Chapter two
Yosh
The first rays of sunlight brush over the peak of Mount Camelot, highlighting the beach at Playa Tortuga. Fishermen haul in their catch. A bunch of cheeky pelicans are waiting for scraps on the pillars of the pier. They fight each other, but I’m pretty sure they also have to compete with the local sea turtle population.
I take a sip of water and clip the bottle back onto my belt. My back is straight, legs folded in the lotus position. It’s just me and the view over the bay in these early morning hours. Closing my eyes, I take a deep breath of salty ocean air. The world begins to fade away as I exhale. The noises in my head quiet, leaving only the soothing rhythm of the waves rolling in. This is my reset button, my way of finding clarity before my day starts.
It’s hard to believe it’s been nearly four years since I arrived in Avalon. Those first few weeks? I don't remember much. Only the horrors of the night. The hours after midnight when the sound of the waves had felt suffocating instead of calming. Inside me,a storm had raged. Dark waves in my head were drowning me, sunlight burning my eyes, salty wind stinging my skin, and I hadn’t been able to tell day from night. It was just one big fever dream. I’d been fighting until I had reached a point where I no longer knew what I was fighting for. So I gave up and let the storm in my head take over.
Then one day the sun had rissen and the sea was calm. The waves had lost their anger, and the water was glistening in the morning light.
For the first time I had felt a strange kind of silence. Not the kind that suffocates, but the kind that brings peace. With that calmness had come an unexpected realization: the worst of the storm was over and this was my chance to start over.
Erin, who had been my psychiatrist back then and is now my supervisor, saw my potential and took me under her wing. After an intensive internship where I’d worked my ass off, Arcadia offered me a position as a therapist specializing in alternative healing. Luckily my medical degrees worked in my favor, and I’d quickly become one of their most valued assets. The work I do now feels right, and helping others gives my life purpose. I actually want to settle down, stop running, and start building something that’s mine on this island. Far away and safe from everything I’ve walked away from.
I take a deep breath, hold it for seven seconds, and slowly let it out. The end of my meditation.
When I open my eyes, the water is waiting. Turquoise, clear enough to recognize the shapes of fan coral, and a school of colorful blue-pink fish swimming by.
I unfold my legs and stand. The cliff is warm under my bare feet, rough stones biting into my soles as I walk toward the drop.
This is my morning now. Salt on my lips, sun on my face. No desert dust in my throat, no blood on my hands.
I curl my toes over the edge and look down at the water shimmering below. It’s beautiful. It’s a second chance.
“More than I deserve.”
With those words I dive into the blue.
People are so predictable. If humans weren’t as smart as we are, we’d rank way lower on the food chain. Our repetitive habits make us easy prey. Take this meeting, for example. It’s always the same therapists asking the same stupid questions, dragging everything out because they love the sound of their own voices. They make themselves sound important and mark their territory with pointless comments, like dogs pissing against trees.
All that nonsense makes my job impossible. The back-and-forth pulling, the posturing, it’s enough to drive anyone nuts.
Still, I always volunteer to take notes.
Not because I’m aiming for Employee of the Month. No. I want to lead the department of alternative healing. That’s the only way I can do what I do best: heal my patients.
The thing is, as just a therapist, I don’t have the freedom to fully develop my own treatment plans. It makes me constantly fight with my colleagues over patients.
Some say my methods are too weak; others call them controversial. Most of these criticisms come from people who feel threatened by me. They are the type who only care about their title and the salary that comes with it. They’re the same ones who make these meetings twice as grueling.
Fun, right?
As I jot down the chairman’s final words, I tuck a strand of my long black hair behind my ear, still damp from my morning swim.
I hate being predictable, so I tend to switch up my morning work out. Some days it’s a run, some days it’s the gym. My favorite is swimming down here at Playa Arcadia. And if it’s not one of those three, I visit Deep Diver for… well, let’s say, a different kind of workout.
I don’t even know his real name. Just that he knows how to explore my depths with maddening precision.
Okay, fine, I lied. That workout is my favorite.
“What’re you smiling about?” Erin’s voice cuts through my thoughts. I glance up. It's just the two of us left in the auditorium.
“Nothing… just the notes.”
“Do those notes contain smut?”
I close my notebook and let my lips curve into a small grin. Erin’s heels click against the floor as I follow her out of the auditorium.
