nine
F IVE WEEKS LATER, I wake up again with Edmund spooning me from behind.
It’s become a nightly occurrence. We’re always hot when we go to sleep at night—either from the exertion of sex or simply from being in a closed-up space in sweltering, humid weather. So we usually start in our separate positions on the mattress. But at some point during the night, Edmund will roll over to find me, turning me onto my side if I’m not already lying that way and scooting up so that his front presses into my back.
Most of the time I like it. I feel safe and protected and—at the risk of sounding sappy—cherished.
But occasionally it’s way too hot.
This morning is one of those times. I’m sweating when I come to groggy awareness. He’s really holding me tight, and he’s got a half erection pushing into my ass. It’s stuffy in this small corner of our shelter, and one of my shoulders is painfully cramped.
I mumble and shift my body, hoping he’ll roll back to his side.
He doesn’t. With a soft, wordless grumble, he tightens his embrace even more.
Damn, the man is ridiculously snuggly. Shouldn’t he be burning up like me?
I scoot away again but can’t get very far. I’m trapped between his body and the angled corner of the room. Finally, briefly afraid I might suffocate, I give a backward push and clumsily climb over him until I’m out on the patio. I hear more grumbling from him as I leave.
Gasping with relief at the slightly cooler outside air, I stand and breathe deeply for a minute, rolling my shoulders to stretch them out and listening to the steady sound of the waves. Next I go to the bathroom behind my normal tree, braid and tie off my hair with a band made of a thin length of the towel I tore up for period pads, and then walk down the beach to the water.
It’s cooler today than it’s been recently, so I walk for a while, enjoying the gentle lapping of the waves and the squishiness of the wet sand.
Edmund usually wakes up around the same time I do—much earlier than he ever used to—but he was up late last night making repairs to our raft, which got banged up in the choppy water yesterday. I was asleep before he came to bed.
He’s allowed to sleep in as long as he wants.
After a while, the sun has risen enough to heat up my skin, so I wade into the ocean until it’s deep enough for me to swim.
I’m still wearing my tank and panties, which are definitely getting worn out from so much use. I’m not sure what I’ll do when they start falling apart. We do have some spare clothes from the banged-up sailboat we pulled in, but they’re all men’s clothes and too big for me. I can wear them around outside, but they won’t be good to swim in.
I’m so focused on swimming that I don’t notice anything around me until I feel something wrap around my heel. I jerk my head up with a squeal and kick out at whatever touched me.
Edmund roars in laughter at my reaction to him grabbing my foot.
“You scared the crap out of me!” I stabilize myself by treading water and then give him a couple of outraged swats.
“Sorry!” He’s still choking on his amusement, treading water the way I am. “I called out to you a couple of times, and you didn’t hear me.”
“I was swimming! The first thing I was aware of was someone grabbing my foot!”
“Well, who else did you think it was but me?”
“I don’t know! It just scared me. It might have been a big octopus or a snake or something.”
This makes him laugh helplessly again. His hilarity is infectious, but my heart is still racing from the fear. I give him a few more swats, but he grabs my hand on the third one, holding me off him, his face streaming with water and his expression incredibly warm.
I attempt to pull my hand back, but he doesn’t let me. So we have a silly wrestling match in the water until I manage to goose him right under his arm where he’s most ticklish.
He jerks away, and I follow up on my victory by trying to tickle him again.
When he starts swimming, I chase him. But as soon as we get to the shallow water, he gets the advantage. He grabs me and uses his free hand to tickle the sensitive spots on my sides and the back of my knees.
I scream with laughter and try to squirm out of his hold. I finally manage and start to run, but he chases me. Catches me. Grabs me up and lowers me to the wet sand so he can hold me in place with his body.
I’m squirming now, but it’s more from excitement than resistance. He holds himself up on his arms and uses his lower body to keep mine in place.
“Asshole,” I say, unable to keep myself from smiling up at him.
“Hey, you’re the one who resorted to underhanded methods and brought tickling into the mix.” He’s got a full beard now since he has no access to a razor. The best he can do is keep the length shortish by cutting it with the old scissors we unearthed from that sailboat. His hair is longer than I’ve ever seen it, normally curling adorably at the nape of his neck but now plastered wetly to his head.
He’s very tan, and his eyes are very brown.
He’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen in my life—and so much more than that.
“I just tickled because it was the only way I could get to you. It’s not my fault you’re bigger than me.”
His smile deepens. “It’s not my fault either.”
That response momentarily stumps me. “Yes, but you were taking advantage.”
He bends his arms at the elbows so he can kiss me. Just a light, sweet brush of his lips. “Was I really taking advantage?”
“Yes. The only way I could get away was by tickling.”
“And do you really want to get away?”
Of course I don’t. My body is responding to his the way it always does. And my heart feels like it’s pulling—stretching—trying desperately to reach him. “Now you’re taking advantage,” I whisper.
“What am I taking advantage of?”
“You’re taking advantage of your sexiness and the fact that I have trouble resisting you.”
He chuckles, low and gravelly. He leans down to kiss me again, longer this time. Then he murmurs against my mouth, “Why would you want to resist me?”
My hands have gone up of their own accord, my arms twining around his neck. “Because... because...”
“Because why?” He’s nuzzling the curve between my neck and shoulder.
“Because a woman should have some sort of backbone and not melt into a puddle of goo because a man gives her a hot look.”
This makes him laugh again. His whole body shakes as he huffs against the skin of my shoulder. He hasn’t fully stopped when he presses a line of kisses along my clavicle and then at the cleavage revealed by my wet top. He pulls off my tank completely.
“Make sure you toss it far enough up that it doesn’t get washed away,” I tell him, worried he’s going to just drop it beside us. We’re lying in the sand where the largest waves can reach.
He’s smiling as he throws my tank and then my panties far up onto the dry sand. Reassured that they’re safe, I pull Edmund down on top of me again and slide my hands lower to his ass.
He’s completely naked. He stopped wearing his boxers to swim weeks ago.
We kiss for a while. Then Edmund gets creative lower on my body, teasing my breasts and mouthing my belly and then sucking on my clit until I come with delicious abandon.
I can be as loud as I want here, and no one but him and the seabirds will hear.
Being in the water isn’t exactly conducive to my natural fluids, but I’ve had enough foreplay by now for it to be comfortable when he tests my readiness with two fingers inside me.
The whole back of my body is sandy. I smell strongly of salt and ocean water. But the same is true of Edmund, and by now we’re entirely used to it.
He makes room for his body between my legs and then edges his erection inside me. When we’re both comfortable, he starts thrusting, smiling in satisfaction as the breeze blows a few curly strands of his hair that are already drying.
We go at it for a while that way until he must realize it isn’t going to get me to climax. He pulls out and rolls over onto his back, pulling me on top of him so I’m straddling his hips.
Together, we manage to get me in position so I can sheathe his erection again. I roll my hips in pleasure at the tight penetration, and then I brace myself on his shoulders and ride him.
He loves watching me in this position. His eyes are hot and pleased and smiling as he stares at me moving above him, my breasts jiggling wildly as I accelerate my movements.
“That’s right,” he’s muttering. “That’s my Autumn. You like to be on top, don’t you? You’re riding me so good.”
He’s grabbed my hips to hold me in place so my enthusiastic motion doesn’t cause him to slip out of me. But eventually he lets go with one hand so he can find and rub my clit.
I cry out loudly, dropping my head back as an orgasm comes on unexpectedly.
“There you go,” he says hoarsely, his hand tightening into the flesh of my hip. “Let go all the way. Show me how good you’re feeling.”
I keep grinding over him until the last of the spasms have worked through me. Then he starts thrusting up into me from below, hard and feral, until he finally pulls out with a loud, stretched exclamation. He squeezes himself with his hand as he comes in hard spurts on my breasts.
We’re both gasping and smiling as our bodies relax. I wipe off his come with my hand and then manage to stand up so I can wade back into the water to clean off the sweat and sand and the rest of the fluids.
Edmund follows me, pulling me into his arms as we stand together in the water.
He’s always soft after sex. So incredibly sweet.
He kisses me a few times before I start to feel too emotionally vulnerable. Then I gently pull away to walk back up the beach. Wash up with our rainwater, dry off, and get dressed.
Edmund does the same. We eat fruit for breakfast and then start our morning chores.
First we take the repaired raft out to use our net to fish. We pull in several plus a highly indignant eel. We let all of them go except a couple of medium-sized silvery-gray fish.
Neither of us are informed enough on fish types to identify them, but we only eat the fish that look “normal” to us. We don’t eat the colorful tropical ones or the odd-shaped ones or the very small ones. Maybe they would be tasty, but I’m not comfortable eating anything too pretty or delicate or rare.
We row back to the shore and secure our raft. Then Edmund skins, debones, and filets the fish (that’s a chore I’ve never been comfortable with) while I go to the stream to fill up a jug we found in the sailboat with spring water for us to drink today.
When the fish prep is done, we both hike into the forest to get enough coconuts and fruit for today and tomorrow morning. Then, while it’s still cool enough, we make a circuit around the island, walking on the beach to check our SOSs (we’ve got six of them now) and see if anything useful has washed up onto the shore overnight.
We find a plastic water bottle and the remains of an old kite. We pick them both up and take them back to keep in our storage area in case they might come in handy.
Our hut has grown over the past month. It now consists of the bedroom (the original section), a separate storage place, and a wide stone patio covered by an awning. The firepit with two rock seats is situated beside it. We found metal shelf brackets we repurposed to hold up the metal eye of the portable stovetop from the sailboat. We’ve situated it over the fire so we can use it for cooking.
We’ve eaten all the canned food we found on the boat, but we still have two more boxes left of our protein bars. Otherwise we’ve lived on fish, fruit, and coconuts for the past month and a half.
I’ve lost some weight. I can tell from the way my clothes fit. And Edmund’s belly is even flatter than before if that’s possible. But we’ve managed pretty well overall. We’ve been basically healthy and have enough energy for the work we need to do.
It still feels like we’re living in a weird dream world or a bubble, but it hasn’t been as terrible as I would have expected.
We can probably live here contentedly like this for years if we have to.
Sometimes I think about how I’ll feel if anything happens to Edmund, but then my mind immediately shies away from that thought.
I can’t even process it, so I don’t let myself.
For now I have him, and that’s enough.
***
W E SPEND MOST AFTERNOONS taking it easy—lounging around, napping, or resting and only working on small tasks that require little exertion. It’s too hot for hard labor in the heat of the afternoon, and we rarely have enough work to require going all day anyway.
Today, after lunch, we take a dip in the ocean and then spread a blanket out to lie on the shady sand near our shelter. We talk for a while. Edmund tells me some funny stories from his college years that I haven’t heard before, and I tell him about my uneventful, vanilla years in university.
He wants to know who I dated (not a lot) and what my most long-term boyfriend was like. He teases me because that guy was a lot like me. He says I need someone different who can bring out different layers in me and not let me always hide behind my ultra-competence. I need someone who makes sure I enjoy life as much as conquer it.
That’s what he says in his normal light, clever tone. I can’t help but wonder if he might be referring to himself, and the idea sends my heart into wild flutters. My stomach is kind of rumbly too.
After a while, we fall into silence. When I glance over, Edmund has gone to sleep, so I close my eyes, settle my flutters, and eventually drift off too.
I wake up with a surge of sick panic.
I sit up, gasping for air and sweating with consecutive waves of heat and cold.
“Y’okay?” Edmund mumbles, shifting on the blanket beside me. He’s barely awake.
And I’m currently afraid that I’m dying.
I’m not dying. My stomach heaves, making it clear exactly what’s happening to me. I scramble to my feet but only have time to make it three or four steps toward the trees before my stomach heaves again.
This time it’s followed by projectile vomiting that propels me to my hands and knees. It’s horrible. Painful. My stomach empties by the third retch, and then it’s mostly dry heaves that wrack my body.
“Fuck, Autumn,” Edmund says from behind me, his voice getting closer as he speaks. “Oh fuck.”
My hair is still secured in the one braid I’ve been wearing regularly, but he kneels beside me to pull back loose strands that have slipped out over the course of the day.
He obviously wants to help, but at the moment there’s nothing to be done but live through it.
When my stomach finally settles, I risk straightening up so I’m sitting on my knees. Tears and snot are running down my face, and my mouth tastes as bad as I can ever remember.
Edmund gets up to grab one of the old, thin towels we found on the sailboat. He gets one corner wet and brings it over to wipe down my face gently. “Do you feel any better?”
“I think... I think so.” I keep taking long, slow breaths, willing my stomach to stay steady.
“I guess it’s probably something you ate. Although I’m not sure why you’re sick and I’m—”
He doesn’t have a chance to finish his thought because I’m hit with another wave of panic. Then I’m on my hands and knees, vomiting on the sand again.
Hardly anything comes up this time. I have no idea what my body keeps imagining it’s purging by these violent heaves. I’m shaking and drenched in sweat when it’s finally over.
But something worse is starting to happen. I’m experiencing a painful cramping—low, below my belly.
“Shit, this is terrible,” Edmund says, trying to wipe my face again. His features are tight and deeply sympathetic. “Do you think it’s over?”
“No,” I mumble, crossing my arms over my abdomen and leaning over as the cramping continues. “Oh God, no.”
I start to scramble to my feet as I realize what’s about to happen.
“What’s going on?” Edmund asks, getting up too and holding on to my shoulder when I turn away from him. “What do you need?”
“It’s not over,” I whimper. I gasp and lean over awkwardly at the sharp pain of the intestinal spasms. “Oh God, I need to get out of here.”
“No, you don’t. You’ve already thrown up—”
“It’s not throwing up,” I manage to choke out before I pull away from his hand and run for my bathroom tree.
This is so much worse. No toilet. No paper. No comfortable way to position my body. I do the best I can until it’s over. Thankfully, Edmund must have realized what’s going on and is giving me some privacy.
When I’m finally able to pull my shorts back up, I’m shivering and barely able to walk.
Edmund comes to put an arm around me as soon as I move past the tree. He was obviously waiting for me.
“Come on,” he says. “You need to lie down. Do you think you got everything out?”
“For now,” I reply, my throat raw and aching.
“Do you want to lie down outside or inside?”
“Outside. In case I’m sick again.”
“Okay.” When we reach the blanket we were napping on, he lets go of me. “Wait right here.”
He hurries into the shelter and returns with an armful of our blankets and the pillows we made for ourselves. He spreads them out for me and then helps me lie down and stretch out.
It’s a relief to get off my feet. I close my eyes and try to breathe.
He wipes at my face with the towel again. So gently. It’s cool and damp and feels good.
“What’s wrong with me?” I peer up at Edmund, but the day’s too bright, even in the shade, and my head has started to pound. “How can it be a virus when no one else is around us to give it to me?”
“It must be food poisoning or something like it. Some kind of bacteria on something you ate or in the ocean water or whatever.”
“But you’re not sick.”
“Not yet.”
“Oh please, God, you don’t need to get sick too.”
“You’ll feel better soon.” He brushes stray hairs back from my damp face. “Just try to get some sleep.”
“Okay.” The sand is actually fairly comfortable. Not like the mattress we sleep on but a lot more forgiving than hard ground. I shift around until I can get in the position I want. “Hopefully I’ll feel better soon.”
“You will.” This time when he touches me, it’s to stroke my face with his fingertips.
“Thank you,” I mumble.
“For what?”
I hear the words and plan on answering them, but I can’t seem to find the energy to speak. Instead, I drift into a weird, shaky haze.
At least it’s better than being wracked with pain.
***
I ’M NOT SURE HOW MUCH time passes as I’m lying in that restless daze, but it’s broken by my stomach heaving again.
I can’t even get up in time. I have to lean over to throw up on the sand beside my blanket.
Edmund is there immediately. He must have been sitting a couple of feet away. He holds on to my braid and rubs my back, but nothing can make vomiting better.
I’m almost crying when it’s over and I’m lying back against my pillow. He cleans up the sand and the small amount I threw up and then wipes my face again.
Blinking up at him, I try to focus on his familiar face. Messy beard. Soft brown eyes. Wavy hair. High forehead and cheekbones.
Looking at him always makes me feel better.
“It’s okay,” he’s murmuring hoarsely. “You’re going to feel better soon.”
“I hope so. I feel like I’m going to die.”
“I know you do, but you’re not.” His mouth twitches up in a little smile. “You wouldn’t do that to me, would you?”
“No. I wouldn’t.” I reach up blindly until my fingers can curl into the fabric of his T-shirt. “I’m not going to leave you.”
“Good.” He leans down and brushes his lips against my forehead very softly. “So you just work on feeling better and get some rest.”
“I’ll try.”
***
I DO TRY. BUT BY THE time it gets dark, I’ve thrown up three more times and had to run for the bathroom tree twice.
The last time, I’m so weak and shaky that I can’t even walk back to the blanket. Edmund has to pick me up and carry me there.
He settles me in my spot, adjusting the pillow behind my head and covering me up with a blanket. It’s cooler out now because the sun has gone down, and I can’t stop shivering.
“Why does my head hurt so much,” I ask, smacking my dry lips and wishing everything would simply stop.
“Because you’re dehydrated.” After getting me settled, Edmund started working on lighting a fire. “Do you think you can drink something?”
He’s tried to offer me sips throughout the day, and I haven’t been able to do more than wet my mouth.
“I don’t know.”
“I think you’ll feel better if you can. Will you at least try?”
His voice is as soft and controlled as it’s been all day, but there’s something slightly stretched underlying the words. As if he’s upset but trying not to be.
I can’t stand for him to be upset. Especially if it’s my fault. So I clear my throat and nod.
He gets the fire going and then works on something behind me, bringing over my cup, helping me lift my head and then holding the drink up to my lips.
When I feel the liquid in my mouth, I swallow immediately.
It’s not water. I make a face.
“It’s just coconut water,” he explains. “It’s got electrolytes in it. You really need that.”
“Okay.” Coconut water is incredibly mild, but I’d rather not taste anything at all. But the last thing I want to do is disappoint Edmund after this terrible day, so I make myself take a few more sips.
It’s not as bad as I feared. My stomach stays settled afterward.
“That’s good,” he says in almost a whisper, stroking my hair back again. “That’s better.”
“Can I go to sleep now?” I toss restlessly under the covers.
“Yes. You go to sleep.”
I close my eyes but don’t like the fact that I can’t see him. I reach out and fumble until I touch his knee. I hold on to it as I try to let my mind slip away into darkness.
After a minute, it feels like I’m going to drown in that darkness. I whimper and toss my head back and forth. “Edmund.”
“I’m right here.” He takes hold of my hand. “I’m still right here.”
“I don’t... I don’t think I’m going to make it.”
There’s a long pause after my desperate, mumbled words. The silence is grating. Aching.
“Yes, you are,” he replies gruffly. “You told me you weren’t going to leave me alone, and I’m going to hold you to that.”
“But I feel so... so...”
“I know you do. But you’re going to get better. Baby, you have to. You can’t leave me.”
“O...kay.” I’m not sure how I manage to articulate the last word because the darkness is rising in my head again.
This time it takes over, and I don’t remember anything else.