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Another bottle of bourbon was drunk that night.
And some messages made my heart crave for a girl who was a thousand miles away…
Winter is here, and the elements have hit the island hard. My tan has faded, and so too have my freckles. It made me sad, as though you were fading too. I touched myself, thinking of you, trying to conjure you back up. It made me feel warm at least.
That night, and the many that came before and after, I touched myself thinking of her too.
I yearned for her.
Yearned.
A feeling I’ve never experienced before.
I’ve met many women over the years who were looking for a fling, a night of passion. I was the perfect man who could give them that. With me there were no strings attached, just a warm body, skilful hands and mouth. I gave them what they wanted, a fantasy. Those faceless women could fulfil their desires with me, and I could sail away satiated. After a while those kinds of encounters became hollow, unfulfilling. So I didn’t seek out pleasures of the flesh. For almost three years I didn’t touch a woman. Didn’t want to.
Until Connie.
Until my Little Siren called to something buried deep within me.
I’ve asked myself if I was attracted to her because of her resemblance to her mother, and whilst they are similarities, there’s something about Connie that affects me deeply. This yearning I have is more than me lusting after her. She calls to the broken parts of me. I can admit that now. When I’d looked her in the eyes that first time we met, I saw into the depths of her. I might hide out here on the ocean, but Connie hides a whole ocean of pain right within her heart.
God, how I’ve longed for her. No amount of swimming in the sea over the last year to cool off my flushed skin and soothe my already damaged heart could ease the feeling.
Still I fought it.
Then I tortured myself by reading every single message from Connie a million times over. Some nights, when the sky was clear and the moon was bright, my fingers would hover over the phone and I would have the urge to respond. On a few, rare occasions, when loneliness began to get the better of me, I’d gone as far as even beginning to type. I never pressed send.
Instead, I’d pick up my notebook and write. I’d purged myself across the pages. Some days it made me feel close to Connie and some days it reminded me of what I’d left behind. A beautiful girl with a pure heart, who loved to sing, who made my own heart race with anticipation, with aching need and desire.
Like the ocean, Connie Silva stirred up long-forgotten feelings within me and just like those mythical creatures that sailors still tell tales about to this day, my Little Siren called to something within me.
I’d ignored the pull for over a year, refusing to give in. Then I received some news from my contact on the island. Grant. To the majority of the islanders he may just be a man who builds boats, but he’s more than that. Much more.
Some kid arrived on a ferry filled with tourists. He didn’t leave when they did. He’s spending a lot of time with Connie. Thought you should know.
The second I read the text, I’d turned Princess around and began heading back to the island. It wasn’t just because I was filled with jealousy and believe me that was bad enough. It was because my cousin, the King, had been making bold moves lately. Moves that involved getting kids to do his dirty work. This kid arriving might just be a coincidence, but that was a risk I wasn’t willing to take. Not when it came to Connie.
When I was halfway back to the island, travelling along the coast of France, Connie sent me a final message that twisted my gut and had me roaring at the night sky until my throat was hoarse.
The sunset was beautiful today, Malakai. It was the first time I felt at peace knowing that tomorrow would come. A chance to begin again, I guess.
She was saying goodbye, and I couldn’t let her. I caved, sending her one short message then sailed day and night, not stopping, all because I needed to get to her.
My Little Siren called, so I came.
