Scarlet
Seven weeks.
I’ve gone seven weeks without saying a word to Theo.
I’m not sure why I thought we could be friends.
When he returned my peace offering without a word, I knew he was not what I needed in my life.
His rejection doesn’t quell my curiosity but within the pages of my inspirational books, I find ways to at least silence the voice of it.
There’s a monotony to my days, and I’ve come to find comfort in it.
Mornings start with an hour of meditation.
When I first began meditating, I lasted maybe ten minutes.
Now I find peace in nourishing my mind, focusing on the part of myself that is so much greater than my physical body.
We are so much more than the sum of our parts.
For that hour I don’t see pain and suffering.
I see joy and happiness for not only myself, but all life.
Wayne Dyer said, “When you change the way you look at things, the things you look at change.”
I don’t think Wayne ever met Theodore Reed.
Nevertheless, the things I look at are changing. With each passing day, I feel less physical suffering and less emotional anxiety. I’m intrigued by the words I read. At university, I thought I knew everything. My grades were perfect. The world was mine, and I thought I had it all figured out.
Now, I question if I truly know anything.
The assumption that a good education equates to intelligence is not necessarily true.
A lot of highly-educated people have been told what to think, therefore, they think they know it all.
The other segment of the population has to figure out how to think, therefore they question everything.
“You’re better—focused. Finding peace,” Yimin says as I finish my tea that now goes down without any gag reflex, not even a slight grimace of disgust.
“You think I’m in pain, like Nolan. That’s why you give me this tea and juice every day?”
“I think you’re navigating a difficult journey. Must nourish body on difficult journey.”
“Why do you think I’m in pain? Why do you think I’m on a difficult journey?”
Yimin sips his own tea. “Doesn’t matter. I see you in a better place. That’s all that matters. The mind is very powerful and so are words.”
“Yeah, well, I think my skin is orange.”
He laughs.
“I’m serious. Two liters of carrot juice a day for almost two months. I haven’t worn my glasses or contacts in weeks. I don’t need them.”
He nods. Nothing seems to surprise or shock Yimin. His belief in the unimaginable, the unbelievable—miracles—is something I envy.
“Do you think it’s working?” I ask. “Hypothetically, if I were in pain, do you think it’s working?”
I used to shy away from his gaze. Not anymore. He says so much to me without saying an actual word and when he does speak, it’s usually very few words with cryptic meaning that I’ve become quite good at deciphering.
“Does it matter?”
Wow. That’s a heartbreaking question. I’ve come a long way over the past seven weeks, but … am I ready to answer that question? Does my physical existence matter? Tears burn my eyes as the mental truth collides with the very real physical emotions I still possess.
“Don’t be afraid.” He rests his hand on mine.
The waves dive into the shore, holding back nothing, submitting to their fate.
I envy them too. My lips roll between my teeth.
I believe fear drives everyone—fear of suffering, fear of pain, fear of the unknown.
At the very core of humanity is an innate intelligence that makes us work for shelter, steal for food, kill for that last breath.
I’m not sure I can rise above that fear … at least not in this lifetime.
“Afraid of what?” I ask.
“Life.”
I nod.
*
What is Theodore Reed’s fear? He walks up the beach, water-matted hair dripping remnants of the ocean down his muscular form. What does he fear most? Life or death? Is he chasing an uncertain future or running from an unimaginable past?
Keeping a safe distance, I follow him to the house like I’ve done for the past seven weeks.
Theo swims with the sharks every morning while I have breakfast with Yimin.
He goes to work for Nolan, remodeling homes, while I read, enjoy long walks down the beach, and water my plants that now number twenty-seven.
Maybe I need more oxygen to breathe than I ever did before.
Maybe I don’t feel as lonely with so much life around me.
This life—coexisting with someone who won’t even look at me on the few occasions we sit and eat at the same table—it’s lonely.
I’d feel less lonely if I were actually alone.
I miss Oscar. I miss Daniel. I miss London.
But more than anything … I miss the touch of love: a gentle hand wrapped around mine, an embrace to hold me together on the days I feel like I’m falling apart, lips ghosting along my skin, a whisper of forever, a smile signifying my presence makes another human feel happy.
Human. That’s it. I miss all the things that define the best part of humanity. I don’t want my biggest regret to be wasted time.
Today I make a detour from my routine and clean every inch of the house until Theo’s handiwork looks its best. Then I cook dinner for two, complete with candles and music from a radio.
He actually has a plug-in radio. As I start to descend the stairs after a shower, wearing my hair down in long, ironed-straight black strands, and a touch of lip gloss, I hear a woman’s voice.
A curly-haired brunette, bubbling over with giggles like she’s had too much to drink, gawks at me with her hand over her mouth as I stop at the threshold to the kitchen. “Oh, my god, Theo! You had your maid make us a candlelit dinner!” She hugs his chest still clad in his tattered gray work tee.
Maid? Really?
Theo inspects me with unnerving thoroughness, dragging his hawkish gaze down my body dressed in my nicest pair of white shorts, a black halter top, and flip-flops with silver rhinestones. I even painted my toenails a deep chardonnay.
“It’s not for—” His eyes meet mine.
“It is.” I smile. “It’s for the both of you. It’s all keeping warm in the oven. There’s salad in the fridge and a bottle of wine chilling as well. Enjoy.” I turn and navigate the stairs slowly, evenly, not giving away anything.
“Sit. I need to take a quick shower,” he says to her.
I pick up my pace, feeling him closing in on me.
“Why?” he asks before I close my bedroom door.
I turn, but words escape me.
“Another peace offering?” He says it with such disgust.
I flinch as his tone delivers each word like a smack across my face.
“I…” I shake my head “…I thought we could be human for one night.”
“Human?”
I nod, focusing on the floor between us, feeling foolish.
A nervous smile trembles along my lips. “Food. Small talk. Maybe I say something that makes you grin. Maybe you say something that makes me giggle. Maybe the food is crap, so we drink too much wine. Maybe the full moon beckons us to the beach where we walk in the shadows of the night. Maybe you tell me something about yourself. Maybe it’s a lie, and maybe that’s okay because we’re both going our separate ways in four months.
But maybe … just maybe for one night we feel human. ”
He blinks several times. “I didn’t bring her here for dinner.”
I laugh a little, still focused on the old, scratched-up wood floor between us. “You brought her here to sleep with her.”
“Not sleep.”
My laugh grows even more. This could not be more awkward.
“Of course not.” I clear my throat. “Well, she seems pretty excited about dinner, so you really should feed her before you …” Risking a glance up, my nose wrinkles.
“Not sleep with her. I’ll leave and give you some privacy.
” I turn and shut my door, drawing in a shaky breath.
“Scarlet,” I whisper, “what are you doing?”
*
Boisterous laughter, clinking of glass bottles, and friendly smiles surround me at the pub down from the pier. I should have checked out the Friday-night scene on Tybee way before now.
“What can I get ya, hun?” the older lady with leathered skin asks as she slides a white cocktail napkin in front of me.
“Wine.”
She laughs. “What kind?”
I shrug. “Doesn’t matter, just something red.”
“You got it.”
I haven’t had a drop of alcohol in months.
Tonight, I’ll have a few sips to ease the disappointment of my stolen dinner.
Okay, I gave it away, but I had no other choice.
We hadn’t talked in seven weeks. Theo had absolutely no reason to think he’d come home to a candlelit dinner with the woman who he unequivocally despises for reasons I have yet to understand.
“This seat taken?” Glassy hazel eyes look at me.
A handsome bloke with messy brown hair, who is clearly a little over-served, wants to sit by me. A hundred red flags pop up in my head. It’s a really bad idea.
“No. Have a seat.”
My name is Scarlet Stone. I was offered useful traits the day I entered this world. I passed on common sense, opting for the-edge-of-a-knife journey. When I die, I want my gravestone to have the word ‘epic’ on it somewhere.
Epic thief.
Epic daughter.
Epic adventurer.
Epic risk-taker.
Somehow I don’t think the word epic can be placed before the words beach dweller or meditator.
“Your accent…” he grins and signals to the bartender “…it’s British.”
I smile when she puts my wine down. “It is.” The red liquid burns my tongue a bit before it slides down my throat, dry and spicy. I used to like wine. Now I fear Yimin’s juice and pungent teas have ruined that for me. It should be a good thing, but right now I need a buzz.
“I’m Rowan.”
“Mmm …” I rub my lips together. The alcohol immediately enters my bloodstream since I missed dinner. “I like that name. I’m Scarlet.”
Rowan takes a swig of his beer. Sure, he’s drunk and soon, I will be too.
But I haven’t seen muscles fill out a shirt so perfectly since the day I met Theodore Reed, and everything about the place my mind goes right now seems really wrong.
That’s what makes turning toward him so my leg rests against his seem so right. I’m due for an epic mistake.
His eyes shift to my bare leg for a prolonged second as a smile grows behind the neck of the amber bottle paused at his lips. “Well, I like the name Scarlet, but not nearly as much as I like the way you say it.”
“And how do I say it?”
“Gah!” he says with exasperation as he presses his beer to his chest, head thrown back. “Just like that. Don’t stop talking. I could listen to you forever.”
I laugh, a real, honest, spontaneous laugh that feels so damn good. “My housemate doesn’t agree.”
“Well, she’s crazy.”
My head shakes as I swallow my sip of wine. “He. My housemate is a bloke.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Hahaha! No. He seems pretty angry that I’m using up some of the oxygen on Earth.”
“He’s a prick, then.”
Sucking in a breath, I prepare to agree with him but at the last moment this foreign emotion prevents my words from forming.
Protective.
I feel protective of Theo. He is a prick and so much worse, but I don’t like Rowan saying it.
“He’s … troubled. But he’s also so amazing.
You should see him work. He’s a carpenter, and everything he touches turns into the most beautiful creation.
” I take another drink of wine then my finger traces the rim of the glass.
“Sometimes I watch him when he doesn’t know I’m watching him.
He’s an artist. I love how his hands skim over a newly-sanded piece of wood, the subtle nod he gives himself when he’s satisfied with something he’s done, or the way he sits back on his heels while kneeling on the floor, worrying his upper lip between his teeth while he contemplates his next move. ”
Rowan puts his empty bottle down and grabs my legs, scooting my stool closer to his, so his legs cage my knees. “So he’s a talented prick, but if he doesn’t treat you well…” he leans forward until his lips brush my ear “…then he’s still a prick.”
I shake my head, intensifying the heavy fog seeping into my brain from one glass of wine. “He’s just … he’s …” I continue to shake my head as I pull away and drop some money on the bar. “I have to go. It was nice to meet you.”
“Wait.” Rowan pays for his drink and follows me out of the bar. “Where are you going?”
“My house.” I continue to make my way to the beach.
“Scarlet, I thought we had a connection.”
His hand clasps my arm, stopping my momentum.
Run, Scarlet!
“Please don’t.”
“I’m not going to hurt you. I just want to talk.”
My narrowed eyes attempt to focus on his hand still gripping my arm. Now who’s the prick? “If you’re not going to hurt me then why are you gripping my arm so tightly?”
He chuckles. “Sorry. If I let go, promise not to run?”
My heart screams, “Giddy-up!” Adrenaline dances in my veins.
“If you don’t let her go, some early morning jogger will find the remnants of your dead body washed up on the beach after I bloody you up and feed your pathetic fucking ass to the sharks.”
Theodore.
I don’t have to look back to know that my housemate must look quite intimidating because Rowan releases me and stumbles backwards like he can’t get out of here fast enough.
“Three … two …” Theo’s voice jabs through the air.
“Dude, I’m going.” Rowan turns and runs back toward the pub, tripping a few more times before clearing the sand.
“Thank you—” I turn, but Theodore is already a tall figure in the distance. I chase after him. “Stop!”
He doesn’t.
I hop on one foot and then the other, pulling off my flip-flops, then I continue to close the distance between us. “Thank you.”
Theo keeps walking as I try to match his long strides, my winded breath louder than the waves along the dark shore.
“You stubborn arse! Did you hear me? If you hate me so much, then why save me back there?”
“Go to bed,” he says as we walk into the house.
My eyes shoot daggers as he continues to the stairs without even looking at me. I blame the wine or maybe the lack of food, but before my mind fully registers what I’m doing, one of my flip-flops connects with the back of his head.
He stops, turning ever so slowly.
I shake my head. “Don’t look at me like that.
I don’t care how fucked-up you are. I’m not a child you can order around.
Why were you on the beach? Were you following me?
Why save me? Is it because you think I’m your toy and no other man except you is allowed to manhandle me?
Well, I have news for you, Theodore Reed, I am not your—”