Page 26 of Hate Wrecked

I felt it on the way to his house.

And I let it fade out as Barry put his mouth all over my body. He didn’t fuck me, though the alcohol made me beg for it. He told me we needed to wait—that he liked me too much for it to be a hookup. And it was the perfect cocktail to make me believe I was the sinner and he was the moral one. He was skilled at it. Making me think things were my idea. Like a horse to water.

It made me hate myself.

I heard the phone call from down the hallway. Barry told my stepfather that he had me and that he let me drink. I was safe and sleeping it off on the couch.

A lie. I was in his bed, naked and pulsing, denied what I wanted.

Sometimes I wondered if he had just taken my virginity that night and told my mother; maybe she would have done what other mothers do—warned me away from him. Warned me away from that life, but she was still clinging to it.

Clinging to the Hollywood of their generation.

Clinging to her youth while mine was being weaseled away.

The next morning, Barry brought me home in my little dress with a long button-down of his over it.

Rowan was out front drinking a cup of coffee. He smiled at me, and it was the most beautiful offering I had ever seen.

“A storm is coming in,” he said, voice low. I didn’t know if he meant the clouds overhead, or if he knew where my life was headed, but his blue eyes softened when he saw the ache in my own, and when he went to step forward, I shook my head.

I didn’t need this kindness. I didn’t need his beautiful friendship.

I needed to sleep and forget my life of begging for everything sharp and turning away beautiful things.

DEATH IN THE AIR

ROWAN

Dark clouds loomin the distance, and the low rumble of thunder signals an impending storm. Upon reaching the shore with the lifeboat, Riley and I swiftly secure our items, bracing for the imminent downpour.

I point at the clouds, looking back at Riley. “We need to shelter, and we need to catch rainwater.”

“Shelter where?” she asks.

“A bunker.”

“Not the?—”

“No,” I say. “Not that one. I saw another bunker on this island.”

“And rainwater?” She looks up into the darkened sky, then at me.

As the first raindrops splatter on the ground, I walk toward the lifeboat, where I stashed a tarp. “I’ve never done this before, but this should help.”

Riley joins me, a mix of curiosity and concern in her eyes. “How are we going to catch it?”

I gesture toward the tarp. “We lay this out on the ground, over a hole we’ve dug in the sand, creating a basin. When the rain comes, it’ll collect in the center.”

Riley squints at the tarp, then back at me. “That simple?”

“Simple, effective,” I reply.

As we work together, adjusting the tarp and gathering rocks, I stress on the importance of having a reliable freshwater source, in case we find no way to radio home from Falcon Island.

“The storm will bring rain, and with this setup, we’ll be able to gather some of it. It’s not a permanent solution, but it should help us during dry spells between rainstorms. In case…” I don’t go on, and Riley doesn’t ask me to. I’m already giving her whiplash as I volley between hope and despair.

Instead, she nods, her expression shifting from skepticism to understanding. “This is scary, Rowan.”

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