Page 60 of Hate Wrecked

“Touché,” I grumble. “It’s just…when you have that lifestyle, it feels like…” I hate the truth of it. “If I don’t do something that brings in a lot of money, then I can’t live the lifestyle I’ve always had unless they pay for it. And that feels…like half a life. Like I’m a kid forever.”

“Have you thought about not having that lifestyle?”

“I’ve thought about staying Katonah full time, living there. Being…normal.”

“Have you thought about singing?”

I wave him away. “That’s just a hobby. It’s not real.”

“You said it’s the one thing you feel you can do that you didn’t get from your parents. And when you sing, Riley. You should see yourself.”

I wish I could. I wish I could see myself through his eyes when I do. Because he looks at me differently when I sing—like I’m magic, like I’m the old me, like he loves me. I brush sand off my hands, looking out into the ocean. “Maybe when we leave here, we can have a fresh start.”

Rowan clears his throat, sitting up from his relaxed position. “Yeah, maybe.”

And I’ve ruined the moment—the peaceful place we carved into the night. I sit up. “I didn’t mean together. You know I’m joking with all the…”When I look at you, when I hit on you, when I tease you.But I’m not.

“Are you joking?”

“When?”

“When you look at me the way you’re looking at me right now?” Rowan declares, and I heat up. My cheeks turn red as the fire, and I feel mad.

“Areyou?”

“Am I what?” he asks.

“What are you feeling when you look at me the way you did earlier when I was singing? When you found me in the building singing?”

“How am I looking at you.?”

I inch forward, locking eyes with him. “Like you want me.”

Rowan laughs, his white teeth flashing in the firelight, his wrinkles around his eyes beautiful. “Because I do. I look at you that way”—he stares into my eyes—“because I do. You know that. I know that. But there is nothing to do about it. Because I’m not the kind of person who just fucks someone because they want to. I’m not the kind of person who fucks someone because they want to scratch an itch, Riley. You, of all people, should know that. When I fuck you, it’ll be because I want you in my life forever, like before. Except this time, I’ll make sure the other person feels the same way as me because I’m too old to be playing games like I’m in my early twenties again.”

“So am I,” I state, my body humming at his words. He’s no challenge; he isn’t an itch to scratch. He’s all I want and all I need in this life. They can forget us here; they can leave us if it means I wake to his blue eyes every day. They can leave us if it means he will want me again.

“We’ll see,” Rowan declares, standing and walking away to the shore.

IN THE ABYSS

ROWAN

As days stretchinto weeks on the island, each sunrise is a reminder of the passage of time. The rhythm of the waves against the shore becomes a clock, marking our shared existence here together, like a heartbeat. And we adapt to the island's rhythm. Our lives woven into the landscape as we perform our tasks together—walking, gathering, fishing, sitting by the fire and drifting closer in the tent as the rain pelts us.

By the water, Riley sighs, pole in hand, as we fish for our lunch.

Distracted, I pull my line back recklessly, and I flinch before it hits me, knowing I’ve made a mistake.

I hear Riley yelp before the sting, and when I look over at her—face frozen, eyes on my leg—I know what I’ll see when I look down. The lure stuck in my shin. There are worse places, to be sure. No fat there. Just skin.

As Riley comes closer, I reach into my pocket, grabbing my pocket knife. I sever the line and start walking to the shore. “Where are you going?” Riley calls after me.

“To get this out, come with me.” She won’t like this, and I don’t really need her help. But if this ever happens to her and I’m not here, she needs to know what to do.

When I make it to our little spot on the beach, I neatly set the pole down. There is a small amount of blood running down my leg, but not a lot.

“Grab the toolbox from camp, please,” I say, and Riley sets down her things, running into the jungle toward our base camp.

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