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Twenty-Five
Connie
After climbingout of the shower, I get dressed and head to the kitchen ready to face Grandma. I feel fragile, as though the lightest of breezes will have the power to scatter me like a field full of dandelion seeds. Malakai wrecked me this morning. He wrecked me with his touch and his kisses, then twisted the knife with his fucking words.
“This meant nothing.”
Hate is a powerful emotion. One of themostpowerful. It sits right up there with love. Side by side they coexist. The ying to the yang. The dark to the light. How can I feel two equally powerful emotions for the same man? How can he stoke such loving bliss within me one minute and such anger the next? I want him to leave and never fucking come back… I want him to stay and never,everlet me go.
He took from me this morning. Yes, he might’ve given me an orgasm but I’m not naïve enough to believe he gave me pleasure because he actually gives a shit about me. He’d touched me to gethimselfoff. He’d rubbed himself against me. He’d taken my pleas and fuelled his own lust with every whimper that left my desperate mouth. He didn’t comfort me in my distress, he didn’t shower me with words of affection. He didn’t stop. He’d used me to satiate himself, and the worst thing of it all… I’dwantedhim to.
“This meant nothing.”
After he left, I’d swam for an hour in the ocean trying to rid myself ofhim. He might’ve washed away his cum with gentle fingers that belied his indifference, but I couldn’t wash away his touch, or his words, or the hurt. I couldn’t wash away that.
In a trance, I’d gathered my clothes and walked naked back to my house not caring in the slightest that someone could see me. I didn’t care. That’s how hollow I’d felt. Istillfeel. Grandma was fast asleep when I’d returned, at least I didn’t have to face her at that point. I’d climbed into the shower and tried to rid myself of the smell of the ocean because it reminds me too much of him. But like the ocean that encircles our island, Malakai surrounds me. He’s in every intake of breath. My lungs, my heart. My salty tears arefullof him.
I don’t look in the mirror in my bathroom, not willing to see the person staring back. Instead, I pull on a t-shirt dress and sandals then pull my hair up into a messy bun and plaster my face with a fake smile before heading downstairs.
“Morning, Connie. Did you sleep well?” Grandma Silva asks me as I head into the kitchen and pick up the coffee pot, pouring myself a cup.
“Uh-huh,” I mumble, swallowing a mouthful of bitter coffee and avoiding her gaze, trying and failing to stop the tears brimming on my lashes.
In an instant she’s by my side. “Connie, what is it?” Her warm hand rests on my back as she guides me to sit at the table. I take a seat, clutching onto the mug before me, willing myself not to cry. I wasn’t able to stop myself from sobbing earlier in Malakai’s arms, but I can and will now.
“It’s nothing.”
“If that were true then you wouldn’t be trembling. Tell me, child, what ails you?” she urges, her soft fingers stroking my arm gently.
I debate lying to her, but what would be the point? Pretty soon Lola will be back, and she’ll definitely tell Grandma about Malakai’s return. I may as well do it. Keeping my eyes firmly fixed on my cup of coffee, I tell her. “He’s back.”
Her hand grips my arm tighter. “Malakai?”
“Yes,” I confirm.
“Did he hurt you, Connie?”
I let out a bitter laugh that catches in my throat. Swallowing it down, I cover her hand with mine. “You and I both know that he already did that when he left a year ago.”
“He shouldn’t have come back,” she mutters, folding her arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. “I warned you Connie. I warned you not to fall for him.”
“The heart wants what the heart wants,” I say, sighing heavily.
Because despite my anger and my hate, my heart still yearns for Malakai. My foolish, foolish heart still holds onto the hope that beneath all the harsh words and angry glares Malakai wants me as much as I still want him.
“Oh, child. What are we to do?”
* * *
When I arriveat The Shack thirty minutes later, Peter’s leaning against the door scowling at his mobile phone. I watch him fire off a quick message then shove the phone in his back pocket with a heavy sigh.
“Morning, Peter,” I say, forcing cheerfulness into my voice when I feel anything but, then repeating myself when he doesn’t appear to hear me over the raucous gulls that are currently screeching and cawing over a trawler that has come in early. A quick glance tells me they have quite the haul, and those birds are wanting a taste of the catch.
“G’day, Connie. Did you sleep well?” he asks. His smile is broad, and his teeth startlingly white in the sunlight. Though, this morning, his smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I slept like a baby,” I lie.
“That’s good…” The sound of his phone receiving another message, interrupts his train of thought. His smile drops as he pulls his mobile free from his pocket and reads the message.
