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“Claire!”
Her eyes are closed, her lips parted. Maybe it’s the dark all around us, but they look blue. She doesn’t react to me, doesn’t hear me, or feel the tug on her hair. I tuck my arm around her ribcage, pulling her with me in a football hold as I swim toward the boat. This time, we’re swimming with the waves instead of against them, and I use their momentum to propel us forward as fast as I can.
When I reach up and close a hand around the ladder, lightning hits again so close that I drop the metal, hissing when my fingers burn against the pole. Flames dance along the back of the bow, creating a ring that spreads slowly from the point of origin right where my hand was a moment before.
I grit my teeth and tighten my grip around Claire, hauling her over the side of the boat with me and letting her body drop onto the ground. I fall on top of her, tilting her head back to let the light show me the trickle of blood on her head. It’s not much, and I can’t even see the source, so it’s the least threatening problem. I slam my hands into her chest, pumping harder than necessary. Rather a broken rib than death is what they always told us when we took our lifeguard course over the summers.
I’m just about to press my lips to hers when she gasps, her eyes flying open. I don’t even get a second of relief, because she’s choking on the water I just pushed out of her lungs. Spinning her face to the side, she is able to cough the water from her throat before she falls back against the deck, her body exhausted.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I growl, slamming my fist into the ground beside her head. Claire doesn’t even flinch at my anger, her blue eyes focusing on mine for a moment. I think she’s about to say something, and then she glances behind me.
“Fire!”
I stay focused on her just long enough to let her wonder if I’m crazy enough to let us go down in flames, and then roll off of her. The fire extinguisher is just where it always is, under the bench seat, so I whip it out and pull the pin, spraying it back and forth until the white foam coats the flames on the back of my boat and effectively kills them.
Claire is getting to her feet shakily beside me by the time I drop the extinguisher and turn to glare at her. “I’ll ask you again, Claire. What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Her jaw hardens, and I see the stubbornness in her eyes. “I told you I was a good swimmer. You wanted me to prove it, so I did.”
“You didn’t prove anything.” I laugh because I can’t help it. She’s being so absurd that she can’t be serious.
“I could have swam all the way back to your house if you hadn’t jumped in and distracted me.” Her chest heaves, and I don’t know if it’s from anger or her body trying to readjust to breathing oxygen normally.
“I distracted you?” I shake my head. “You’re fucking delusional.”
“You threw me over the side of the boat!” She snaps, pointing angrily to the bow that’s been devoured by flames. “But you think I’m delusional? What’s the game Remy? You want me to fucking run from you?”
“You should.” I tell her honestly.
“Yeah, well, I tried. And every time, you fucking come after me.”
“You’d be dead if I hadn’t!” I growl, remembering how Wes had held the knife to her throat. The truth is, we both know she wouldn’t have been dead. They were going to keep her alive, at least for a while. But she would wish she wasn’t.
“Do you want to be the white knight or the dark prince, Remy? Cause I think you don’t even know yourself!”
Ouch.
That hits harder than I’ll let her see. I cover the pain with a laugh, so she doesn’t see me flinch. “Do you want to be the damsel in distress or the vixen in charge? Cause I’m not sure you know, either!”
I don’t know what I expect her to say back to that, but it’s not what she says. “I don’t know!” Her answer gives me a moment of silence to contemplate that, but she continues before I’ve had the chance to understand what she means. “I don’t know who I am, Remy. I never have. I look in the mirror, and I feel like…” She pauses, her breaths making her chest rise and fall quickly as she contemplates whether she wants to tell me what she’s actually thinking. “Sometimes I feel like I know who I am. And then I look in the mirror, and I see…” Her voice lowers with a sigh, “It doesn’t match the way I feel.”
I try to understand what that’s supposed to mean. I’ve heard of things like body dysmorphia and subsequent eating disorders, but I don’t think that’s what she’s trying to get at. So, I stay silent, watching her face as she struggles to find the words to help me understand.
“It’s so hard to not know who you are. I feel like I’ve never created an identity for myself—and sometimes that makes me feel like I don’t actually exist. But then there are moments—usually moments where we’re together—where I feel alive. And I feel like I know who I am.” I watch her throat work as she swallows. “And then you go and do something that makes me question myself all over again.”
“Claire—”
“It’s not fair to put it on you, Remy. I know. Because it’s not you. But—”
“But?” I prompt, needing to know where she’s going with this.
She shakes her head, turning away from me. My hand snags around her wrist, forcing her back to me. “But what?” I demand, grabbing her chin and forcing her eyes to meet mine.
I think she’s going to ignore me until she presses her quivering lips together. “But I want you to be the one who makes me see myself.”
“Claire—” I start, my voice even colder than I feel.
“I’m not asking you to love me. I don’t think anyone ever could. I’m just asking you to break me so I can put myself back together.”
