Chapter Two
Talia was struggling to sit still. Her knees were jiggling, and her fingers were frantically tapping against the polished wood of her seat. Her heart was racing, not because she was nervous about what lay ahead, but because her body was all worked up from three days of barely talking.
Three. Whole. Days.
Forget bamboo under the fingernails. If the CIA ever needed to extract information from her, they could just withhold conversation. She’d spill everything faster than a drunk bridesmaid handed a microphone.
Even now, gathered together on this modified bangka with its twin bamboo outriggers skimming the water and canvas canopy overhead for shade, Talia couldn’t believe she was still forced to sit in silence.
Yes, she could probably stare at the water, which was an impossible shade of blue-green that looked entirely fake.
And yes, she could look at the islands rising around them, all jagged limestone and lush green canopies.
Some were nothing more than rocky spines topped with clinging palm trees, while others were more dense and hulking, their tree lines pressed so tightly together they looked almost black from a distance.
Silence felt criminal. She had no idea how much longer she could manage without at least turning to her neighbor and introducing herself.
Especially since the woman to her right looked like a less hot version of Morticia Addams with her jet-black hair and tall and willowy frame.
A young Anjelica Huston had been her sexual awakening.
The woman to her left had seemed just as interesting.
She wore a neon pink windbreaker zipped all the way up to her chin despite the heat.
Talia wanted to know why. And then, sitting right in front of Talia, was the woman from yesterday.
She was tall with golden hair, catlike eyes that could be either blue or green, and lips shaped like a compact heart.
Everything about her shouted controlled, from the way she sat upright, to the tight ponytail, to the loose charcoal button-up with its sleeves rolled twice and tucked into black shorts.
Talia nearly laughed out loud. The woman wore lilac Crocs.
Crocs. Ha! It didn’t fit with the rest of her outfit, nor did it even make sense.
But then again, Talia wasn’t dressed like herself either.
She had on frayed jean shorts, a black crop top with a faded bear graphic stretched across the front, and a red-and-navy plaid shirt knotted around her waist. The wardrobe department thought a crop top was most fitting for a bartender.
Talia disagreed. Strongly. She usually wore all black: black tee, black jeans, black boots.
The woman wearing the Crocs looked straight at her. Talia smiled. The woman did not.
Fine. Talia didn’t need a smile from her.
Or maybe she did. Maybe she was going to spend the next five minutes overthinking that blank stare, wondering if her eyes were in fact teal and if they changed with her mood like a mood ring.
And she probably would’ve continued staring if the other contestants weren’t so interesting.
One woman wore cargo shorts with an excessive number of pockets.
Another wore a floral print shirt that showed way too much cleavage and short shorts, and another wore pink cargo pants with a matching sleeveless shirt.
Talia wanted so badly to introduce herself.
Her chest was loaded with conversation starters.
She wanted to gush about the sunset she’d seen from her villa window last night, how the sky had turned sherbet orange, then collapsed into purple.
She wanted to ask if anyone else had tried the passionfruit drink at the bar and whether they also thought it was absurdly delicious.
She wanted to confess the heartbreak of missing her cat, Alfred, currently being pet-sat by her sister Jenny, who was the entire reason Talia had applied for this show in the first place.
But even more than that, she wanted to know everyone’s name, their jobs, their favorite colors.
Their stories. She wanted to talk until her mouth felt raw.
In fact, Talia loved talking so much that she could talk a hat off a head if she wanted to.
But no one was talking.
Everyone was either staring straight ahead like statues or awkwardly trying to avoid looking directly into the cameras.
Talia didn’t mind the cameras at all. In her early twenties—back when she still thought she had a real shot at becoming an actress—she had done three commercials, two for toothpaste and one for throat lozenges.
A wave suddenly smacked the side of the boat, and it rocked hard enough to make the bamboo outriggers dip. There were a few gasps and one undignified squeak. Talia couldn’t help herself; she had to say something. “Can you believe we’re actually here?” she whispered to Morticia Addams beside her.
Morticia turned, clearly about to answer, and Talia was ecstatic to finally get a conversation going, but then a short woman with blond corkscrew curls stepped off the gangway and onto the deck. Talia recognized her immediately as Elise Mercier, former executive producer of The Sapphic Match.
“Ladies,” Elise called, smiling until her eyes twinkled. “Welcome to the very first season of Outlast Her. This is the first ever survival show created entirely for lesbian contestants.”
Everyone clapped.
Elise went on. “I’ve been obsessed with Survivor ever since I was a teenager.
But it wasn’t until I married my incredible wife that I imagined a show where queerness isn’t a twist or a footnote, but the very foundation.
That’s why I wanted to create something that celebrates all of you: your strength, your hearts, your brilliance.
This show exists because our stories deserve space, visibility, and the unapologetic joy of being exactly who we are. ”
The applause came back stronger this time. Talia clapped so hard her palms stung.
“But I won’t be guiding you for the next twenty-eight days,” Elise said, grinning.
“We’ll leave that to our new host.” She turned toward the small gangway.
“Some of you might recognize her from The Sapphic Match. Some might even remember why she resigned from the show.” Elise gave a cheeky smile, and Talia had a feeling she knew exactly who it was.
Then, Elise stretched out a hand just as a woman stepped onto the deck.
Talia literally gulped.
“Good morning,” Vivian Michaels said, looking as elegant as ever.
Her white-blonde bob glimmered in the sun.
Her golden skin stood out against her crisp white shirt and khaki shorts, and Talia eyed her tortoiseshell sandals with envy.
She had to find out where she had bought them.
“For the next twenty-eight days, you’ll face challenges that will push you in ways you can’t imagine.
The challenges you will face will reset your body, your mind, and your heart.
Hunger will make you cranky, lack of sleep will make you weak, and the heat might make you feel like you’re living in an eternal hot flash.
You will question every reason you thought it was a good idea to apply to be on this show.
But that’s exactly why you’re here... to prove what you’re capable of, to find strength in unexpected places, and to learn who you can trust. As you all know, trust is currency out here. ” She paused and let the words sink in.
And sink they did. Talia had goosebumps.
Vivian’s bright blue eyes scanned the contestants, landing briefly on each of them. Talia felt her gaze like a ray of blinding sunshine. “Only one of you will wear the Outlast Her crown,” she said. “Only one will take home the million dollars. So play smart, play hard, or be left behind.”
Women hooted and clapped and cheered. Then the bangka lurched forward.
Even Talia, who wasn’t prone to seasickness, felt her stomach roil. Or maybe that was just nerves. Probably just nerves. But then the roar got worse as the dark smudge on the horizon sharpened.
Soon enough, Talia could see jagged limestone cliffs with their faces streaked with moss.
Then, the beach revealed itself. A narrow crescent of blindingly white sand that was fringed with jungle so dense it looked almost stitched together.
Talia tried not to think about what creatures lived in there.
She wasn’t an arachnophobe or anything, but that didn’t mean she wanted a spider crawling over her face while she slept at night.
The boat got closer. Talia could see waves breaking now, turquoise water turning into white foam as they slammed down against the shore.
“Attention, ladies,” Vivian called, her voice easily carrying over the water. “There’s a chest hidden somewhere along the shoreline. Inside is an advantage. One that can change the game before it even begins. First person to reach it keeps it.”
For half a second, no one moved.
Had she heard right? A treasure chest buried on the beach? Already?
But before she could ask her neighbor if it was true, the boat erupted.
All at once, bodies surged forward. Morticia and Windbreaker had already dove overboard before Talia’s brain even caught up. When it finally did, she found herself launching up and over the side. She didn’t have to watch the playback to know her dive was graceful. Cinematic even.
Swimming had been her thing. Before the shoulder. Before life.
Years ago, Talia had been fast. Really fast. State finals fast. Junior Nationals Qualifying fast. She’d even made it to the USA Swimming Junior Championships before her rotator cuff decided to avulse off the bone. Even with surgery, it had never felt right again.
The ocean closed over Talia’s head, and her feet kicked instinctively as muscle memory snapped into place.
She pulled apart the water like opening a curtain until her head broke the surface.
Her shoulder was a little achy, but nothing she couldn’t handle.
Around her, the water churned white with all the flailing arms and desperate kicks of the other contestants.
She wondered how many of them were decent swimmers, but then forgot that thought as someone grabbed her ankle.
She shook herself free, not bothering to look who.
Hopefully, it was just an accident. She swam forward until the sand came up under her feet.
Once on land, Talia stumbled forward. Her foot kicked up sand, but at least she managed to stay upright.
The last thing she wanted was to face-plant.
They’d probably use it for a promotional shot, and although nothing could be as embarrassing as exaggeratedly brushing teeth for a commercial on national television, she preferred to keep her dignity intact.
“Where’s the chest?” Morticia Addams called out, barreling past Talia.
Her legs were long and surprisingly strong.
Talia nearly stopped running altogether to admire her calves, but shook out of it quickly.
This was a competition. There would be no gawking.
No losing focus. Talia needed to win. A million dollars would set her free as a bird.
No more bartending. No more sticky floors and blocked toilets.
No more spilled beer and explaining to frat boys that no, she didn’t want to go home with them; she’d rather pull out all her teeth with a pair of pliers.
“Can anyone see it?” someone else yelled behind her.
“Maybe we should all work together to find it.” A redhead wearing a turquoise rash guard and jean shorts stepped beside Talia. “We can share the advantage.”
“Not a chance,” a woman with thick, gorgeous dreadlocks cackled as she came rushing past. “This is a game. Everyone for themselves.”
Talia had to agree. She wasn’t a Survivor fan like many of these women.
Truthfully, she’d only watched a few episodes.
There were so many seasons it felt endless.
Although Outlast Her was different, its queer little cousin if you wanted to call it that, the game was still the same. There could be only one winner.
“It should be relatively easy to find,” another voice said.
This voice was smooth and silky enough for Talia to whip her head in its direction.
Lilac Crocs was ambling across the sand.
Why wasn’t she scrambling like everyone else?
Why wasn’t she frantically looking for the chest that could give the biggest advantage in the game?
Talia almost gravitated toward her. She wanted to know how she could be so calm in a moment so chaotic, but then her eyes landed on something.
Beneath a tangle of driftwood and palm fronds, she could just see the tip of a weathered chest peeking out. Her stomach suddenly flipped like a pancake. If she could just get to it.
Talia didn’t even consider whether someone else had seen it too.
Instead, she charged toward it as quickly as she could.
But then, fuck! Windbreaker, with her neon pink jacket flapping like a banner, charged right past her.
The woman’s short, stubby legs moved impossibly fast. She got there first and lunged for the chest like a rugby player.
The whole thing was both ruggedly elegant and annoying.
Talia skidded to a stop just as Windbreaker landed hard. It was a miracle she hadn’t cracked her ribs. Then the woman jumped up and clutched the chest that was no bigger than a shoebox. “Got it!” she yelled, bouncing up and down like a pogo stick. “I found the chest!”
Almost every other contestant groaned. Talia included.
“What’s inside?” Lilac Crocs asked, strolling forward. She didn’t have a hint of envy in her voice, which couldn’t be said for Talia. She was green with envy. But even more so than green, she was dying to talk.
“Maybe we should introduce ourselves first and get to know each other,” Talia suggested.