Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 104729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Lots and lots of nothing.
White sand that stretches for miles. Turquoise blue sea that spans even further.
“Have you looked around yet?” I ask.
“Not yet. I didn’t want to leave until you were up.”
“And now that I am?”
“I’ll go, and you’ll stay here.”
My eyes flare. “You want me to stay here alone?”
He steps closer to me, his face hard. “You will be safer here. Fuck knows what I’ll find in there.” He gestures to the woods. Tall trees block whatever is in the center of the island.
“There could be people.”
“Or animals. Until I know what’s there, I can’t have you slowing me down.”
My mouth flies open to say something, but I’m at a loss for words.
“Also, what if a boat passes by? If we are both in the middle of God knows what in there, who will signal to them?”
I know he’s right. However, the need not to agree makes me scowl at him. It’s deep-seated, and I can’t back down. I refuse to be weak, so I plop myself on the sand and turn toward the ocean.
“And how do you expect me to get their attention if they come?”
He steps up behind me, his sizeable frame casting a shadow in front of me. I look up, squinting into the sun as he hands me an enormous flare gun. My eyes go wide, I can’t use that.
It’s not a real gun.
It feels heavy in my hand, but nothing like—I stop the train of thought that threatens to put me in a dark place.
Instead, I openly gawk at him, as I realize he just gave me a weapon. One I could use to hurt him. What does that mean? That he thinks me weak, or is it something else? Does he trust me?
“You fire this in the air.”
“Can I just shoot you with it?” I mutter under my breath, low enough that he probably doesn’t hear.
However, his chuckle as he walks away tells me he heard.
Great. Just great.
Stuck on an island with him.
How can things get any worse?
Hunger. That’s how. Because the moment Alaric leaves, my stomach growls loudly. Embarrassingly so.
Lucky for me, I’m alone.
Unlucky for me, there’s nothing to eat.
So instead of thinking about it, I keep my gaze toward the ocean. The water is unlike anything I have ever seen.
A shade of blue that only appears in dreams. It’s as if the sky and water blend seamlessly in the distance.
I can’t tell where one stops and one begins. I lose myself in the horizon, staring and wondering how this all came to pass.
The last week filters through my brain.
It’s all his fault.
Everything that happened.
One might say I’m to blame for my circumstances. A stowaway locked in a room deserves what she will get.
But this feud has been brewing and festering for a long time. Eventually, it would have come to a head.
It’s my fault I stepped in and tried to play a game I was grossly unprepared for, but this man doesn’t fight fair. I had no choice.
I’m not sure how long I sit, staring out at the endless seas.
How long I squint to see if that’s a boat or just a mirage.
It’s the latter.
Each time, I’m sure.
Placing my hand on the flare gun, I aim toward the sky, and each time my finger goes to press down, as I feel the weight and pressure forming, I realize it’s just my eyes playing tricks on me.
No one is here to save us.
A thought pops into my head …
How can they save us if they can’t see us?
I remember watching a documentary about a group of sailors. Their boat lost fuel, leaving them stranded on a remote Pacific island. A military team found them alive three days later. The sailors had written SOS in the sand. Lucky for them, a helicopter spotted the message.
I wonder if we could do something like that. Would it work for us? Never know until you try.
Standing from my spot on the beach, I place the flare gun down and walk toward the tree line, looking for anything I can use to build my SOS. Unfortunately, I come up empty-handed.
There are no large rocks, nor nearly enough twigs to do anything.
Instead, I head back over to the sand and get on my hands and knees. How big does this have to be? Large enough that someone in a helicopter can see it. On an exhale, I place my hands in the coarse sand and begin to dig. Instantly, I realize this will not be as easy as I thought.
My nails are full of sand and I only just started. I used to love playing on the beach as a child.
When I was around five, a few years before my parents died, they brought me with them on a trip to the Dominican Republic. I spent hours burying myself in the sand. The coarse grains were everywhere. Even places that later I wished they weren’t. The memory makes me smile. For a second, I pretend I’m that person again. Young, innocent, untainted by life.