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“Because you inhaled a shitload of salt water,” I stated. “It fucks up your throat and your vocal cords. Give it a day; it’ll be better.”
“Th
ank you,” she said, again.
“Whatever,” I replied, again.
I shoved my hand down into the sealed up container for rations and pulled out a carb bar. I tore it in half and threw one of the pieces at her.
“Eat it,” I instructed. “You can have the other half in six hours.”
“Six hours?” she repeated.
“Are you a fucking recorder? Yes, six hours.”
I knew I was being a bastard, but my brain was working overtime trying to figure out what our best course of action might be. Having her here made it ten times more difficult. If it was just me, I was pretty sure I would be fine. There was plenty of food and water for just me. I could fish, I could take care of myself, and I could stay alive under pretty extreme circumstances. Having her here with me just…complicated everything.
I was used to death match. Last man standing. Every man for himself. You didn’t help anyone else because everyone else was going to stab you in the back the first chance they got. The primitive part of my brain kept telling me to chuck her overboard because her survival might cost me my own.
But I couldn’t do that. I mean, she was just a tiny little girl. Not a child, obviously, but she was just so small and she looked freaking helpless. I had to stop myself from wanting to hold her and comfort her again, and maybe fuck her to make her forget about the horrible situation she was in. Yeah, I definitely wanted to do that.
Toss her overboard or stick my tongue down her throat? I couldn’t decide and it fucking ticked me off.
“Come here,” I told her, trying to keep myself from sounding too pissed off. I wasn’t sure if it worked or anything, but she did scoot a little closer. “You need water so you can digest what you ate.”
“I am thirsty,” she admitted.
I measured out about a half cup and held it out towards her. When she reached for it, I held it back to my chest and out of her reach.
“Listen first,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her. “Lick your lips and then take a small mouthful of water. Swish it around in your mouth, gargle with it, and then swallow. Then lick your lips again. Keep doing that until it’s gone. Got it?”
She nodded, and I handed her the cup, watching her closely. She did as I had told her and then handed the cup back to me.
“Put this on your lips, too,” I told her, handing her a tube of ChapStick from the survival kit.
“What’s this for?”
“Helps keep in moisture,” I said. “It also helps with sunburn. Stay the fuck out of the direct sunlight, got it? As tiny as you are, sunburn would probably kill you.”
“I don’t burn easily,” she smirked.
I glared at her.
“You aren’t used to being in the direct sunlight combined with the reflection off the water without protection of any kind for an indeterminate amount of time. Everyone burns eventually.”
She wiped the tube across her lips and handed it back to me. I sealed it back up and put it away.
“What’s your name?” she asked.
“Daniel,” I said automatically. I didn’t even think about it anymore when someone asked. After four years, giving my fake name was as natural as my first name had been.
“I’m Raine,” she said. “Thank you for rescuing me.”
“Whatever.” I tried not to laugh at the name. Aside from being about as pretentious as I might have expected, the fact that it was a weather pattern, not a name, was fucking hysterical.
“You could say ‘you’re welcome,’ you know.”
“I haven’t saved you yet,” I told her. “You might hate me for not letting you drown. At least it would be over then. Drowning is quick at least. Dying of dehydration while you’re starving, too? That sucks.”
