AllFreeNovel
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I’m disappointed he still won’t share anything with me, but I guess we’re not here on vacation. We’re here against our will.
Reaching for a palm leaf behind me, I place the fish on it, careful not to burn my hands. It smells delicious, but honestly, anything smells appetizing when you’re starving. Fanning it with my hand, I wait for it to cool down.
Saint sits across from me, the fire crackling between us.
I can hardly wait, and I dig into the flesh of the fish, blowing on my fingers because it’s damn hot. However, when I place a piece of the soft meat into my mouth, I forget about third-degree burns and shovel the chunks into my mouth.
It tastes unlike anything I’ve ever eaten before.
“This is good,” I say around a mouthful of food. Saint nods, sipping his drink with an indifferent expression. Uncaring I look like a caveman, I finish my dinner in minutes, thankful to be eating as it gives me something to do besides ask Saint questions he doesn’t want to answer.
My full belly sighs in happiness as I lean back on my hands. I didn’t realize how hungry I was because when I look up, I see that Saint’s fish is still partially intact. “Do you want more?” he asks, offering me his dinner.
“No, thank you. I’m full.” I drink my rum, cringing every time I swallow down a foul-tasting mouthful.
There isn’t a star in sight, and I wonder what that means for all the dreamers out there. Where do they send their wishes to? If I had a wish, what would it be? My question is soon answered.
“I grew up in Syracuse, New York.”
In what feels like slow motion, I lower my face from the heavens, meeting Saint’s gaze. He waits for my reaction. Waits for me to fire a million and one questions. But I don’t because, for now, this is enough.
“Oh, no…please don’t tell me you’re a Yankees fan. I can’t be stranded with someone who thinks tiny white pants on a guy is a good thing.”
He blinks once as I’ve clearly caught him off guard. Then he bursts into husky laughter, shocking me. “I suppose you’re more of a rodeo girl then?”
This time, it’s my turn to laugh. “Please, I may be from Texas, but I live in LA now. The only sport I like is catfights on the runway.”
Saint raises his coconut in salute. “Looks like we have more in common than I thought.”
I raise my coconut and feign clinking glasses. “Cheers.” The ghastly rum now tastes like honey on my tongue because it’s a victory drink, and victory has never tasted this good.
As each day turns into night, my tie to reality seems to slip. Being here, it’s easy to forget that the outside world exists. I can close my eyes at night and forget what I am…and that’s thanks to her. But I can’t forget—it’s too dangerous if I do.
No matter how much I want to touch her, I need to remember she doesn’t belong to me…no matter how badly I want her to. I see the way she looks at me, but I have to be strong. Yet with each day, it’s getting harder and harder not to own her…mind, body, and soul.
Day 15
WE’VE BEEN STUCKon this island for five days, and during those five days, we’ve fallen into a routine. When I wake at sunrise, I stretch out my sore muscles. The hard floor of the hut isn’t any softer, no matter how many leaves I use as a buffer.
Scaling down the rope, I’m still a little shaky but getting more confident every day. I venture through the terrain confidently as I’m familiar with the twists and turns. I barely need the markers anymore, and I know it’ll only be a few more days until I know the route like the back of my hand.
When I reach the shore, I smile. Harriet Pot Pie eventually got used to her coop. She is usually waiting for me with an egg as my good morning greeting. Saint sleeps by the fire, refusing to sleep in the hut with me, which is sensible. It would be weird to snuggle up to him, I suppose, but I do get lonely at night.
He’s awake before me, ensuring a breakfast of coconuts and fish by the time I arrive. He asks how I slept, and I always reply with fine. I ask how his wound is. He mimics my response. Once we’re done, he takes off into the rocky terrain, looking for a way off this island. So far, he’s had no luck.
I bathe, and sometimes, I clean out the hut. I talk to Harriet Pot Pie a lot. I gather supplies in case Saint changes his mind, and we end up making an SOS sign. But as the days turn into nights, it’s clear that even if someone rescues us, where does that leave me?
Overall, the monotony of everything leaves me restless and desperate for change.
When night falls, Saint returns with fish and coconut, and sometimes berries. We eat and talk a little but nothing personal. It seems when he opened up about where he lived, that was a one night only sort of deal. We drink some rum before I go back to the hut. In a sense, I feel like a prisoner once again. I offer to hunt for food, but he warns me to stay away from the waters near the lagoon. I don’t know why.
This morning, I wake, hoping by some miracle that something will change. I make my way down the rope, walking on autopilot as I trek through the familiar terrain. Harriet Pot Pie is in her coop, clucking happily when she sees me.
I gather the egg before picking her up and carrying her to the beach with me. Saint sits by the fire with his legs stretched out in front of him as he does a sudoku puzzle. He must have bathed already as his hair is wet and he’s changed into his makeshift cargo shorts and a black shirt that he’s ripped the sleeves off.
He peers up at me when I arrive. “Morning. How’d you sleep?”
“Fine,” I reply, passing him the egg. I place Harriet Pot Pie onto the beach, allowing her to peck around while I sit on the sand, drawing my knees toward my chest.
