10. Pippi
I blamed the wine.
Downing an entire bottle made people complacent for stupid stuff, y’know?
And, yes, I’d swigged the bottle. The whole thing. Every last crimson drop.
Why?
Well, it was cheaper to get a bottle instead of a glass. So we had. And then Jackson had opted to get the stout on tap instead, leaving me with all 750 milliliters of Merlot.
“You can take the leftovers back to our room,” Jackson had said. “We’ll do a midnight toast or something.”
There were no leftovers. Not of the wine. Or the dinner. Or the appetizer.
The afternoon of puking and anxiety attacks had left my belly an insatiable black hole.
But that bottle of wine was gonna get me in trouble.
Sober me never, ever, ever would have strolled her bare-naked bottom into the water.
Tipsy me? Had trekked willingly down the little path through the cliffs and allowed Jackson to strip off my clothes.
And I’d laughed when I peeled his off. Because my head was buzzy and light, and the fog and shadows had twined in a delectable drape around the hard, muscular planes of his body , teasing me by keeping all the best parts shrouded.
Now I smiled, nervously, when he grasped on to my arm and walked backward, guiding us into the plopping water.
“Someone is going to— hiiiiicccc —oh my goodness.” I waved my arm in front of my face. “Was that a hiccup or a burp?”
Jackson laughed. “A hiccup.”
“Well, that’s good. I don’t want to blast ya with half regirtated…refrigerated…refurburated—” Stars above, it was hard to drag words out of my wine-sloshed brain. “— regurgitated fish and chips.”
“We definitely don’t want that.” Jackson splashed water at me, flecking it across my belly, and making me shiver.
“The fishy smell might sic the Loch Ness Monster on our asses. Kidding, babe.” He shook my arm, maybe sensing the tight chord of fear that snapped along my spine.
“It’s too shallow. No sea beast will dare venture here.
And if it does”—he planted a beer-scented kiss on my cheek— “I’ll protect you. ”
“And you’re sure the…” I freed a hand, swishing it in a wave motion when the word I wanted died a slow, suffocating death inside my sozzled head.
“Tide?” Jackson supplied.
“Yeah. That. You’re sure it’ll stay out?”
“‘Til near midnight. Yeah.”
Near midnight? Or at midnight? Or after midnight? Specification words were important.
Unless he’d slipped one in and my brain had blipped it out?
Which… possible .
I didn’t even know what time it was, to be honest. It’d been nine ish when we went to get dinner.
And still daylight ish— which had been a little weird, for spring.
And I never would’ve pegged it as being that late if I hadn’t glanced at the mechanical clock hanging in the living room of our cottage.
A clock that had to be wound every day, or so read the instruction pamphlet on the coffee table.
But without phones, without digital watches, without computers…time just kinda slipped away.
Frigid water smacked against my calves. “You’re sure we’re not gonna get kicked out for this?” I asked.
“Kicked out of where ?”
“Y’know”—I waved an arm behind me—“here.”
Jackson shook his head. “How are they gonna kick us off the island if the ship doesn’t come back ‘til next Sunday?”
“I dunno. Maybe they’ll make us swim?” I shuddered.
“We’re fine, babe.” He shimmied out a little further, making a heavy splosh as his ankles cut through the next weedy wave.
I squealed when the water splashed against my calves. “ Ooooh. It’s cold!”
“It is a bit, yeah.”
“Too cold for me.” I tugged back against him.
“Uh-uh.” He scooped an arm around my waist and blew a playful raspberry against my cheek. “The cold just means we gotta go fast. ”
Something built in my throat—a protest, a scream, a squawk, I wasn’t sure. But it didn’t matter. By the time it wriggled out of my mouth, Jackson had already whipped me forward and plunged us both neck-high into the frigid water.
The cold took the air, the voice, the words , right out of me. I gasped. Tried to suck in a breath. Couldn’t. And started to flail.
“Head under”—Jackson pressed his palm to the top of my head—“real quick. It won’t seem so cold after.” And then he shoved me straight down into the curve of an oncoming wave.
Saltwater rushed up my nose and flooded my mouth. My eyes burned. My lungs seared. But, as panic snaked around my heart, Jackson pulled me back up, holding me flush against his chest as I sputtered.
“See?” He swiped the water out of my eyes, peppering little kisses over my cheek. “It’s not so bad when you go quick, huh?”
“It’s f-f-f-freezing . ” The words came out broken. Because my teeth were chattering and chomping them up.
“It’s not so bad, actually.” Jackson squeezed me tighter, slapping our slick, bare bodies against each other.
“So says the man w-who just had the cold s-s-steal his erection,” I grouched.
Jackson had been proud and erect before we’d gotten into the water.
Now?
Limp. He was totally limp.
“Ah”—he rolled his hips into mine—“it’ll warm back up again. Don’t worry.”
His cock gave a feeble twitch.
I snorted. “Sure it will.”
“We won’t stay in long, babe.” He turned his mouth to the side of my neck, nibbling lightly. “But it is romantic, isn’t it?”
It might have been. If the cold water wasn’t biting at my skin so viciously.
Or if the sky that stretched over us actually looked like the night sky—with glimmering moonlight and twinkling stars—instead of a big ball of dingy-grey fog fluff.
Or maybe if we’d gotten another bottle of wine to pump some fuzzy heat into our systems… it might’ve been very romantic.
But, at current, it was almost torture.
And that icy plunge had evaporated my soupy buzz. So all I had now was the cold, the aches from shivering, and the tingling of my skin as the water ravaged it.
A wave splashed water up to my cheek. I trembled. Jackson pulled me closer to him and gave my neck a lovingly lavished bite.
“The water’s higher than it looked earlier,” I mumbled.
“Hmmmm.” Beneath the water, his warm palm cupped my left breast, fondling it.
Another wave doused my face, more roughly this time. The water shoving at us and gyrating our bodies against each other.
Jackson groaned against the side of my neck. And it almost felt good—those sparks of pleasure as the water rocked him between my legs. But it’d feel better if we were out of this cold water. And in our warm, dry bed.
“Jackson.” I swallowed as he gave my breast a hard squeeze, just before the rollicking water mashed us against each other again. “I don’t like this. I-it’s getting rough and it’s cold . I wanna get out.”
He turned his needy mouth to my jaw, biting. Gently, but insistent. “Alright. It is getting rough.”
Reluctantly, he pulled away from me and pivoted, heading back to the cliff path. I blew out a relieved exhale and clung to his hand when the water bore down on us, trying to pull us back out. “Jackson”—my fingers threaded through his when a sticky, frightened belch rolled out of my chest—“I?—”
The riotous water howled as it engorged itself, puffing into a towering wall.
My heart stopped.
The rotating wall hissed and lunged for us, smacking us off our feet.
My head plunged straight into the frothy surf.
Jackson’s hand was whisked away. I heard him yell, just before the water flooded my ears, and then he was gone.
I reached for him, but my hands came up empty.
No.
No, no, no, no …
I forced my eyes open, even as the salt scalded them. All I saw was rippling, consuming darkness.
Please , no .
My feet flailed, mashing against the rock bottom for one solid, glorious second—a second where I got my legs under me and pushed my head above the surface.
A second where I saw the curdling haze of fog above, and felt the stone under my feet, and thought, really, really thought that I had a chance to walk back to the cliffs.
Until the next wave thrust me back under.
I fought its hold, clawing my way back up to the surface once, twice. Each time staying up only long enough to draw a solitary lungful of air before the tide claimed me again. Pain exploded over my hips, my back, my arms as my flailing body parts pummeled into solid stone.
“JACKSON!” On my third or fourth or fifth time cresting the surface, I stayed up long enough to catch two breaths, and I used the second to scream his name— pleaded he help me.
“Hang on, Pippi!” his answering call filled my ears just before I was hauled back under. And his voice had sounded so frighteningly far away.
By the time I got enough air to call for him again, he’d stopped answering.
I could no longer feel the rocky bottom. No matter how far the waves shoved me under, my feet never connected with stone.
My arms and legs didn’t smash into any more rocks.
And when I crested the surface again—for longer this time, enough to take four inhales—I found myself surrounded by nothing but fog and sea.
The cliffs were gone.
Because the tide had dragged me out.
Oh … please .
Not again .
Please .
Panic raked poisonous nails over my throat and chest, closing my airways. Making my insides feel as though they’d been shredded with a cheese grater. Tears splotched my vision.
I fought to coerce my ravaged lungs into taking all the air they could muster. And I just managed to scream, “HELP!” before the water dunked me under again.
I flipped. And careened. A free fall. Like those weird dreams of stepping off a sidewalk and plummeting down a thousand-foot drop into nothing.
And then…
Just when I was sure the spinning would mash my brains against my skull and have them leak out my eye sockets, it stopped. I opened my eyes again and wriggled my arms and legs, trying to figure out if they had the strength to take me to the surface.
But I didn’t know where the surface was.
It was all black—so deep, so consuming—I couldn’t even see the tips of my own fingers, even when I waved them in front of my face.
Did I have a face anymore? Did I have arms? Legs?
Under this sea, suspended and weightless, feeling nothing but the screaming ache in my lungs, I wondered if I was already dead.
Until I saw it.
The big, orange orb peering at me through the dark.
An eye.
An eye as big as my torso.
And it was inches away.
A silent scream burst out of my mouth, expelling a current of bubbles and wasting the precious little air I had in my lungs. I didn’t care.
A startled, rasping sound jangled in my ears.
The eye closed.
And now I had no freaking idea where the monster was. I couldn’t see the body attached to that eye.
But it was here. Somewhere.
Go! Go, go, go! I screamed at my legs. Willing them to kick through the water. To propel me up. Or what I hoped was up. There was resistance, so it had to be up. It had to be the way to the surface.
My lungs bellowed—the pain so intense, so shocking, checkerspots danced in front of my eyes.
Go. Go!
My legs were heavy as I battered them through the water.
My arms shook as I grappled and clawed and dragged.
But no matter how far I swam, the surface never came. The water rushed around me, squeezing my body, beating the last dregs of strength out of me.
I wasn’t going to make it.
I was going to die. In the middle of the ocean, thousands of miles away from home.
They’d never find my body.
Jackson would never get closure.
I would just… disappear. Poof. There one second, gone the next.
I stretched, pushing my hands up until my shoulder strained, praying I’d feel the break in the water.
Thwack.
Pain jarred my fingers as they smacked against something solid. And rough.
Stone.
It had to be.
I forced my rubbery legs to give me three more powerful kicks. And they pushed me high enough to get my hands more fully onto the stone. To feel the jagged peaks cutting into my palms. I grasped on to it, hauling myself up.
The air burned my throat when I popped my head out of the water and took that first big, gulping breath. It was a wonderful kind of pain, though. A pain that meant life— salvation.
I cried, choking on my breaths and heaving sea water out of my lungs, as I crawled more fully onto the rock. And then I lay there for a heartbeat, two, twelve, savoring each fiery inhale and the stickiness of the air against my skin. Marveling at the fog and the dark hunk of rock I was clinging to.
Safe.
I was out of the water. I was safe.
But not for long. The next wave announced its rampage with a resonant growl.
I didn’t want to look. But I did, and I sobbed when the mountain of water loomed so very, very, tall above me. I wouldn’t survive that.
The fact settled deep into my bones. I was not going to survive.
Beneath me, the rock gave a shudder. And then?—
A scream tore out of me when the solid slab of stone moved, lifting me up until I was taller than the wave.
When the fizzing water broke against the face of the rock, all it did was tickle my backside with a few foamy flecks.
Impossible.
The rock moved again.
I started to slide, and my numb fingers wrestled to keep hold of the jagged piece I’d been clinging to.
Except now, with the saltwater cleared from my eyes, I could see the jut of rock I had my hands wrapped around wasn’t a rock at all.
It was a horn. A big, curved, pointed horn.
The surface beneath me? Was gritty but pliable. Warm. Alive. And it shuddered as a thick, accented voice boomed between my ears.
“What were you d-doing?”