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“That I fucked Thad!?” I snap, taking my anger out on the wrong person as I pull my knees up to my chest, trying to hide my body.
“That you found others…not Thad, just…others.”
“Hey,” Anton says softly, touching a gentle finger to my chin, and turning my head until I’m looking at him. “It’s okay, Sapphire. We aren’t judging you.”
“It feels like you are. Are you disappointed that I’m inexperienced, or does it bother you to learn I was a prude, and it’s my own fault Thad took his anger out on me? I wouldn’t put out, and when he tried to force me, I bit him hard enough to bleed.” Tears spring to my eyes as anger makes my limbs shake.
“Made him bleed where, Saffie?” Anton asks gently as he wraps a blanket over my shoulders, and pulls me against his chest. His dick hidden by a pillow.
“Bicep…” I pause. Then cringe. “And his thumb. And ankle.” I clear my throat, lifting my chin. It’s silent for a moment until both men chuckle.
“You bit his ankle?” Isaiah drops to my other side. His dick is also hidden by a pillow. I relax as their warmth surrounds me.
“He was reaching for something. I don’t know what.” I shrug. “His ankle was there. So I bit it. It worked. The next day, I told my mother what happened. I don’t know what she told your dad, but Thad never tried to force me again.” I sigh. “It was one of the only times I felt like she’d protected me.”
“I used to think she was the problem,” Anton admits. “She’s no better off than you were.”
“She defended the other shit he did, though. Spewing bullshit about passionate men. I know Thad started fucking everything with two legs and a vagina after that. He’s so charming when he wants to be. Those poor women never see his cruelty coming. I stopped trying to warn them,” I say as Isaiah gets up and heads to the kitchen.
“Stop checking out my ass, baby girl.” Isaiah jokes, without even looking to confirm if I was checking him out or not. Obviously, I was. But I’ll deny that until my final days.
“What ass?” I tease, and Isaiah pretends I wounded him.
“Like a dagger to the heart!” A few moments later, he returns with three drinks. Still no pants, though. “Drink up. It’ll keep your blood warm.”
“Alcohol can’t freeze after a certain percent,” I say with an eye roll. “It doesn’t keep you warm, just keeps you from freezing inside.”
“No!” Isaiah argues, and I take several sips of my drink before I reply.
“There was a man who survived the Titanic because in his final moments he said, ‘Fuck this, if I’m going to die, I’m doing it three sheets to the wind!’”
“Is that what he said?” Anton laughs, lifting a skeptical brow.
“I doubt he said it out loud.” I smile because his story is a favorite of mine. “He was a baker, and when the Titanic hit the iceberg, this man, Joughin, sent his staff to provide provisions to the lifeboats. When some women were too frightened to leave the ship, he started tossing people into the lifeboats. That's when he ran below deck, grabbed a bottle, drank the entire thing, and returned to the deck, so he could toss deck chairs off the edge, hoping they’d help others float. It’s said he’s the last man to exit the ship because he jumped off just before it went under. Then he trod water until the next morning.” I smile. “He said the frigid waters weren’t so bad, and all he suffered was swollen feet. And trauma. Apparently not much, though, because he worked on ships until he retired thirty-two years later. He passed away twelve years after that, two years shy of turning eighty.” I’ve taken several sips by the time I finish the story, prompting Isaiah to refill my cup.
“So you’re saying, in the event of a shipwreck in freezing waters, drink your body weight in moonshine, and you’ll survive?” Anton jokes, and I squint, thinking.
“More like, prepare your body for a couple of years prior so that you can successfully consume such a significant amount of alcohol in one go that it doesn’t kill you before the freezing water can,” I offer, sipping my drink once again. Both men chuckle, and I grin at my own joke.
“So he was a drunk?” Isaiah frowns, and I shrug.
“It doesn’t sound like it. Maybe the alcohol back then was stronger, and he was just used to it the same way you’re used to this.” I hold up my glass for example. “It sounded to me like he was a hero. He didn’t demand a seat on a lifeboat, and instead, he tossed reluctant strangers into them, and then, rather than looking for his own way to safety, he tossed chairs overboard for those not in the boats. He had to know the chances of survival in those freezing waters weren’t good, but he tried anyway. He could have been greedy. Found a way to tie the chairs together to use for himself.” I shrug. “I’m not saying he was exceptional. But in a moment where no one would have blamed him for being selfish, he was caring. Considerate, even.” I shake off the weird sadness and take a few long drinks of my own alcohol.
“Do you like history?” Anton asks, settling in beside me as we lean against the couch.
“I do. I like reading. I like knowing the real stories of everyday heroes. People who faced something once in a lifetime, or so rare, most humans will never experience it, and they did something. Even just something small. Sometimes all it takes is something small, to save someone’s life,” I murmur, and Anton nods.
“When I was little, I was in a car wreck. My mom, dad, and I. Some dumb kid ran a red light. We crashed into a traffic light trying to avoid other cars. I was young. Didn’t really know what was going on. Some lady who’d seen the entire thing got me out of the car and to safety. She held me as the paramedics took care of my mom. All I remember is her blonde hair and white jeans. And the way she rocked me, trying to soothe some kid she owed nothing to,” Isaiah says, a small smile on his lips. “She didn’t release me until the ambulance took me.” He turns to look at me. “Is that what you mean?” he asks, and I nod.
“Yes. Humans can be so cruel to one another, but in those dark moments, something unique happens. Sympathy, or empathy. Or both. Or just a desire to do good. To be good, pushes us. None of us owes the stranger next to us anything, but our humanity connects us. Self-preservation is overridden by a desire to protect. I think that's why I sometimes have a hard time seeing only the bad. Or seeing enough of the bad,” I admit.
“You mean like Thad and my father?” Anton asks, and I nod.
“Yeah. They did good things, too. It took me a long time to realize that bad people can do good things. It doesn't mean they’re good, it just means they’re smart enough to know how to manipulate you,” I whisper, hiding my emotion with another sip.
“On the flip side, this means good people who do bad things aren’t all bad,” Isaiah adds.
“I don’t think anyone is entirely one or the other. Humans are naturally selfish. You have to choose not to put yourself first in everything. Mistakes are normal. Hell, making a conscious decision that you know will hurt someone else is okay, as long as you learn from your actions, and try your hardest not to keep hurting others. But you can’t learn to do the right thing if you never do the wrong thing.” I shrug, and Anton chuckles.
