Page 39 of Desiderium
With Cole stretched over the bow on his chest, one hand trailing through the water while the other cushions his head, I decide to take a seat at the rowing helm. Hawk already rowed all the way here, I can’t expect him to row by himself however far it is to where we’re going, especially with the added weight of Cole, Sadie and myself. I don’t care how good his muscles look right now. All bulging and rippling.
Fucking stop it! You can’t fuck him in a boat! Especially not this rickety old piece of shit. We’d all end up wet and not in a good way!
Hawk lifts one eyebrow when he sees me sitting in his seat, but when I give him an equally, if not more, intimidating eyebrow raise—at least I think I am—he smiles and sits next to me, but not before kissing me stupid first.
We turn the dingy around and begin to make the long trek across the lake to the house Jax indicated. It looks tiny from here, so I can only assume it’s going to take forever to get there.
This is gonna suck.
The water isn’t bad, but it is a bit choppy, making our manual trek across seem like we’re rowing to another continent. We make it about a half an hour from the floating dock and I’m already aching for a distraction. My arms ache. My shoulders ache. My back aches. Even my ass aches. And we’re not even halfway across yet!
But I’m nothing if not stubborn and determined.
I’m not dead yet.
I can do this.
Gonna turn my ass into a real-lifeLittle Engine That Couldif I need to.
And while I can force this boat across miles of choppy water with nothing but the disappointing sound of my huffing and puffing, I, thankfully, don’t have to as Hawk starts singing, “MMMBOP” by Hanson.
“You,” I giggle at Hawk.
He laughs right back, confused at my sudden outburst. “What?”
“You’re always singing. I love it. How can you possibly be happy like that all the time? Weren’t you just being chased by zombies? Aren’t you afraid? Like, ever?”
“My life is a playlist, sweetheart. I just dance to the tunes as they come.” He smiles and continues to stroke the oar in time with me. “Plus, in times like this, it helps keep me focused. It’s like a cadence. If you get tired, or worn down, you can focus on the cadence and drown out the aches, pains and exhaustion.”
I scrunch my nose thinking about how that could possibly work. If I’m in pain, I’m going to be in pain unless I get some sort of relief. That’s all there is to it.
“Think of it like a meditation,” Cole chimes in quietly, turning his head around to peek at us. His exhaustion becoming more and more noticeable as our journey across the lake progresses. “You set your breathing pattern to it, your steps, whatever you want, to the beat of the song and it helps you keep that pace, even when you think you’re about to fall out.”
I can see that. Over the past few months, Cole has been teaching me how to ground myself. One of the things we’ve been doing is meditating. Another is shibari—the Japanese art of rope tying/ bondage.
I remember having a really bad day over the winter. Between the nightmares, hallucinations, and then the zombie attack, I couldn’t get a grip on anything. Reality was a far cry from where I was mentally. I was spiraling in anoverwhelming state of anxiety. When simple meditation didn’t work to calm my impending panic attack, Cole suggested another option.
There was something about the way the ropes constricted everything, causing my breathing to slow incredibly. Eventually, it was like I was flying. Nothing else mattered in the world. Not the nightmares. Not the hallucinations. Not the anxiety. Just me, my breathing and the tight grip of the ropes tethering me to the world. It’s almost indescribable.
Looking at Cole, I wonder if he’s using his own methods to keep himself from passing out. I’m surprised he’s managed to stay awake this long, to be honest. Between the lack of blood, the overabundance of trauma, and the overall long day, I’d be knocked out, snoring like crazy, even on the boat, but no, he’s still conscious.
It makes me worry even more now. Is he trying to stay awake because he’s afraid of falling asleep? Or am I overthinking things and he just wants to stay alert? Or maybe he’s giving himself the Zen treatment, attempting to slow his heart rate and the progressing damage. Maybe it’s a mixture of the three? My mantra comes barreling back into the forefront of my mind, forcing me to remember Cole’s words from earlier.
‘Why worry about something that isn’t set in stone.’
I nod. “Ok, I guess that makes sense, then.” I think of the song Hawk chose as his rowing cadence earlier. “Was that what you were doing before?”
He quirks a smile at that. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Why that song?”
“What are you talking about? Clarence Carter wrote a masterpiece with that one,” Hawk states unabashedly.
Cole chuckles slightly. “It’s ‘cause he’s got a perpetual hard-on for you, beautiful, and isalwaysstroking it to you.”
“Uh, damn straight, cox! Of course, I’m gonna stroke it day and night to our goddess of a woman. Have you fucking seen her?!”
“Cox?” Cole questions, breathing heavier than he was just minutes ago. His words raspy as he continues. “What the fuck, man? Who calls somebody that? At least get creative and call me a hobbledehoy, or a douche-baguette. Shit, you could even get fancy and call me a maladroit, or, fuck, a Bieber or something.Thosewould have been properly offensive, not some schoolyard laziness sprouting from a toddler’s mouth.” Cole smiles even as his face turns a grey ashy color.
