’t read his expression.
“The place is an island, and there’re no people,” he explains, slower this time, like I couldn’t hear him before.
My head whips around. “No people? Are we on a deserted island?”
“Uninhabited. To assume it was deserted would mean that someone used to live here. But I found nothing. The place is empty.” He scratches his cheek. “Do you have a phone on you? Mine sank with the boat.”
Sank. With the boat. All the minute pleasure of enjoying the moment instantly plummets down when I remember the human life that might have been lost.
“Phone,” he reminds me in a slightly irritated voice. “Do you have it?”
“I think so.” I start patting the pockets of my shorts and, to my surprise, find my phone still inside. “I got it!” I cry, pulling it out.
King stretches his open hand, silently ordering me to hand him my phone. It’s not like I can do anything with it now, so I pass it to him. Maybe he can breathe some magic battery life into it, I don’t know.
He carefully takes it with two fingers from my hand like it’s used underwear and brings it up to eye level.
“What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a phone,” I explain slowly. “People use it to call other people.”
“This is a piece of shit.” He opens it and starts pressing buttons. “Of course,” he groans. “Nothing works on this fucking dinosaur.”
“Hey!” I stand up and pry my phone away from his big, dirty hands. “It’s all I can afford now after you got me fired without the last paycheck. Leave it alone.” I push it into the back pocket of my shorts.
“ I got you fired?” he asks, raising both of his brows. I meet him with a death stare, hoping he’ll get a clue to drop this subject.
“What are you going to do with it anyway?” He clearly gets the hint.
“I’ll put it in rice when I’m back to the land where they, well,” I shrug, “have rice.”
He snorts. “Unbelievable. How old are you if you still believe in this crap?”
“None of your business.” I purse my lips and crawl back to the lake to drink. When I make a boat with my hands to get some water, another hand suddenly swats mine, making me drop all the water. “What’s your problem?” I yell into his face.
“We don’t know how clean the water is here,” he replies gruffly.
“We just both drank the same water over there,” I point at the waterfall, “just fine. I didn’t see you slamming your face in the stone.”
“Yes, the running water.” He points at the waterfall and then at the pond at the bottom. “We don’t know how long this has been here. Might have grown bacteria in it, and I don’t fancy dragging your half-conscious ass around.”
I jump to my feet and place my hands on my waist. “I wasn’t asking you to drag my ass anywhere.”
The pose I’m striking would be very intimidating if my face wasn’t staring at his chest. I lift my head up to face him, but the damn sun is behind him like a halo.
I take a step back just so I can see it, and lo and behold, this man is fine. And I mean this man. The man who appears in front of me is changed. All angular and rough, like unpolished canvas with raw strokes of masculinity. He was annoyingly pretty back in real life, with his perfectly styled hair and unblemished skin.
Today, he looks different. There’s something wild on his face I haven’t noticed before. Maybe it’s his slightly pink cheeks from the blistering sun. Or his disarrayed hair. Or his rolled to the elbows sleeves. No matter what it is, I can’t stop staring.
Dark, straight brows sit low on his brown eyes, making him look like a hawk on a hunt. Thick lashes leave shadows on his already dark under eyes. Looks like the man hasn’t slept in years. The pink covering his milky cheeks—a clear indication that he’s an office rat and hasn’t seen sun in about the same number of years he hasn’t slept.
He undid two buttons on his shirt, baring his thick, corded neck before me. Free of restraints and free for me to ogle. I’ve never been known to be a neck person, but I’m slowly being converted as we speak.
He places his hands on his hips, mimicking my pose, and somehow, he looks more intimidating than me. Maybe it’s his well over six-foot height talking, or maybe it’s his linebacker shoulders. Might also be his sharp eyes that are currently making me super uncomfortable.
“I dragged your ass from the ocean yesterday,” he reminds me.
“And I thank you for that,” I reply sincerely in a gentle voice, shoving my attitude deep inside for a moment. “Now, I shall set you free. Bye.” With that, I turn away and start walking.
“Where are you going?” he yells to my back.
“To take full advantage of no people around,” I yell in response without turning back.
I’m grateful to him for saving my life, but I’m ready to embrace my Robinson Crusoe life. I’m broke and could use a few extra days before I have to crawl back to my family, kissing their ass and asking for help. As I see the situation now, it’s free land, free food—if I find it—and free swimming sessions whenever I want. It’s not ideal, but it’s much better than what I had in New York for the most part.
First, I need to explore the island to be sure it’s really uninhabited. He might have been lying. He didn’t look too willing to wait for rescue to arrive. My only issue is that I can’t venture too far from the water source since I don’t have a bottle or anything to carry it with.
I glance around and notice tons of coconuts on the trees but no means to open them. When I was a kid and we used to travel to tropical places, I once saw how a local boy was opening a coconut. But I don’t think I can replicate it. He did it with a machete, and all I got are nails and teeth. I guess after a long starvation, I might have to figure out how to use them. But I’m not there yet, so the coconuts move aside for now.
Carefully looking around, I start exploring the island, memorizing the path back to the water. To my horror, it doesn’t take long to make a full walk around—the island is truly small and not inhabited. All I saw were chickens and a bunch of other small animals, too fast for me to even recognize them.
As I’m nearing the waterfall, a loud cracking sound makes me pause. I tilt my head, trying to find the source of it, and follow it. On the beach, King is snapping thin palm trees and putting logs together, creating a shelter. With his bare hands. And I mean bare. He ditched his shirt, and now he’s wearing his white undershirt that clings to his body more than a white T-shirt in a wet T-shirt contest.
Every time he rips into a log to pull it aside, his whole body strains, making the muscles pop. It’s like watching Captain America pull the logs apart .
While I’m gaping, he’s smashing those long trees as if they were tiny twigs. Then he carries them to one place to build a perfect little home for himself.
Oh, that smart bastard! He wants to sleep nice and dry. The wet season is upon us, and I bet it won’t be fun to get wet every day. I remember how rainy the tropics get from traveling with my family.
I march past him and look for a place for myself. I don’t need anyone’s help, especially his. Plus, I don’t think he’ll be willing to offer it after all our interactions.
About a hundred feet or so away from his already decent-looking shelter, I find the perfect place for mine. Three palm trees already bent together, creating the structure for what I have in mind. All I need now is to stick them together for good and build the rest.
Easy-peasy. The water source is nearby. The beach is in front of me in case rescue comes while I’m sleeping. The place is perfect. If not for the grunting giant to my left and his perfect-looking shelter. I can do better!
As I start pulling the palm branches, the sun goes up, and my skin starts burning. I could use some sunscreen, but I have none. Natural sunscreen will have to do. So I dig my fingers into the soil, deep inside where the moisture gathers, pull the dirt out, and spread it all over my cheeks, forehead, neck, and arms. The burnt skin instantly chills, and I let out a loud moan of relief.
The cracking and rustling stops. I look at my neighbor—he’s standing up and holding a huge log in his hands.
I lift up my middle finger at him and go back to cutting the branches. Cutting is a very fancy word for what I’m doing to them actually. Trying to rip a branch off a palm is not an easy task since it feels like they all are glued together. King doesn’t seem to have a problem though, because his shelter is looking like an actual livable shed, almost professionally built. While mine looks like it’s one breath away from falling apart since my branches are all messed up and not bushy at all. Even though I know all the tips and tricks which are still very fresh in my head due to bingeing Survivor on the way here, it’s not as easy as the show makes it seem. I thought I was small but mighty, but turns out, the latter doesn’t apply to me.
I probably could have asked for help—just a little bit—if he was someone else. Anyone else.
Glancing at my creation, I admit to myself that I probably would never be picked for the show, or my season would end ten minutes in.
I send an evil glance his way and continue with my task, making frequent trips to the waterfall. Despite the high humidity, my body seems to evaporate its liquid into thin air with the speed of light. Having a bottle would be very helpful right now.
Soon, the sun begins setting, and my house looks like a ready-to-fall-apart shithole. I have no food, since I’ve been so focused on building this disaster, and no real shelter. If it rains at night, I’ll be sitting under the sky, tired and hungry, drenched down to my bones.
A loud male moan draws my attention, and I stick my nose out from my shelter to see what’s happening. King has half a coconut in his enormous hands and takes a sip out of it. He’s sitting on a big log with his hand perched on his bent knees.
My mouth instantly starts salivating, and I swallow, suddenly aware of how hungry I am. And thirsty. And angry. And my blood sugar is probably so low I’m a second away from passing out.
In the meantime, he takes another sip and glances my way. I purse my lips and turn away .
Another moan follows, and I can’t help myself and look. Who the hell moans so loudly?
Now, right on the sand next to my beachside nemesis is the other half of the coconut. The man meets my eyes with a short nod at it. I swallow again and purse my lips, refusing to give in to temptation. A ghost of a smile makes a brief appearance on his lips, and then it’s instantly gone as if I imagined it. He nods again—without a smile this time—and pushes the coconut my way.
I sigh loudly, finally giving up my independence. I’m about to sell my dignity for food—story as old as life.
Dragging my feet toward him with my head hanging lower than my self-esteem, my stomach churns. I swear I can taste the coconut in the air.
Feeling less guilty the closer I get to the delicious goodness, I decide I can be all strong and independent later. Today I’m too hungry for that.