7
Day 15 - Tack
“She’s here on the island,” I snapped before Garvey even left the boat. He hopped into the knee-deep water and bent over the sideboard to reach for supplies. It was my first formal check-in. Every fifteen days, I warranted a visit. At first, I thought it would be to double-check I hadn’t killed myself. After my first few days on the island, I looked forward to the visit for the ability to speak to another human being. Today, I was pissed.
“How could you place her on this island with me?”
“Who?” Garvey asked, the bulkiness of his weight struggling with the box of canned goods and dry mixes. I cursed the food. I wanted a hot shower and a fresh shave. Without a mirror, I was struggling to remove the heavy growth of facial hair. I didn’t need to turn into an island Yeti. I didn’t need to go native. I was here for soul-searching, which hadn’t appeared.
“That girl. The one that I…” I couldn’t finish the statement. I hadn’t done anything. That had been my plea. I never penetrated her and careful examination of the videotapes could prove that. Instead, the evidence made me guilty. I’d disguised my movement so well, it appeared as if I entered her when I hadn’t. Either way, the conditions of our surroundings and the intention of our group was clear. She was there to be taken.
“There’s no one else on this island,” Garvey attempted to assure me, but his voice was only half convincing.
“She’s here. Over there,” I pointed in the general direction of both the pond and her escape the previous night. I hadn’t been able to find her, despite my daily wanderings through the trees. It was as if she appeared out of nowhere and disappeared just as easily. Garvey looked in the same direction and back at me. I swiped a hand through my hair, tugging at the longer ends in frustration. I didn’t feel neat. I wanted to be clean.
“I hope you brought soap. Maybe you could help me shave,” I demanded, treating Garvey like a servant instead of the moderator he was meant to be. His suggestion was how I got in this mess. His great-grandfather and mine have some long-standing agreement. If either family ever got in trouble, the other was to help or something like that. Some first settlers bullshit. Instead of jail, I’d been offered restorative justice. Without enough research, I took the offering. My father had assured me it was better this way.
“Shave yourself,” Colton offered. The younger image of Garvey, slim and trim in his cappuccino skin, stared back at me with mischief in his dark eyes. We were practically the same age, but his eyes spoke of wisdom older than me. He followed his elder to my tent, carrying another box of supplies.
“Are you journaling?” Garvey asked in his steady monotone. “It will help with the illusions.”
“I’m not seeing things,” I snapped.
“Ganja will help with that as well,” Colton chuckled as he passed me.
“Colton,” Garvey warned.
“Kidding,” said the younger native, but the thought piqued my interest.
“There’s marijuana on this island?” I asked, looking off at the distant greenery that dressed nearly ninety-nine percent of the island.
“You tell me. You’re the one who saw Mary Jane,” Colton teased, raising his forefinger and thumb to his lips, signifying smoking.
“Fuck off,” I barked, feeling surlier than normal this morning. Maybe it was the near-death experience that only caught up with me once she ran off. She’d fully intended to kill me last night. “I can’t stay here.” The words sounded weak. Can’t implied incompetence. I wasn’t a wimp, but I didn’t wish to die either.
“Why not?” Garvey asked, peering up at me from the seat he’d given himself on the stump of a tree.
“She’s here,” I hissed again, sounding like a madman as the words escaped.
“Tell me about her,” Garvey asked as he picked up a stick, took out a knife and began to scrape at the tender outer covering.
“She tried to kill me,” I sighed. Colton’s head shot up and he twisted to face his father.
“Why would she do that?” Garvey questioned, continuing to whittle, and I wanted to shove that stick up his ass.
“Because she’s crazy.” She’d already killed Rick. She wished death for me next.
“Is she?” Garvey muttered, and my anger grew.
“Fuck, yes. She came at me with a knife last night.”
Garvey fumbled for a moment, and the stick snapped in half. A jagged edge pointed toward me.
“Would she have reason to kill you, if that were a solution?”
I pondered the question. Unequivocally, my first thought was no, but then the words haunting me since last night returned to me.
I didn’t do anything.
I hadn’t prevented anything from happening to her. I watched as Rick took his turn—sickened and anxious, awaiting my chance. Then I faltered as I pressed over her. Her eyes caught me so off guard. I played along, as I often did when Rick led. I followed his lead, forging my own rules behind him.
We’re going to play this my way. I’d said the words to her, but I don’t think she heard me. Her eyes glassed over after that. It was as if I watched her shut down under me. What would be the point of taking her, if she didn’t remember me? Forcing myself into her pliable body wasn’t going to etch me in her memory. This wasn’t how I expected the club to be. I knew it was only Rick’s initiation or some kind of sick game. And once again, I’d given in. I don’t know why I found a conscience in those few minutes.
“I don’t think so,” I lied, feeling the weakness of my words on my lips. I spit in reaction as if I could remove the disgusting taste from my mouth.
“Huh,” Colton said, and I looked up to find his taunting eyes sparkling. He was about my size, and I wondered if he’d consider a tussle. I could use the beating, or better yet, to beat on something.
“Don’t huh me,” I barked again, fists forming at my sides. Colton’s smile only grew, curling larger, brightening his clean-shaven face. I hated how put-together he looked. I stepped forward, and Colton unfolded from the sand where he had sat down next to his father.
“Stop it,” Garvey snapped, pointing his mini-jackknife in my direction. “This isn’t helping you. You need to get over your anger. Learn to control it, not invite it in. That’s how you got into this mess in the first place.”
“It wasn’t anger that got me here,” I retorted. Sex was the reason, but I didn’t offer that explanation. As if reading my thoughts, Garvey responded.
“Anger was the very thing and nothing else. Taking a woman against her will is about control. Angry control. Anger repressed and out of control. Possibly anger toward someone who controlled you.” Each statement ticked down a figurative list, and my body tensed with each comment.
“I’m not angry,” I growled, giving proof that I was. I swiped a hand through my unruly hair once again. “Just get me off this island. Get me into anger management counseling or something.” I tried to smile, willing the muscles to raise my lips in my false plea. I wasn’t going to any damn shrink. My mother had been in and out of therapy for years and it had done nothing for her, but aide her addiction to pretty-colored pills.
“That wasn’t an option. Jail or the island. You picked here.”
I didn’t choose. I wasn’t given a choice. My father thought it best for the company if I came here, like a vacation or a sabbatical, not a punishment. I was promised I couldn’t be traced. No one would know other than Garvey, Colton and the restorative justice team. But she knew I was here, and this brought me full circle.
“I can’t stay here with her.”
“Then get her out of your head. Start journaling.” With that Garvey rose, and Colton followed. They didn’t believe me. She wasn’t a hallucination; she was an in-the-flesh human being. The thought struck me as sharp as the wood Garvey whittled and stuck in the sand—she was an innocent person, and I’d tried to take from her as I always had.
+ +
I hate you, I wrote in the journal. That was the most I had to say on paper in the three days after Garvey’s visit. I blamed her for my being on this island. I cursed her for disappearing again. I’d searched for her, wandering the trails I’d formed from my tent oasis to the pond and around it. There was no sign of her existence, and I questioned my own sanity. Had I imagined her after all, as Garvey suggested? Was I hallucinating without any substances?
I lay in my tent for the third stifling night, wanting to keep the tent flap open for air and knowing I couldn’t because of things that go bump in the night. I hadn’t been frightened of the island once, until the reality of her standing there, knife raised, brought into perspective that she wanted me dead. There were moments in my life I’d wished the same thing. The time my father raised his hand to me. The time I found my mother on the bathroom floor with pills beside her. The time I sat handcuffed in a holding cell.
This was all her fault.
The thought brought me up short. Was it really her fault? Had she put me in that cell? Had she forced me to lay on top of her? Had she handed me the drink I took from Rick that night? My questions didn’t need an answer and didn’t receive one, as the sharp rip of the tent zipper jerked me to the present. The flap was forced back, and she stood before me. I had only a moment to make out her silhouette. In her hand, she held a flashlight, and I pondered the amenity. Intrigue over a flashlight didn’t last long as she straddled my outstretched legs and slapped me hard with the flat of her hand. The sharp crack stung, and my cheek vibrated.
“What the fuck?” I hissed, prepared to grip her wrists, proactive against another attack, when the flashlight went dark, tumbling to the ground and submerging us both in deep black. A second hand came to my face. Not gentle, but not a slap. Rough fingers cupped my jaw and a thumb traveled my cheek before latching onto my lips. In an instant, her mouth was on mine, hard and fast—not a kiss but an assault, that was clumsy and hesitant, yet determined. Her core rested over a slowly growing length, rutting back and forth over my zipper. She pulled back to nip at my lips. She moved downward to bite my jaw. She pulled back as shaky fingers skittered down my bare chest and fumbled for the waist of my shorts.
“What the hell?” I snapped, unable to see her, but feeling her thighs on either side of mine. My hands reached out and found bare legs. Pressing upward over warm skin, the edge of a long shirt tickled the backs of my hands. Her hips rocked aggressively over me, and my body betrayed all sense. This girl was going to kill me any second, and I was going to die with a hard-on.
Her fingers dug into the waist of my shorts, tugging back on the heavy cargo material before the subtle popping sound gave testament to a button released. She scooted back only enough to pull at the sides of my shorts, and I sprang forth into air heavy with heat and the scent of arousal surrounding me.
“What are you doing, Little Mouse?” My voice rumbled, low and rushed.
“I am not a mouse,” she snapped, gripping my dick with a hot palm and tugging aggressively. The pleasure was painful. My little mouse was rough. One hand wrapped over hers, the other clasped her hip and flipped her so I was over her. My hips rocked forward, guiding her hand with mine to slow the pace as she stroked me into a thick, stiff rod.
“No,” she hissed, rough fingers squeezing my hard length. She freed her other hand and pressed back on my chest, intimating she wanted control. I didn’t release her hand that was rapidly jerking over me, but I dug my knee into the mattress and flipped us back over so she could straddle me once more.
“What do you want, Little Mouse?” I chuckled humorlessly. Thoughts of her suddenly stabbing me did not deter me from forcing her to tug my dick. Her tiny fingers encapsulated in mine, working over sensitive skin and a hard shaft was my only focus. Without words, she rocked back and stood my erection upward. The heat of her core balanced on my tip before she forced her body downward, enveloping me inside her wet warmth.
“Ah,” we grunted in unison. Whether the response was the sharp pain of my entrance or the pleasure of filling her to the hilt made no difference to the sensation curling over my toes and down my spine. It’d been months since I entered a woman, and my eyes rolled back at the euphoria. She drew to the tip once again and impaled herself on my hard length, grunting and rutting out of control, animalistic in spite of her tiny frame. A little mouse gyrating over me, nibbling at my essence as she swallowed me intimately inside her, clenching, clutching, squeezing.
“Jesus, fuck.” My fingers dug into her hips, holding her against me as she rode up and down. Her nails crawled down my chest, raking divots into the freshly sun-kissed skin. In the darkness, my eyes adjusted, and I was able to make out the shape of her head, tipped back in ecstasy.
“Do you like this, Mouse?” One hand came for my face again, but I caught her wrist. Tugging her outstretched palm to my lips, I kissed the inside of her flattened hand. “I like this,” I hissed as she worked frantically over my length, ripping from me an orgasm that raced from my lower back and burst forth into her. I clutched her hips, forcing her to hold still as I pulsed into her. Her hips struggled to rock, and I realized she was close but not there yet. She wanted control but I wanted her pleasure.
I slipped my palm over her flat belly and stretched my thumb to find that sensitive nub I thought might set her off. Circling the pad over the tender folds, she screamed. Her fingers dug into my sides, pinching my skin as her head rolled forward. Her hair draped down and tickled my chest. The only sound was the echo of our breaths, ragged and rapid in the heat of a tent filled with the rich aroma of sex.
Slowly, her hands released me to lay flat on my stomach. She pushed back her hair and I felt the weight of her eyes on me, despite the darkness. I could only feel her features, not see them. I wanted to read her face but it was shielded from my vision. Our chests still rose and fell in unison, the excursion settling slowly. My eyes closed with exhaustion, but a smile crossed my face. Languid and drained, I sighed as I slipped out of her, semi-hard, but needing a moment before I could take her again. My hands slid down her bare thighs and brushed her knees on either side of my hips.
“Mouse,” I whispered before I fell into the deepest sleep I’ve had in months.