3 #2
Then I feel the tears start, silent and hot, streaking down my cheeks.
I’m not even crying for him, or for me, or for any reason I can make sense of.
I’m just empty, and the only thing left to do is fall apart.
I don’t let him think on it, or me for that matter.
My hands curl into his shirt, and I drag him in, slamming my mouth against his once more.
This time, he hesitates—he actually hesitates, because he’s trying to be the good guy again, fucking idiot.
That makes me even more insane.
I pull him closer, refusing to back down.
He finally gives in, grabbing my waist and slamming my body against his, so every part of me is pressing against him.
We crash against the trunk of the tree, bark scraping my back.
The pain is good; it’s real. His mouth is everywhere, punishing, bruising, but I want it.
Want it so badly that when his hands slide under my shirt, I arch into him, daring him to be brutal.
The only time he lets up is to whisper into my neck, so guttural it’s barely words at all. “I’m fucking sorry.”
He’s all over me, then, shredding what’s left of my composure.
I wrap my legs around his waist, clawing at his belt, and he hoists me higher up the rough trunk, pinning me there.
My whole body is alive, and I crave it. I need that feeling to remind me why I’m here.
He bites my shoulder, my collarbone, and I make a sound so feral I don’t recognise myself. There is no romance to this, just need.
Need and pain and the crushing desire to lose myself, even if it’s just for five minutes.
His hands are everywhere—spine, ribs, hips. He drags my pants down, mouth on my throat. The rain starts in earnest, cold needles on my skin, but I don’t care. I want it to sting. Want some proof the world still has an edge sharp enough to cut me. He doesn’t make it gentle. Neither do I.
He fucks me against that tree like the world is ending today, and this is our last chance.
His cock drives in and out, menacing, angry, perfect.
He thrusts into me, full of fury and regret, and I welcome all of it.
I want him to fuck me like he means it, like he’s trying to punish himself, or maybe me, or maybe both of us for being the reason we all ended up here.
The climax is violent; it rips through me and takes all the breath out of my lungs.
My head slams back against the tree and I don’t even care.
Right now, I care about nothing.
He finds his release moments later, a guttural growl that echoes through the trees.
When it’s over, I let out a noise that makes the whole world feel hollow.
He holds me for a minute, both of us shaking so hard it’s impossible to speak.
The rain pours down now, soaking us, washing away all the blood and mud and guilt.
For a moment, I am nothing more than a body, pressed against his.
Then reality kicks in.
I shove him away, ignoring the emptiness that washes over me when the warmth of his body slips away from me.
“I’ll never fucking forgive you, Ace,” I croak, holding his eyes in a way I have never done before.
A way that shows him I mean it.
It’s final.
It’s all fucking final.
“WE’RE ALL SET BACK up in the shelter.”
Turning, I glance at Aggie who has just stepped up beside me.
I am sitting by the water a few days after my encounter with Ace, just staring at it, not feeling completely myself.
It isn’t depression, no, it’s something else.
Tingling in my lungs, whole body aches, and my head is pounding to a point I am concerned I am going to be the first person on this island to get fucking sick.
How the fuck does one even get sick on an island, when there is nobody else around?
Is it even possible?
Could it be something else?
I start frantically thinking about all the things I have done in the last few days.
I don’t have any open cuts, or wounds. I haven’t eaten anything different, at least, I don’t think I have.
I can’t see any valid reason I would be feeling like this, yet with every passing hour it gets more and more clear that it isn’t going away.
Maybe I have just given up?
Maybe my body just doesn’t want to fight anymore.
“Hey, are you good?”
It has been three days since the pirates left the island, and we slowly moved all our things back to camp. I have helped, of course, but it has been a slow journey. I struggle to do much without getting exhausted. I just want to sleep, and that is definitely unusual for me.
“I just don’t feel good,” I admit, turning to her. “Something is off.”
Concern washes over her as she crouches next to me. “I have noticed you don’t seem right. Are you sick?”
“I think so, but I honestly can’t see how.”
“One of those pirates could have been sick, you never know just how far things can travel.”
Maybe, but it still doesn’t make a great deal of sense as I didn’t really go anywhere near them.
I don’t finish my thought, because Aggie is standing again and offering a hand. I take it, and stand, but the motion makes me sway a little.
“You’re trembling,” she says. “Do you want to lie down?”
“I’m fine, mum,” I tease, lightly.
Even though I really don’t feel fine.
She hooks an arm through mine, and we start the walk back to the camp.
There’s a brief moment where I think I might just tip right over—but Aggie’s grip is steady.
People talk about how girls in my world are competitive and cruel, and maybe it’s true sometimes, but in this moment, I am sure of nothing more than the fact that if I went down, Aggie would just carry me.
Even if it hurt her, she would do it.
“So, is it just you, or is everyone falling apart?” she asks, trying to lighten the mood.
“I hope not, I don’t want to be the reason we all die out here.”
Aggie sighs. “Don’t even joke about that. I’m already terrified every time I put food in my mouth, because if I get a stomach flu out here, I think I would actually die.”
I wave a hand. “That’s probably fine. The fire kills everything.”
Aggie does not look convinced. “Well, that hasn’t ever stopped anyone getting sick.”
Valid.
We go silent for a second, then she sighs. “God, I want a burger.”
“French fries,” I say. “Or a doughnut. Or... fuck, I would eat a gas station hot dog right now and probably die happy.”
“Oh gosh, me too.”
We make it back to camp, which has fully been set back up.
The guys are still away from us, but a lot closer.
Basically, our neighbours. They are slowly inching their way back in.
Tatiana is perched on a rock, sharpening a stick and when we step out of the trees, she looks up with a smile.
Her head tilts when she spots me, though. “You look like shit, Gracie.”
“She’s sick,” Aggie says, announcing to the entire group something I didn’t really want anyone making a big deal about.
Zeke, who was midway through hanging a palm frond to block out the sun against our rock, pauses and turns, staring at me. “How sick?”
“I don’t know. Just sick. Headache, tired, aches,” I say, not wanting to get into how the light hurts my eyes or how my hands won’t stop shaking, even now.
Tatiana flicks the stick away and walks over, stopping in front of me and putting her hand on my forehead. “Grace, you’re burning up.”
“I’m fine, you’re worrying too much,” I say, dismissing her.
Aggie crosses her arms. “Stop being so stubborn. You should rest. We have everything else covered.”
I don’t argue, because I am suddenly so fucking tired I’d take a nap on a pile of rocks if I had to.
But then someone else appears at the edge of the trees.
It’s Ace. He walks in like he always does, as if he has just come back from war.
His shoulders are always stiff, ready, like he is waiting for the next threat to appear.
He pauses, glances around at the camps, then his eyes settle on me and his head tips slightly. I look away.
Mostly because staring at him has heat rising in my body over memories of our last encounter.
Aggie leans in, voice low. “Noticed anything weird about him lately?”
I turn to her. “What do you mean, weird?”
She shrugs. “He disappears. Like, for hours. Sometimes almost a whole day.”
I try to remember if I’ve noticed, but I haven’t.
Probably because I have been avoiding him at every cost since he fucked me against that tree.
If I see him, I walk in the opposite direction.
Mostly because every single time his eyes meet mine, it fucking burns a hole right into my heart and I can’t take it.
I don’t want to look at him, because if I do, he might just see how much being away from him hurts.
How much I want to forgive him, but don’t.
Because my pride, my need to survive, it’s all too strong.
“He seems like the kind who can’t sit still,” Aggie goes on. “He is probably planning an escape.”
I hope so.
Before I can answer, he turns and walks in our direction. Aggie shrinks away, as if she was never beside me, and I could scream. She always does that, disappears so I have no choice but to speak to him alone.
“Grace.” He says my name like he’s testing it out for the first time.
I look up at him, and for a half-second, I remember the feeling of his arms around me that night.
I remember his heartbeat against my cheek, the warmth of him, and the way it almost made the world make sense for two blinks of an eye.
I remember his cock driving in and out of me, the frustration and anger we both shared.
But then I also remember the facts: what he did, what he would have done, given the chance. How nothing will ever be the same between us, maybe ever.
His face flickers, seeing something on mine I didn’t mean to show. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Doesn’t look like nothing.”
“If it looks like more, maybe that’s a you problem.”