Chapter 17
17
E zra
I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping, but it’s still dark when I wake up. The sound of heavy rainfall doesn’t let me go back to sleep, so I lift myself up on my elbows and look outside. The wall of water is so thick I can barely see anything past a few feet. Yesterday evening, it started as a short-lived rumbling with a promise of quickly going away. Today, it doesn’t seem to be stopping at all.
Glancing around, I feel a ping of pride for the quality of shelter I’ve built. The water’s dripping through a tiny hole in one corner, following the pole into the ground. That’s about it. I need to cover it tomorrow to make sure everything is dry. Other than that, the place is perfect. I’m glad I decided to build it on a small hill, so the water doesn’t collect inside. A thick layer of palm leaves keeps me somewhat cozy. It’s better than sleeping on the ground.
I try going back to sleep, I really do. But my mind keeps drifting to the other human on this island. I should just close my eyes and stop thinking about that since she let me know very clearly that she didn’t need my help.
Yesterday felt like a breakthrough where we actually talked like human beings without trying to rip each other’s throats out and did some work together. Her constant clumsiness doesn’t annoy me as much anymore, so I decided that we can actually tolerate each other enough to survive until the rescue. Once we get to the mainland, we will never see each other again. Ever. I’ve had enough of our very unfortunate interactions.
But she had other plans about coexisting peacefully when she refused my help with a glare like I was taking her firstborn.
After tossing and turning, I eventually give up. The night is dark, and there’s nothing useful I can do until the sun comes up, but staying inside— alone —is getting on my nerves.
I peek my head out but can’t see much through the darkness and rain. I’m so used to bright streetlights everywhere I go that the beauty of nature seems muted.
Straining my eyes, I try to see what my neighbor’s doing. Naturally, I don’t see a thing. So I climb outside and run to her ‘shelter,’ which is currently falling apart. When I reach it, I find her staring ahead, hugging her knees. She’s not sleeping, and the closer I look, the less I think that she’s slept at all. Her body’s not moving, and she’s in a trance of sorts. It’s creepy.
“Hey,” I call out quietly, startling her anyway.
“Holy shit!” she cries out, placing her hand to her chest.
“You’re wet.” Fuck, seriously, Ezra?
“So are you.” She lifts a brow, looking a little less miserable than she was a second ago.
“Because I was running here. Come with me.” I nod toward my place. “My shelter is dry. ”
She peeks outside—if there’s even an outside for that —inspects my shelter as if she can see it from here, and then looks back at me.
“Are you inviting me over?” Her voice sounds coy, like there’s a hint of a smile on those pouty lips of hers.
“Are you coming?” I decide to keep my game because I’m starting to feel a thing I haven’t felt for a long time—guilt.
She nods and jumps to her feet. I’m soaking wet, standing under the pouring rain. At least it’s not cold, otherwise it wouldn’t be fun to have pneumonia out here without antibiotics. We both run to my shelter, and I let her get in first. She bends, meeting me with her shorts-clad ass. And I’m stunned for a moment before I gather my wits to follow her inside.
As we pile in, the palm leaves on the ground get wet too. Fuck. So much for a dry place.
With two people, it suddenly seems small. Very small. She’s sitting on her knees, mimicking my pose, and we’re almost touching.
I notice she’s shivering, and I lean to the side of her toward the corner where I folded my suit blazer I use as a blanket. It’s ripped in a few places but still works as intended. I expect her to pull away because there’s not enough space here. She doesn’t. Instead, she stays in the same position while I accidentally brush her arm while retrieving the blazer.
“Take it.” I push it toward her, trying to avoid any further skin contact.
“What?”
“You’ve been sitting there, wet, for who knows how long. We don’t need you to get sick. Change into that.”
“Oh,” she mumbles, looking down at herself. “Right. Can you?—”
“Yeah, sure.” It’s too dark to see much more than her outline, but I quickly turn around anyway and listen to the sound of sticky clothes being peeled off a wet body.
“I’m done.”
I turn back and find her sitting in the same position I found her—hugging her knees. My blazer is so big on her, she’s able to almost wrap its front around her legs. The wet shirt and shorts lie in a pile by the entrance.
This is the moment when I understand that she has almost nothing under my jacket. Only her skin and the duck on her ass. The silky material of the inside is clinging to her skin just like it was to mine, and I suddenly feel the intimacy of the moment. It’s not the close quarters, even though it doesn’t help the situation, but sharing the only piece of clothing we have left. It’s touched both of our bodies. Our skin.
“Thank you,” she says quietly, bringing me back to the reality of our situation.
All the previous fight has clearly left her voice, and I don’t like it. So I just nod, not knowing how to react to her simple gratitude a moment after I imagined us being one united thing. So fucked up.
“What about you?”
“What about me?” I parrot like an idiot. All my wits are lost.
“You’re wet too. You can get sick, and I took your only dry clothes.”
“I have another shirt.” I look at the ripped mess of a white dress shirt I stashed in the corner because it has more holes in it than put-together material. “It’s fine.” I shrug one shoulder.
“Take it off at least, so you’re not sleeping in wet stuff, you know. Maybe by the time we wake up, it will be sunny, and our clothes will be good to go. It’s usually like that here. Rain, rain, and then boom,” she weakly snaps her fingers, “the hot sun out of nowhere.”
“You’ve been here a lot?”
“When I was a kid.” Her voice sounds sad. “Not so much anymore.”
I nod, once again not knowing what to say. Talking was never one of my strongest traits. That’s why I have my brother. He talks enough for the both of us.
The longer we sit, the worse my wet shirt feels on my skin, so I decide to follow her advice, take it off, and put it by the entrance to dry in case the rain stops while we sleep. But once I rid myself of the clingy material, my pants feel what I’d assume wet diapers stuck to the whole lower part of my body would feel like. Not cool.
“Do you mind if I take these wet pants off?” I ask her.
She shakes her head and goes back to staring out of the shelter.
I quickly pull my pants off and place them next to the shirt. Silky boxers don’t feel so good when soaking wet, but it’s better than if I’d been wearing tighty-whities.
“I’m gonna sleep. I don’t know if they’ll find us tomorrow, but we need to look for more food. We need protein for energy. I can’t keep running on sugar.” I shake my head with disgust.
“Yeah.” Her voice is absent, as if she hasn’t heard me.
For a moment, she felt like someone I knew. A person from my life. Despite how fucked up our connection really is. The feeling was faulty. Not helpful.
It’s better this way. Separated mentally. We can get by as total strangers forced into circumstances without really knowing each other. If she does get to know me, she might not like what she discovers. And I might like it too much.
I’m her only hope here. As she is mine. If I learn things about her, it might make me want things I can’t have. And I can’t think about anything other than the deal I was going toward. I need it to happen, so all the years I’ve spent going toward my goals won’t go to waste.
I glance at her miserable posture once again, and, with a sigh, I grab the shredded dress shirt from the corner. Slightly twisting my body, I spread it over her bare legs, and turn away from her.
She doesn’t make a sound.