Page 188 of Vying Girls
Jesus, what to wish for. Suppose there’s only one thing. Reconciliation. Her forgiveness. The chance to make things right, to pull the tattered pieces of our past back around us.
I slowly open my eyes to her gentle smile. ‘Done.’
Her smile deepens. ‘So. What did you wish for?’
‘As if I’d tell you.’
Rolling her eyes, she flops onto her back. ‘Killjoy.’
It’s soft on this blanket, warmer now that Tilda’s beside me. Maybe the sun will bleach away our sins if we sit here long enough, its healing rays penetrating all those dark, hidden crevices.
I draw in a breath at the touch of Tilda’s fingers on my thigh. Just a gentle brush of knuckles, a reminder that she’s here.
Like I could forget. A few weeks after Damien now, and I can just about hold at bay the tight grip of panic that the thought of him taking her conjures.
I’m not sure fear’s the right word for it. It was a dread, the strength of which I’d never felt before. Like being thrown in tar, so viscous and black. No hope for swimming, just a slow drowning—the time it took to get to Tilda in the labyrinth.
As happy an ending as I could have hoped for, all in all. Even if our ears had been ringing for days afterwards.
When a chuckle escapes unbidden, Tilda nudges me. ‘What’s so funny?’
I glance at her, seeing that she’s on her side watching me. ‘Your terrible shot that almost deafened us all.’
She groans, turning her face away. ‘Wasn’t a bad shot. I meant to miss like that. I’m not a murderer.’
‘Just a maimer.’
‘A proud one.’ She frowns furiously. ‘Asshole. I’d do it again.’
A smile twitches my lips. ‘Can do without a redo myself.’
‘Well, won’t be one, will there?’ She picks up a stone and lobs it at the ocean. ‘Bastard’s locked up tight, smashed up foot n’ all.’
I watch the stone thunk into the sand. Out there, miles away from shore, is a prison—Splinter Island, the locals call it, owing to both the island’s columnar shape and the type of ‘punishments’ that are supposedly conducted there.
Should have known it was one lorded over by the Zaccaros, what with it being so close to Hazelhurst. A lucky thing for me. Fina’s final favour, a nice cosy cell with enough locks to keep even Houdini from escaping.
It’s as close to justice as I’m ever going to see. The first few clear days since, I hiked to a point where you can just about see the rock the prison hulks on. He’s still so close, I feel it keenly, but Tilda’s right—the bastard’s locked up tight. End of his reign.
I take a breath against Tilda’s stroking fingers. End of a lot of things, I imagine. All of them bad. Maybe there’s only good left now.
I peel open my eyes, watching Tilda’s easy affection. How can she stand it? How is she not drowning me in the ocean, hoping my body will float all the way to Damien where it belongs?
Of their own volition, my fingers drift down, the touch of them on Tilda’s like an electric shock. I only graze them. I don’t feel worthy yet.
When I look up, Tilda’s already watching me.
‘I don’t even know where to begin,’ I lament.
‘What?’ she whispers.
‘Apologising.’
She touches firmer with her fingers. ‘Want to start with the sex stuff first?’
‘The sex stuff?’
She smirks. ‘Well, yeah. Figured that was why we were out here too. It might make the talking easier afterwards.’
