“The sun is the most treacherous when it’s hidden behind the clouds,” she continues. “You won’t feel it until you have a fever and start vomiting all these precious bananas we’ve found.”
I’ve never had heat stroke, but I’ve heard of it being vicious. Growing up, we never had a chance to go to warm places because our father always worked, and our mother didn’t want to go anywhere without him. Then I went to a college where I had to work my ass off to prove that I can be the best in the class. I had to be because I knew my father was going to make me a CEO. It was our family company. Heinherited it from his father, my grandfather who, in return, got it from another male ancestor.
After that, I was busy trying to find a way to get back the ownership of the company my fatherdidn’tleave to me and my brother. So yes, I haven’t had much time for leisure.
When we reach our camp, my shoulders are in pain. So are my arms and neck.
“Sit,” she orders, pointing at the fallen tree. “I’ll cover the worst parts so it will be easier for now. Then the rain will wash it away anyway, so you’ll have to reapply if it keeps hurting.”
I drop the papayas by our feet and plant my ass where she pointed out. She steps deeper into the woods and comes back with a pile of mud on a giant leaf.
“Your skin will feel dry. But it’s that or being a piece of smoked meat.”
“Do your worst,” I say, drawing my shoulders back like before a battle.
“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” she mumbles under her breath, making me bite my lower lip. Sometimes her expressions make no sense, but at the same time they do. I feel a sudden wave of gratitude that I’m not alone on this island.
She covers my most itchy parts, tracing her fingers over my hot skin. She’s careful and precise. Calculated. And while I’m subtly trying to move my legs because I get a little too excited from her touch, her brows are furrowed with concentration. Being able to focus is a very admirable trait in a person.
When she covers the last part on my neck, focusing a little too long at the bottom of my hairline and raking her nails over the sensitive skin, she steps back to admire her work. She’s clearly satisfied because she gives a short nod toherself more than to me and goes to the ocean to wash her hands.
The first raindrop falls on my nose when she’s back. She sends a sad glance at my used-to-be-white shirt currently being used as a bag for her papayas. “You probably want to put it inside your house, so it stays dry.”
“Yeah.”
I take the fruit out, grab the shirt, and head toward my house.
The rain stops in a couple of hours, and I climb out of the shelter to look around. My neighbor started fixing her poor excuse of a bungalow. I head toward her to help, grabbing a handful of palm leaves to put on her roof.
She meets me with a glare. I carefully place the leaves on the ground next to her and retreat back to my place to see what else I can fix. I add a few more leaves, spread the gooey mud on a few holes and secure anything that might fly away if the wind hits.
Then I go to get a few more coconuts and bring more water. While keeping an eye on my neighbor. She does the same, but her shelter is not looking good. I think tonight she’ll be soaking wet if it rains again. Judging by the sky, it will.
I’m contemplating if I should invite her over, but recalling her glare when I came to help, I don’t think she’ll be happy with my offer. So I go about my evening, taking a dive in the waterfall, collecting more water on the way back, and retiring for sleep.
When I’m inside my shelter, the first drop of the evening rumbles over the leaves on my roof without getting inside. I feel not exactly happy, but maybe content. I haven’t had a desire to check my phone in hours, there’s no itch to check my pocket. All I can think about is how to get food, stay dry, and maybe take a peek at my neighbor’s ass.
Speaking of food, I don’t know how long I can survive on sugary fruits. I need protein. I’m hungry. Tomorrow, I need to see what I can do about that. But for now, sleep. The days end early here, and I don’t remember having more restful sleep.
17
Ezra
I don’t know how long I’ve been sleeping, but it’s still dark when I wake up. The sound of heavy rainfall doesn’t let me go back to sleep, so I lift myself up on my elbows and look outside. The wall of water is so thick I can barely see anything past a few feet. Yesterday evening, it started as a short-lived rumbling with a promise of quickly going away. Today, it doesn’t seem to be stopping at all.
Glancing around, I feel a ping of pride for the quality of shelter I’ve built. The water’s dripping through a tiny hole in one corner, following the pole into the ground. That’s about it. I need to cover it tomorrow to make sure everything is dry. Other than that, the place is perfect. I’m glad I decided to build it on a small hill, so the water doesn’t collect inside. A thick layer of palm leaves keeps me somewhat cozy. It’s better than sleeping on the ground.
I try going back to sleep, I really do. But my mind keepsdrifting to the other human on this island. I should just close my eyes and stop thinking about that since she let me know very clearly that she didn’t need my help.
Yesterday felt like a breakthrough where we actually talked like human beings without trying to rip each other’s throats out and did some work together. Her constant clumsiness doesn’t annoy me as much anymore, so I decided that we can actually tolerate each other enough to survive until the rescue. Once we get to the mainland, we will never see each other again. Ever. I’ve had enough of our very unfortunate interactions.
But she had other plans about coexisting peacefully when she refused my help with a glare like I was taking her firstborn.
After tossing and turning, I eventually give up. The night is dark, and there’s nothing useful I can do until the sun comes up, but staying inside—alone—is getting on my nerves.
I peek my head out but can’t see much through the darkness and rain. I’m so used to bright streetlights everywhere I go that the beauty of nature seems muted.
Straining my eyes, I try to see what my neighbor’s doing. Naturally, I don’t see a thing. So I climb outside and run to her ‘shelter,’ which is currently falling apart. When I reach it, I find her staring ahead, hugging her knees. She’s not sleeping, and the closer I look, the less I think that she’s slept at all. Her body’s not moving, and she’s in a trance of sorts. It’s creepy.
