Page 65 of Shipwrecked

Mathieu steps back into camp, his dripping shirt in his hands.

“Usually I’d calm him down, but we’re broken up, and he’s treating me like shit, so I didn’t.”

Rage seeps into my bloodstream. Usually.

“He shoved me.”

Jules stops, as if that’s all the explanation he needs to give. As if that’s all that happened.

“And he choked you,” I finish.

Jules makes a confirming sound.

Mathieu passes behind him. He kneels and checks in with Jules before holding the damp shirt against his throat. His mouth has the shape it did when we first wrecked, and Jules wouldn’t wake up. “This happened when you came back for lunch, didn’t it? You looked upset. I thought it was because of this morning.”

Jules makes another indistinct sound. He doesn’t divert his attention to Mathieu, and I don’t think he’s going to either.

“Mathieu is going to put the cream on your neck now,” I say.

Mathieu applies the cream so gently that Jules doesn’t even flinch. His dark eyes study Jules’s face, his hand inside mine, then my expression. His sunshine has vanished. I notice the sunburn on his nose and cheeks. His chapped lips. Messy, tangled hair, despite my work earlier. For once, he looks less like a wild, revelling nymph than someone exhausted and frightened.

Seán stands up. “I’m going to talk to him so he doesn’t show up in the morning.”

I go to stand, and Mathieu’s hand fastens on my arm.

“No. You have to stay with Jules,” Mathieu says. “I’ll go with Seán.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Cillian,” Mathieu says. “He’s completely out of it, and he’s locked on you. You can’t go.”

Jules doesn’t react to the words. He’s waiting. Watching me.

Mathieu’s right. I can’t leave his side when he’s this vulnerable. But I can’t stand the thought of Mathieu being near Darren either.

“Your presence will make Darren angrier at Jules,” I say. “If he’s lashing out because you chose Jules over him, seeing you there while he’s”—the right phrase is “held accountable”, but that isn’t how Darren will see it—“called out and embarrassed will only make his reaction worse.”

“If I’m the reason—”

“It was like that with my parents,” I blurt, sharp and desperate. “You could call them anything under the sun and they wouldn’t bat an eye, but mention the mountain of cans in the living room to so much as the postman and you were going to get it. They’d laugh it off in the moment, but take their embarrassment and unleash it the second we were alone.”

Seán breathes in sharply.

Mathieu doesn’t look away from my eyes. I see his thoughts churning. He finally glances at Jules, then at me again. “Alright.” He places his hand over mine, over Jules’s, and squeezes until I relax my grip. “I did promise to listen to your safety instructions.”

Relief fills me.

“I’ll let the others know that he isn’t allowed into camp,” Mathieu says. “Is that fine with all of you? Jules?”

Jules doesn’t answer.

Mathieu tips his head back, staring through the gap in the canopy at the stars. The heat of his indecision radiates off him, his body all tense lines. “He’ll be angry with me for it in the morning, but it’s better everyone knows what the situation is.”

I’m not sure what state Jules is going to be come morning, but I think Mathieu is right. “Everyone will see the bruises for themselves anyway. They’re only going to develop more during the night.”

My eyes find Seán. His injured shoulder, still in a sling.

“Yasop’s at the signal fire,” Seán says. “I’ll bring him with me.”