CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Dried mud is caked so thickly to every exposed inch of my skin and hair, that it takes multiple rounds of scrubbing to get it all off. I don’t rush, though, instead taking my time under the relaxing water.
I’m still fuming after Weston took my dagger back, so the more time I stay away from him, the better. Questioning whether or not he can trust me with it before I left was obviously just a show, because if he actually trusted me, I would still have it.
I let the water fall over my head, tilting it back so it rinses the third round of soap out. The heat from the water feels amazing, loosening the tension that built up in my muscles after everything that happened tonight, as well as days of pent up anger. Steam hovers in the room, making it feel more solitary than it is, even though I can still hear Stassia and Auralie chatting happily in nearby stalls. An uncontrollable yawn brought on by actually being able to relax halts their conversation mid-sentence.
“I’m not sure if Sig told you,” Auralie says into the room, “but we get the day after our shift off. No need to rush to do your assignment.”
“No scrubbing the deck today!” Stassia calls out. “We can sleep the day away.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. Now that all the anticipation and excitement have died down, I don’t know if I could make it through my task after only an hour or two of sleep. I would have forced myself if I needed to. I don’t want to give Weston any more ammunition to use against me, especially since I’m still scrubbing by hand in his attempt to keep me manageable.
“I don’t know about you, Lennox,” Stassia starts up again, “but I had fun tonight. Hopefully Captain lets you go out again.”
“How often are the shifts?” I ask, ignoring any mention of fun, so I don’t admit that I didn’t entirely hate the shift tonight. Being on the island again felt amazing, and having my dagger back made me feel like myself. I want to do more shifts, mostly to keep up with my plan and get off this damn ship, but I’m not going to jump to calling it fun so soon.
“We have a rotation of every nine days,” Stassia says as she steps out of her stall, stark naked without a care in the world for anyone shuffling in and out of the room getting ready for the day.
“There are enough of us that we can all rotate and have the next day off to recover,” Auralie adds.
I stifle another yawn. “Good, because I think I need it.” Grabbing my towel off the door of the stall, I dry quickly before dressing in a clean set of clothes I snagged from the room before coming down. “I guess I’ll see you both later on then?”
“Meet for dinner?” Auralie says.
“Sure,” I agree before slipping from the room and heading to the galley to grab a quick snack.
Life on the ship is beginning to feel too familiar, too normal. Add in the fact that these girls were willing to risk their lives to save me, someone who they barely know, and it didn’t seem tophase them at all. Life just went on; back to the routine, as if nothing happened. As if it was just part of being a Castaway.
Mara saved me too, and I won’t ever forget the danger she put herself in, but Sig, Stassia, and Auralie didn’t hesitate. Mara admitted she questioned it before deciding that it wasn’t like her to let me go. I can’t help but wonder if any of the other Voyagers that I considered family would make the same decision.
The contrast of life as a Voyager and life as a Castaway is more obvious every day. As a Voyager, most of our days are solitary, searching the island alone with our own plan and own goals. The Castaways do nothing alone. They are a unit, a crew, bound by their joint fate of being unworthy and trapped. It feels different from the Voyagers, bound only by a shared goal of finding the waters.
Castaways sit around the mess, eating and talking as I walk in and grab a pastry before going straight back to the stairs. I hope Weston kept his word and left the room alone so I can get to sleep.
Hopefully he found a shirt.
Taking a bite of the fruit filled roll, I round the corner at the top of the steps, and slow my pace.
The door is closed. It’s never closed unless Weston is inside, mostly because if it is, I can’t get out.
So much for leaving me alone.
But why is it closed? What is he doing inside?
I slow my steps, setting my boots down softly as I creep toward it, pleading with the ship not to creak and give me away. Hovering close, there’s no sound from the other side, so I inch closer, pressing my ear to the crack and straining to hear.
The soft lilt of voices falls on my ears.
Someone else is in the room with him, the words barely above a whisper, preventing eavesdroppers from being able to make out much. I squeeze my eyes shut and stop chewing,focusing on the noise and praying that the door doesn’t open suddenly.
Sig’s hushed tone creeps out as she gets a little louder. She wasn’t in the showers with the rest of us, but something must be important enough to need to speak to the captain behind closed doors.
Her voice rises again, enough that I can make out her words. She seems upset, or worried, but I can’t tell without seeing her face.
“They’re looking for her, Cap.” I listen harder, my attention piqued. When she didn’t mention anything about hearing Dane was searching for me, I didn’t think she cared, let alone that she would tell Weston.
“That's no surprise,” Weston grumbles from the other side of the door.
