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Leaves and dust cover the faded blue sleeping bag, so while I wait for Saint, I decide to air it out because it may be our only source of warmth. As I shake it out at arm’s length, fearful a posse of spiders will emerge and eat my face off, something shiny clutters to the floor. When I see what it is, I instantly peer from left to right, afraid Saint will spring out of nowhere and punish me for such insolent thoughts.
But he’s not here. We’re no longer on that boat. We’re out here, wherever here is, and I need to fend for myself. So the pocketknife at my feet seems like a blessing from above. Dropping to a crouch, I hesitantly pick it up.
My fingers tremble as I open it and see that the blade isn’t rusty. It’s a Swiss Army knife, so I know these things are made to last. My reflection stares back at me from the knife’s edge as I grapple with what to do.
Feelings of helplessness overwhelm me, and I refuse to be a victim again. With that as my mindset, I quickly place it in my bra as I have no other place to store it. If Saint finds this on me, god knows what he’ll do.
A false sense of security blinds me, but it feels good to know I can protect myself if I need to.
The smelly sleeping bag needs a wash, so I decide to rinse it off in the ocean. The thought of all that water surrounding us suddenly sends my bladder wild. Saint told me to stay here, but as I hop from foot to foot, I realize that isn’t an option.
Tossing the sleeping bag over the edge, I watch as it sails to the ground gracefully. I can only hope my plummet is just as elegant. However, when I step over the edge and try to reach for the rope without face planting, I know this won’t end pretty.
After three attempts, I manage to grab the rope. But now that I have it, the thought of scaling down it leaves me with sweaty palms. I have no idea how the right way to do this is, but I count to five, breathe in and out, then wrap one leg around the rope. My other foot is still perched against the small platform of the hut, but I slowly push off, yelping as I attempt to climb down.
“Don’t look down,”I chant over and over, but it’s hard not to because I need to know how many feet separate me and death.
I hang, suspended in midair as I shimmy down the rope, inch by inch. My sweaty hands provide no grip, and I begin to slip. That is the kick in the ass I need to hurry my pace and scramble down until I’m low enough to jump to the ground.
I drop like a sack of potatoes, grunting on impact as the twigs and rocks roughly break my fall. I commando roll and end up slamming into a tree. Brushing myself off, I look from left to right, unsure exactly which way we came from.
When I see a purple flowering bush, I remember passing it on the way, so I hobble toward it, ignoring the small rocks biting into the soles of my feet. Although I am almost certain we came this way, I decide to leave a trail, like Hansel and Gretel for Saint.
My dress is ruined anyway, so I tear the neckline, ripping the fabric into small shreds to use as my breadcrumbs. I tie what’s left of the ruined dress at the waist in a tight bow. My bra is all that’s covering my top half. If this was Milan, I could parade this on the runway, but here, it only confirms my desperate need to find some clothes.
I secure a piece of my dress to a stem of the flowering bush and continue on my way, stopping every so often to tie some fabric onto a tree branch or trunk, leaving a clear path for Saint so he’s able to trace my steps.
After a few minutes, I hear the crashing of waves, and a sense of accomplishment overcomes me. I’m proud of myself for being able to navigate through this maze. But I can pat myself on the back later because when I push through the dense foliage and see the water, I half run, half waddle toward it. The crispness feels incredible as I wade in the water, and when I’m about knee deep, I squat and relieve my bladder.
This is not ideal, but it’s the best I’m going to get seeing as there are no bathrooms. I sigh in relief, but that’s soon replaced by a yelp when something nudges my back. Images of being ripped apart by Jaws has me screaming like a banshee and running for the shore faster than the wind.
Breathless and thankful I’m not floating in a pool of blood, I turn around to ensure whatever touched me hasn’t followed, but what I see has me rubbing my eyes to confirm I’m not seeing things. I’m not. Floating feet away is the waterproof box that contained my clothes and toiletries. Saint was right. I wonder what else will wash up on shore.
Running toward it, I drag it out of the water, relieved I will be able to change clothes, but more importantly, brush my teeth. Once it’s far away from the shoreline, I drop to my knees and throw open the lid. I cry out when I see my clothes and toiletries are inside. A black backpack which I assume contains Saint’s clothes is also inside.
Saint’s sudoku book and the leather-bound journal I saw him writing in sits in the open bag. Curiosity has me running my fingers over the leather because this innocent book may be privy to Saint’s most protected thoughts. I should respect his privacy, but in the end, my snooping wins out.
Just as I open it to the first page, however, all prying comes to a screeching halt.
“I heard you scream,” Saint pants as he emerges from the trees. I quickly slam the journal shut, peering up at him. He’s covered in sweat and dirt.
“I’m fine,” I reply, wondering if he ran to find me. His sticky appearance certainly hints that. “I was going to the bathroom in the water when I felt something nudge me. I thought it was a shark, but it wasn’t. It was this.”
Saint’s attention drops to the box in front of me. I’m about to reveal the good news that his beloved sudoku book survived, but it’s clear that doesn’t matter. He is furious. “I told you to stay put.”
“Excuse me?”I gasp, coming to a slow stand. “I left you a trail on where to find me.”
“And what if I was going another way?”
“You can’t tell me what to do.”
“Like hell, I can’t,” he rebukes, storming forward.
Fuck him and his arrogance. I’ve had enough. “I’m no longer your prisoner. We’re both stranded here.”
“Thanks to you,” he spits, coming to a sudden stop a few feet away from me. His nostrils flare, and his chest rises and falls rapidly.
“So, what? You’d rather I just submitted to you? Is that it?”
