Page 13 of Bewitched By the Sea Monster
Worse because of the smell. At least up here on the deck, in open air, the brine wasn’t overpowering.
Down there, with years of water sediment built into the cracks and crevices, and the sewage-salt scent mixing with the aroma of booze, and the clouds of perfume and cologne from the people crowding the bar…Nope.
Nope. Nope. Nope.
I braced my hands against the railing, forcing myself to stare at it—this weather-worn scrap of wood, with all its cock-eyed grains and gouges and sunspots. Instead of the churning, white-capped grey waters below.
“Should I get someone?” Jackson asked.
Stay calm.
You’re okay.
Stay calm.
I drew a long, shuddering breath, trying the four-seven-eight method Jessa always swore by. It never did diddly-squat for me, but y’know, stranger things have happened.
Like me being on a boat. A creaking wooden boat. A boat old enough to be my grandfather. Probably old enough to be my grandfather’s grandfather.
A boat that’d once been a stunning vessel—if the grainy old photos we’d seen at the loading dock had been any indicator—with glistening, black-painted wood and crisp white sails. A proud sailing ship, once master of these waters, now geriatric and feeble, reduced to ferrying tourists.
Ferrying them over amonster-infested ocean.
My stomach rumbled. I leaned over the railing, bracing, but only a watery belch came up.
“False alarm.” I turned to Jackson and tried to smile, but all I felt were tears. And I was afraid that if I did anything—even crinkling my face into a grin—I’d start crying. And he already looked so upset.
“I’m going to get someone.” Jackson’s arm fell away from my back. “I’m sure there’ssomethingthey can give you. You can’tkeep goinglike this, babe. You’ll make yourself sick andruin the whole trip for yourself.” His hands dropped to the front of my shoulders. “Can you come back a bit? There’s a bench right over here.”
He guided me, and I followed, my feet feeling heavy and clumsy as I moved. I didn’tsitwhen Jackson tugged me onto a bench. Ifell.
To my right side, someone sniffed haughtily. The kind of snuffle someone made around an “unbelievable.”
“I’m sure she’s not the only one onboard getting seasick,” Jackson snapped as he twisted, extracting our chunky carry-on backpack from his shoulders. “You don’t have to act like she’sdiseased.”
“Jackson.” I laid my hand over his arm. And I dared a glance at the snobby sniffer, once Jackson had his warm palm against mine.
A middle-aged woman got up from where she’d been seated on the other end of the bench and walked away, pulling up the collar of her coat to protect her neck from the wind. The gale had already snatched her hair, leaving the artfully bleached strands tousled, and the cold had painted her cheeks a deep rosy rouge.
Itwascold up here, wasn’t it? With the sea breeze whipping by and frost still nipping at spring’s heels. I hadn’t noticed before. Puking was a good workout, y’know?
I felt it now though, the icy air slashing at my overheated, sweat-slicked cheeks. It wasdelightful.
Jackson nudged his arm out from under my hand and unzipped the backpack, frowning as he rooted through our clothes, my polka dot bathroom bag, his saddle brown one, and got to the spare makeup pouch I’d thrown our medications into. “Well, this isn’t doing shit,” he grumbled at the medicine pack. “‘Motion Sickness Relief’ my ass.” He shoved everything back into the bag and zipped it up. “I’m going to go see if I can getyou anything stronger. You gonna be okay here for a second by yourself?”
No.
“Yes,” I said. “I’ll be okay.”
“Okay. Stay away from the railing, though. We don’t want you flipping overboard. If you need to hurl again…” He sighed. “Are yousureyou wouldn’t be better off below deck?”
“Positive,” I mumbled. “I’ll be fine, Jackson. Honest.”
I won’t be fine. I’m scared. Please don’t leave, Jackson.
Jackson stood, scooting the backpack under the bench. “I’ll be right back.” And off he went.
Leaving me alone. On a boat. Out in the middle of the North Sea.
