Page 63 of Hate Wrecked

“You always remind me of all I do out here. The shelter and the fishing. Fire. All that caveman shit. But what you do for me is give me spirit. Give this place spirit. When you sing and when you laugh. All of it. I wouldn’t be surviving out here without you. I know I’m not the easiest person to be around because I’m always keeping you at arm’s length, but I appreciate you. And this friendship.”

“Is that what we have out here?”

“Yes. How can we not?”

“I’m for survival, then?” she reaches for the bag.

My voice is raw. “Yes.”

“Glad I can help,” she whispers, brushing past me.

I let her go, dissecting her answer. She has walls now, and I helped build them around her, brick by brick. When I’m shut out, I remind myself that I have no one to blame but myself.

I follow her, saying nothing. When she says she wants to go back to where she found the clams, I bring a pail to gather and stay close to the shore as she collects more. We move as a team, quietly, until finally, she starts singing.

It’s beautiful, and I accept it as a truce.

I catch her eyes when I can, smiling, making her smile.

This discovery bolstered her, and I am bolstered by her voice.

She writes in her notebook at night, like I do, and I wish for her to write a song about me, even though I know I can’t give her my heart. I know she would give me hers, but choosing me here isn’t the same as choosing me in the real world—in her real life.

I represent safety to her. Though I know she needs that, needed it then, I need who I am to her to be more than a word. I need to be more than comfortable or steady.

I need to be all the words she is to me.

When we have gathered enough for dinner, we bring everything to the shore. Riley moves from cover song to cover song, and I think of teaching her some Scottish folk songs. Her raspy voice would bring them justice and bring me a sense of home in this foreign place.

After she is settled at the campsite, I decide to catch a few more fish.

When I return to our homestead, Riley starts a fire, and Garfield is nearby. He knows when dinner is.

Maybe I’ll feed Riley’s fish to him if she truly means to gorge herself on clams tonight.

We move in unison, repetition, and in comfort. She gathers water, and I fillet the fish. She brings a pot to boil and pets the cat while I hold the fish over the fire.

We settle into our small life, in the abyss.

And it feels good. It finally feels good.

THEN

RILEY

“We can go anywhere, I promise,”Rowan sighed in our game room, his back against the wall.

I turned to him, my eyebrow raised. “Remember this. A promise is a promise,” I declared.

Rowan closed his eyes, and a slow exhale came from his full lips. I wanted to kiss him and surprise him. But I didn’t. I simply watched him in that moment, greedy for every inch of him.

“Deal?” I asked

“Deal,” he replied, opening his eyes. The look he gave me begged me to go easy on him. I had no intention. “Where to? Some restaurant they won’t let me into? A club?”

“No,” I grinned, putting my pool stick away. “Your apartment.”

Rowan opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. He looked away, then back at me. “Why?”

---