Page 21 of Hate Wrecked

Riley and I gather wood, making short trips to the campsite, where I show her the best way to stack it. I want us to be able to sit in the mouth of the tent and feel the fire, but I make sure it’s far enough away not to damage it.

Riley’s lips are pursed, her eyes red. I see her moving her hands like she is counting in her head. She presses her thumb to each finger, and her lips move slightly.

“Are you okay?” I ask her again.

She looks at me, her counting halted. “I’m just…trying to…steady myself.”

“You know what might help?”

She raises an eyebrow, and I walk to the water, motioning for her to follow. Again, I can’t stop myself from slipping into the past.

I walk to the edge of our world and scream into the sky. I know it may startle Riley, but I know she will remember. She has to remember. Right now, I just need to feel.

When everything has left me, my voice, my breath, and the despair, I fall to my knees.

I am a shell. I am empty. And I can feel myself shaking. But, then, Riley’s arms wrap around me—delicate hands on my arms, her mouth near my ear, and I can hear her speaking, but I can’t make out the words. She’s crying. She’s crying over what we had to do, and I should be holding her.I can’t, I shouldn’t…

I turn in Riley’s arms and pull her close to me. Her legs go around my waist, and we are as close as two people can get, rocking in our pain.

Death, close-up, is something you can never forget.

“They’ll find us, and we’ll tell them where he is. They’ll find us, and we’ll tell them,” Riley chants, over and over, like a prayer.

We were never meant to come here. I should have canceled the trip when I got the call from the captain who was supposed to take us here.

“I want you to do it too,” I say in answer to Riley’s words. We stay like that, in silence, the slow pull of the waves slowing my heart rate, easing the ache in me. I feel Riley wiping her eyes.

Eventually, she pulls away, avoiding my gaze. We haven’t touched like this in years— like lovers, like those who know and care for each other. Like people familiar with each other’s bodies, rhythms, and wants.

It’s a dangerous slope.

I grip her hips, lifting her off me, and I see the sideways glance she gives me. It’s a rejection to her. But, really, it’s just a rejection of touch, love, or the ghost of either.

Slowly, she walks to the water, letting the waves wash over her feet. Then, she screams. She screams into the sky. Her hair whips in the wind, and I have to remind myself we are not in the past. We are not on a cliffside overlooking a city. We are here. Now. In this hell. Together.

When she’s done, I walk to her side, place a hand on her shoulder. “It’s getting dark. We need to get everything situated while we can see.” We have a tent to sleep in. And in the morning we can explore the islands and find a way to alert someone on Falcon Island of where we are.

We are going to be okay. We will be okay as long as there is some way to send out a signal.

The captain said the atoll was managed by a man who lived here for eight years. He had to have had a way to radio back to the mainland. I take off toward our pile of belongings, and Riley rushes to keep up. If this were the past, I would take her hand, pull her close to me, and tell hereverything is going to be alright, andI’m here. But I don’t. She offered me that scattered hope, and I want to take it, to believe it, but this is real life, and the only way we get out of this is if I am who I was trained to be. The man who gets people to safety. The man who protects. This isn’t a fairytale, and I am not her lover.

Never again.

When we reach our campsite, I assess our pile of wood. It’s just enough to get through the night. When we get to Falcon Island, we will find shelter.

My mind goes into overdrive as I move, planning and enacting scenarios in my mind.

Finally, I walk to my suitcase and open the side compartment, finding my lighter.

Thank God for a small miracle.

“Any layers you have, be sure to wear them tonight. I’m sure the temp will drop when the sun goes down,” I tell Riley as I start the fire. It’s slow to start, but soon we have a warm glow competing with the setting sun.

Riley packs her now-dry belongings back into her suitcase, except for a long-sleeved shirt that she quickly puts on. When she sits down, she pulls her legs up into the shirt. It’s reminiscent of something I used to do as a kid, and she looks so young while staring into the fire. The wetness of her eyelashes reminds me that this is not a peaceful moment, nor a peaceful place to land.

We should both be terrified and prepared for the worst, but I push those thoughts away. Someone will come for us. Tomorrow, we will contact a rescue department and wait patiently for a boat to arrive. Twenty-four to forty-eight hours. That’s all it’ll be.

We watch the fire for a while. Minutes, an hour, I’m not sure. The sound of the ocean lulls, and I know a comedown is going to hit us soon. When I look at Riley, her eyes look drowsy, a mixture of fear and sadness and exhaustion.

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