Every time he rips into a log to pull it aside, his whole body strains, making the muscles pop. It’s like watching Captain America pull the logs apart.
While I’m gaping, he’s smashing those long trees as if they were tiny twigs. Then he carries them to one place to build a perfect little home for himself.
Oh, that smart bastard!He wants to sleep nice and dry. The wet season is upon us, and I bet it won’t be fun to get wet every day. I remember how rainy the tropics get from traveling with my family.
I march past him and look for a place for myself. I don’t need anyone’s help, especially his. Plus, I don’t think he’ll be willing to offer it after all our interactions.
About a hundred feet or so away from his already decent-looking shelter, I find the perfect place for mine. Three palm trees already bent together, creating the structure for what I have in mind. All I need now is to stick them together for good and build the rest.
Easy-peasy. The water source is nearby. The beach is in front of me in case rescue comes while I’m sleeping. The place is perfect. If not for the grunting giant to my left and his perfect-looking shelter. I can do better!
As I start pulling the palm branches, the sun goes up, and my skin starts burning. I could use some sunscreen, but I have none. Natural sunscreen will have to do. So I dig my fingers into the soil, deep inside where the moisture gathers, pull the dirt out, and spread it all over my cheeks, forehead, neck, and arms. The burnt skin instantly chills, and I let out a loud moan of relief.
The cracking and rustling stops. I look at my neighbor—he’s standing up and holding a huge log in his hands.
I lift up my middle finger at him and go back to cutting the branches. Cutting is a very fancy word for what I’m doing to them actually. Trying to rip a branch off a palm is not an easy task since it feels like they all are glued together. King doesn’t seem to have a problem though, because his shelter is looking like an actual livable shed, almostprofessionally built. While mine looks like it’s one breath away from falling apart since my branches are all messed up and not bushy at all. Even though I know all the tips and tricks which are still very fresh in my head due to bingeingSurvivoron the way here, it’s not as easy as the show makes it seem. I thought I was small but mighty, but turns out, the latter doesn’t apply to me.
I probably could have asked for help—just a little bit—if he was someone else. Anyone else.
Glancing at my creation, I admit to myself that I probably would never be picked for the show, or my season would end ten minutes in.
I send an evil glance his way and continue with my task, making frequent trips to the waterfall. Despite the high humidity, my body seems to evaporate its liquid into thin air with the speed of light. Having a bottle would be very helpful right now.
Soon, the sun begins setting, and my house looks like a ready-to-fall-apart shithole. I have no food, since I’ve been so focused on building this disaster, and no real shelter. If it rains at night, I’ll be sitting under the sky, tired and hungry, drenched down to my bones.
A loud male moan draws my attention, and I stick my nose out from my shelter to see what’s happening. King has half a coconut in his enormous hands and takes a sip out of it. He’s sitting on a big log with his hand perched on his bent knees.
My mouth instantly starts salivating, and I swallow, suddenly aware of how hungry I am. And thirsty. And angry. And my blood sugar is probably so low I’m a second away from passing out.
In the meantime, he takes another sip and glances my way. I purse my lips and turn away.
Another moan follows, and I can’t help myself and look.Who the hell moans so loudly?
Now, right on the sand next to my beachside nemesis is the other half of the coconut. The man meets my eyes with a short nod at it. I swallow again and purse my lips, refusing to give in to temptation. A ghost of a smile makes a brief appearance on his lips, and then it’s instantly gone as if I imagined it. He nods again—without a smile this time—and pushes the coconut my way.
I sigh loudly, finally giving up my independence. I’m about to sell my dignity for food—story as old as life.
Dragging my feet toward him with my head hanging lower than my self-esteem, my stomach churns. I swear I can taste the coconut in the air.
Feeling less guilty the closer I get to the delicious goodness, I decide I can be all strong and independent later. Today I’m too hungry for that.
13
Ezra
I knew she was going to come out eventually. She’s been building that atrocious thing the whole day without bothering to think about food. When I found ripe coconuts, I knew I should get a few extra and bring them to her hideout. Once the sun sets, hunger will get to her. Somehow, I feel responsible for the woman since I found her body floating in the water facedown.
Or maybe I’m lying. Maybe it happened when I saw her sitting in her pajamas in the coffee shop in my building. Covered in soot and desperation.
I don’t like caring for other living things. The only things I’m responsible for are my company, my mom and brother, and the rest of the legacy we’ve been trying to save. People come and go, but legacy stays.
I don’t do social things. I don’t do people. I like sex just like any other guy does, but sex takes a lot of effort. You needto take a woman out and to chat the whole evening before sex happens. That’s what my brother does, and he’s good at it.
I understand and don’t mind spending any amount of money on a woman. But I do mind spending my valuable time and chatting with someone. Chatting is a total waste of time, and I don’t understand why people put so much meaning into that.
Which brings me to my current problem.
I’m stuck on an island with a woman who always chats. All the time.
