Page 67 of The Last Man on Earth
“Keep drinking,” I say. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
He nods.
“Goodnight.”
I kiss his cheek, then back away towards the tree line, watching for…something. I don’t know what. Maybe that he’s changed his mind. But he just lays there, exhausted and lethargic.
Dinner for me is three macarons and five almonds. And water. I finish the bottle, already feeling less beat down. I boil one last batch before I call it a night, finally crawling into the shelter a little after sundown.
It feels way too big in here without him. The space beside me, the place where he usually lies all warm and solid, feels cold now. Hollow.
I can’t sleep.
I keep listening for the sound of him. Maybe his low voice. His footsteps. His laugh. Even his jokes. The way he teases me. But all I hear is ocean.
It’s too big, that sound. It makes me feel small and inconsequential. This is what it would feel like if he left me all alone out here.
I bury my face in my hands and cry. And not just for him.
Forme.
For the sky that won’t open up and give us rain.
For my family, who has no idea I’m still alive.
For all the things I’ve lost.
And the thing I found that feels so precarious right now.
I don’t know how long I slept. Time is strange out here. But at least I’m still here. And I have to pee.
I relieve myself and head straight for the beach. Vincent is kneeling at the shoreline, rinsing his face in the water. He still looks weak, but he’s alive.
“Hey,” I call softly.
He turns, eyes glassy, and gives me a weak smile. “Hey, you.”
Relief floods through me, rushing so hard and sudden it makes me suck in a breath.
“You feel like grabbing my soap for me?”
“Of course.”
When I return with his things, he pulls up onto his knees and bathes himself, his movements weak and shaky. I notice sand stuck in his hair and reach out to brush it away. He flinches at first, then relaxes into my touch.
I fill his empty water bottle with the sea and pour it over his head, using my fingers to slowly and gently work the sand out of his thick coils. His hair is so much longer now. He stops moving and tilts his head back, his eyes fixed on me. When I look down at him, I see something in those deep brown pools. Something I can’t name. But I feel it.
He reaches up, his hands shaky as they find the back of my legs. His fingers clutch at me like I’m a life raft floating in the expanse of the sea. Like I’m the only thing he has to hold onto.
“Don’t leave me,” he murmurs against my thigh. “Please, Ari. Don’t ever leave me.”
I stare down at him, struck by his words. I’m struck by the desperation.
And then, I say, “I won’t.”
And I mean it.
Chapter 31
