Page 60 of Shipwrecked

“Thank you.”

Mary and Charles exchange a look.

“Jules, why don’t you hang out here with us?” Charles asks. “We’ll make the lean-to a little wider, or we can put together a second one.”

Mary’s expression says she’s on board with this.

I consider the offer. It’s a nice, easy getaway to escape the consequences of storming off on Cillian and Mathieu. I wouldn’t have to confront that particular embarrassment that way. My hand finds Mathieu’s quartz, warm against my breastbone. If I slept here, I wouldn’t be in a lean-to with Mathieu and Cillian. And that would mean no chance for…

Returning the favour?

Or that thing about my thighs Cillian mentioned earlier.

Or morning kisses from Mathieu.

I’m ridiculous. I should be focusing on food and shelter and smoke signals.

“Thanks for the offer, but for now I’m good. The camp is going to be almost empty anyway.” I turn over the quartz, thumbing the rough edge. “Besides, Cillian gets rid of all the spiders and bugs that crawl into the lean-to, and Mathieu and I have him go investigate rustling bushes at night.” Which he never complains about, even though it’s been birds every time. “And I don’t know if I’d be able to fall asleep without Mathieu rubbing my back. And Cillian has all these stories about…”

Mary and Charles regard me with equally amused expressions.

I clear my throat and gesture to the work Charles set aside. “We should get this done before it’s too hot.”

Charles and Mary keep me confined to easy, non-strenuous tasks. Despite that, by the time the sun is directly overhead, there’s a decent shelter in place. I gather our empty water bottles and head towards the beach. “See you guys back at camp for lunch?”

They nod.

I keep to the shade as I walk down the beach, scanning the horizon for any changes. It’s blue, beautiful and empty. I keep expecting to see the glint of sunlight reflecting off metal in the distance, the way the light keeps hitting the yacht and shining off it. Its wrecked form makes me think about my luck. How many people in the world survive multiple catastrophic accidents throughout their lives?

Maybe that’s all my luck spent.

It feels that way. I run into Darren just outside camp. He’s carrying empty bottles too.

Our eyes meet. He’s annoyed, and I have to physically quash the urge to try to soothe the annoyance. That’s not my job. We’re not dating, and we’re not friends.

I move past him without saying anything. He grabs my wrist.

It’s a hard grip.

“What?”

“Where were you?” Darren looks at me as if I’ve been off in a secret island bunker watching TV.

“Where do you think? The island isn’t that big.” I yank my arm out of his grip.

“Off pulling your usual shit with Mathieu?” Darren challenges.

Cillian’s voice echoes in my ears. Let me guess. Darren would pitch a jealous fit whenever you talked to anyone attractive.

“Are you jealous?” I ask. “Of me, I’m assuming. Not of Mathieu—”

Darren’s hands engulf my shoulders. He shoves. My bottles fall into the sand. I fall against a palm tree. My shoulder takes the brunt of the impact, the force knocking the air from my lungs. He grabs my throat. His other arm flattens against my chest, pinning me against the tree trunk. Individual fingers bite into my neck, like a predator’s jaws snapping shut. I can’t breathe.

Panic surges through me. I snatch the hand locked on my throat, prying at his fingers. They don’t budge.

“Jealous? Of what? A pathetic fucking slut? You’re delighted we’re trapped here. You get to go around offering yourself as a warm hole to be used, and nobody has any other options, so they take you up on it.”

I can’t breathe.