Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
TALLY
Aimlessly, I wonder about the halls of the ship.
Personally, it’s boring as fuck. All there is wood, more wood and oh, more wood. I suppose there’s the occasional door to a separate room, the open space full of hammocks and beds for the crew, and barrels dotted around. But it’s all just wood.
Nothing like being on my island. I much prefer my island.
Whenever I’ve been on the sea, it’s been on a small fishing boat, so you could see the nature around you. On this hulking ship, you’re caged in. Repetitive hallways with little character.
Allowing my thoughts to drift, I think of what might have happened if I had stayed and listened to what Cyrus wanted to say.
Think of all the possibilities of the conversation she wanted to have.
All the paths feel negative, nothing good coming from any of them.
Even trying to curate a good one, one where she tells me she loves me back, cracks my heart a little bit more.
Because that surely isn’t the path she planned on taking.
Even if it was, it still wouldn’t work. It’s a little too late.
Then, when her crew leaves again, everything will fall apart.
They’re usually gone for months at a time before they come back around to the island.
Only visiting a handful of times a year and never really longer than a week.
Their last visit was different because of Amara’s injuries, because Cyrus slowed repairs. It’s a fairytale.
How would a relationship last when she’s so far away so much of the time. The longing would be just as devastating as it is now.
My grumbling stomach makes an appearance, reminding me I haven’t eaten. Honestly, I can’t actually remember the last time I’d eaten something substantial.
Fed up of wandering halls, I go in search of food.
I locate the kitchen easily, the door propped open slightly with the scent of fresh cooked eggs emanating from inside.
Hand wrapped around the door edge, I’m ready to enter when voices stop me.
Or one particular voice stops me.
“She won’t talk to me.”
It’s Cyrus. And it’s easy enough to deduce who she means by ‘she’. Cyrus is talking about my refusal to talk to her. But to whom?
“She’s hurt, but that doesn’t mean she won’t.” A sweet, melodic voice chimes in. I instantly recognise it as Mabel.
“I’ve tried to talk to her, but she doesn’t want to. I understand why, I do. I’m the idiot. I fucked it up months ago, so why should I deserve a second chance?” She sounds so broken, she almost whispers the words.
“Everyone deserves a second chance, Cyrus. I wouldn't be sitting here if I didn’t give Amara a second chance to show me her true self.”
Cyrus huffs a broken laugh, one that lacks any humour. “There was a miscommunication with you too, you both thought the wrong thing about each other when you met. I knew Tally and chose to hurt her. Because whether or not I knew what I wanted, I still chose to hurt her.”
I should stop listening, turn away. Even though they are talking about me, I shouldn’t hear this. If I’m not ready to have the conversation with Cyrus myself, I’m definitely not ready to hear a behind the scenes version with Mabel.
However, I don’t move. My feet are stuck to the floor.
“Everybody, and I mean everybody, deserves a second chance or at least to be heard out.” Mabel sighs, pausing as she thinks on what to say back. “Oh, why not write her a letter?”
“I-I want to talk to her in person. It all feels… too important to put into words, let alone onto paper.” The way Cyrus stammers makes me want to go in and hold on to her tight. “I can’t write the words ‘I love you’ before I’ve said them out loud.”
My heart stutters.
I love you?
Everything locks up before she’s even finished the sentence. I gasp with my next inhale as the words wash over me.
This conversation was about me, right? This can’t be real.
It doesn’t make sense.
No scenario went like that in my head, so it’s not truly a possibility is it? Besides, she loves Amara. That’s who she must be truly talking about, maybe she’s also been trying to talk to Amara and Amara isn’t listening.
But why would she be talking to Mabel– Amara’s lover– about that?
Suddenly, a deep ocean stare collides with mine through the crack in the door, like the tide crashes into sand.
“Tally.”
Oh fuck.