Chapter 2 #2
The second I crossed the threshold between the sand and the water, I gasped with the change in temperature. It sucked all the air right out of me, that frigidness. But I was determined. I gritted my teeth and pushed forward, bracing against the cold as I slowly submerged myself.
It was impulsive and reckless and a terrible idea, but I’d never been able to stop myself from making poor choices. I always tended to gravitate towards things that might hurt me.
I’d give myself just a minute of searching, only to rule out the possibility that I could’ve saved him. I didn’t want to be responsible for his death.
Over my ankles, then my shins, my knees, rising up to my thighs and hips, the ocean consumed me.
I leaned forward, swiping my arms through the obscure churn of seawater.
My clothes were soaked and heavy around me as I waded forward still, coldness licking up my stomach and chest, nearly freezing my lungs.
I looked around frantically, my teeth chattering and all my muscles flexing in rapid succession—some desperate attempt to regulate my temperature, presumably. It wasn’t working, and I still didn’t see anything. Was he really dead? I knew CPR, so maybe I still had time.
A wave swelled and crashed over me, stealing my air and sweeping me below it.
And it was so, so cold down there. Dark and cold and terrifying.
I pushed up to the surface again, gasping, coughing up saltwater, my mind reeling.
With dull horror, I realized I couldn’t touch the bottom here.
I spun around, trying not to freak out as I saw just how far the shoreline was now.
My arms and legs were burning while I treaded water, spitting it out when waves lapped at my face.
Again, my gaze darted all around myself, hoping against all odds that I’d see the man.
But now that I was really here, in the water, my hopes had all but dissolved.
The Pacific was merciless, taking as many prisoners as it wanted.
I gulped in as big of an inhale as I could muster, then dove down, back below the surface. It was way too dark to see down here, but I extended my arms, reaching in every direction, swimming down.
This was my last attempt. When I resurfaced, I’d have to swim back. Even if I didn’t find him. I wouldn’t survive out here on my own. At least I’d tried.
My lungs ached, my legs kicking hard, taking me deeper still.
The pressure on my skull increased, sounds swelling and muffling in my ears, rushing on currents.
My hair bloomed around my head, curling in floating tendrils, wrapping around me.
I flicked my fingers through the icy coldness, stretching my limbs, grasping at nothing.
Panic started burning brighter in my brain, shooting through my skull as the lack of oxygen stabbed my lungs.
I couldn’t do this.
My clothes were heavy, yanking me down, my chest on fire.
The rest of my air escaped through my nose in a flurry of bubbles. I tried to reorient myself, kick my legs, crawling towards precious air with my arms.
A hand grabbed my wrist.
I jerked back, my eyes flying open on instinct. But I couldn’t see anything.
The hand wasn’t letting go, even as I flailed, struggling towards the surface.
I squeezed my eyelids shut, feeling myself slipping.
Please.
And then I was being pulled, pulled upwards. Hard.
I broke through the surface, coughing and gasping, choking on air while I tried to get some into my lungs.
My mind was a chaotic jumble, my hair plastered to my face.
Hands grabbed my shoulders, holding me, keeping me above water as I panted, drawing in heaving breaths.
I was…warm. My eyes snapped back open, blinking through the blurriness of ocean water.
“What the fuck are you doing?” a rough voice asked me.
I couldn’t focus. All my thoughts ebbed away from me in inky trails, sifting through my fingers.
I didn’t know how to describe the way the man looked up close; he was almost inhumanly perfect.
It tripped some vital fear very deep inside of me, something I’d never felt before.
My mind was warring between the desire to get closer to him and get the hell away from him.
“I—I don’t—” I stuttered, at a loss for words. I swore his skin was pulsing with each inhale, faintly glowing every time he sucked in a breath. But when I shook my head, it stopped.
He shifted his grip on me, almost cradling me as he began swimming back to the shore.
He was a very strong swimmer, seemingly uninhibited by the fact that he had to drag my limp body with him.
How was he so warm? It didn’t take us long to get back to the sand; I was still out of breath by the time I could stand on my own feet again.
“Are you okay?” he asked, towering over me now that we were both standing on flat ground. “What were you doing?”
“What were you doing?” I spluttered, gesturing pointlessly towards the ocean. “I thought you drowned.”
“You were trying to save me?”
“Well, I don’t—I don’t know if I would’ve been successful, but I had to try.” I wished he’d at least pretend to be grateful I’d just risked my life for him.
“Why?” He narrowed his eyes.
I didn’t really have an answer to that.
A gust of wind whipped across my skin, my soaked clothes clinging cold to my body, and I shivered as if suddenly remembering just how freezing I was without his touch.
The man’s expression shifted and he glanced down at my body, skimming my figure briefly before he started towards our clothes.
My eyes instantly locked onto the scars on his back, wondering again how he’d gotten them.
His skin was strangely flawless, save for those two gashes.
He pulled his t-shirt and hoodie on, hiding the scars, then picked up the rest of his stuff—and mine—then held his hand out to me. I just stared at him.
“W-w-what?” I asked, teeth chattering violently.
“You’re freezing. Come with me.”
“N-n-no.” I clenched my jaw, wrapped my arms around myself. “Aren’t you cold t-too?”
“No,” he answered, without pause. “Please, just come with me—what’s your name?”
I shook my head, not answering him. It was staring to rain. This was stupid and unsafe. I hated that he was holding all my belongings now. My phone, my knife, my money. Dread and regret were anchors in my gut.
He looked at the darkening clouds, then back at me, impatient. “Come on. It’s going to rain.”
“What’s your n-name?” I managed to ask.
“Mason,” he responded instantly. “Come on.”
Okay…
Reluctantly, I took his hand. I didn’t really know what choice I had at this point. He had all my shit, and it was about to rain, and yes, I was freezing my ass off.
Mason pulled me along behind him up the sand, heading in the direction he’d come from.
My feet were almost numb by the time we reached the break in the cliffs leading up towards the road.
Carefully, I followed him over the rocks, trying to avoid stepping on the sharp parts.
My socks were probably getting torn up, but I couldn’t feel my feet well enough to know.
Once we approached what I assumed was Mason’s dark gray 4Runner parked off the shoulder of the road, the rain had increased to a steady drizzle.
He wrenched the door open and jerked his head towards the cab, indicating for me to get in.
Fuck, I’m being so stupid. I should’ve never followed him here.
I should’ve never gotten in the ocean in the first place.
“I don’t want to,” I said quietly.
“I don’t care. You’re not staying out here.” He looked up at the storm brewing over our heads again, for emphasis, then down again at my shivering body.
“What if you kidnap me?”
“What if,” he echoed dryly. “Get in.”
A bright flare of lightning forked across the sky, illuminating everything with white—and I jumped in the car.
Mason slammed the door and rounded the front, climbing into the driver’s side as heavy thunder rumbled overhead, muffled now that we were safely in the car.
He looked at me. I was dripping all over, making a puddle on the seat.
He started the engine and cranked the heat up.
Inconspicuously, I tried to scan the inside of the car, to look for bundles of rope or a gun or some other thing he could use to kill me. But his car was very clean. He’d given me back the belongings I’d left on the beach, so at least I had my knife again.
Without saying anything, Mason reached into the backseat and grabbed a lone duffle bag, then yanked it up onto the console between us.
He took out a towel then rubbed it over his head, drying his hair a little before throwing it at me.
I didn’t move, just watching him dig through the bag. Maybe this was where he kept the gun.
He paused, flicked his gaze up to meet mine.
“I’m getting you dry clothes.”
“I don’t need dry clothes.” My throat felt tight.
“You’re getting water everywhere.”
“So are you.” I had no idea why I was even defying him. I was nervous. Rain lashed against the dark-tinted windows.
“Not as bad as you.”
It was true. His only wet article of clothing were his swim trunks—which seemed to be drying a lot faster than my jeans and sweater. Plus, my long hair was still soaked. I took a steadying breath.
“Okay,” I relented.
“It’s in the center console, by the way.”
“What?”
“My gun. The thing you’ve been looking for.”
My muscles stiffened and I felt the overwhelming urge to jump out of the car.
“I wouldn’t have told you about it if I was going to use it on you,” he added, his stare piercing mine like a sharpened blade. “Maybe I’d make you lick it, but nothing else.”
For whatever reason, the second detail made me believe him—even as I flinched.
What would his gun look like in his hand? How would it feel against my skull?
I tried to force myself to relax, but it was really goddamn hard to do that when this stranger was making every inch of my skin feel like a live wire, primed to spark and jolt electricity through me. It was destabilizing. I gripped the hem of my sweater in my fists to try and keep from shaking.
“What’s your name?” Mason questioned again.
I wished I could determine what was different about him, what exactly was so unsettling about his presence.
I’d been around obviously angry men, excessively cruel men, but this wasn’t that.
This was…worse. Because there wasn’t a single visual clue for me to cling to, anything I could use to determine what this strange feeling of unease was coming from.
It was like static, raising the hairs on my arms and sending jitters of curious fear through my nerves.
I twisted my lips to the side, unsure about giving him my name. Eventually, my own self-destructive nature won out. It always did.
“Dakota,” I answered tentatively.
“Alright, Dakota,” he started. His voice on my name stirred something heated, low in my core. “I won’t look. Please change into this stuff.” Mason handed me a bundle of dry clothes. I held his eye for a second, then he turned away, purposefully giving me privacy.
I hesitated, but the allure of dry cotton and warmth was too strong to resist. Getting in his car was already stupid in the first place, what was one more bad choice?
I stripped off my sweater, watching Mason the whole time to make sure he didn’t look back at me, then unhooked my bra and let it fall to my lap before pulling on his spare sweatshirt and zipping it up.
I probably could’ve put on my own jacket—dry from where I left it on the beach—but I didn’t really want to be wearing a windbreaker with nothing underneath.
Next, my pants and socks and underwear came off, then I awkwardly maneuvered my way into his sweatpants and socks.
All the clothes were way too big on me, but very comfortable.
And—most importantly—dry.
“Do you have a hairbrush?” I asked, prompting Mason to turn back.
Mason got one out of the bag and handed it to me. I did my best to detangle my hair while he watched me struggle. Eventually I gave up and braided it into a long single plait down my back. My clothes were sitting in a soaked pile on his rubber floor mat.
“I’m going to change into shorts,” he informed me. “I don’t care if you watch but I’m just letting you know. If you do watch, don’t use this as your reference point for my dick size. I’m cold as fuck.”
“I—I wasn’t going to. Do either of those things.”
Face flushed, I turned towards the window. Behind me, I heard sounds of fabric and elastic and wet squeaks on the seat. After a minute, he was done changing, both of us sitting silently while rain pummeled the roof of his 4Runner.
“Why didn’t you come back up?” I asked, quiet. My eyes darted over to catch a quick glimpse of his side profile, then fixated back on my lap. Whatever was different about him wasn’t tangible, yet able to be sensed in every smooth movement.
“Because I was holding my breath.”
“Well, okay—obviously. But why?” I picked the side of my thumbnail.
“To see how long I could do it.” His stare was burning the side of my face now, his voice low and steady. I understood that. Understood wanting to push your own limits. Wanting to reach out and physically touch the danger, wanting to feed the blue flame of instability.
“And how long is that?”
“A long fucking time.”
I didn’t say anything to that.
“Can I help you get home?” he asked.
“I’ll just walk,” I mumbled. If there was one thing I could do to preserve some shred of safety, it would be not telling this man where I lived. Even if it was pouring now.
Mason sighed. “No you won’t. I’m keeping you with me now.”