Johnny & I : The Island

by Daria M Paus

  It was sparsely decorated. The massive black leather sofa was the main attraction. On a wooden table in front of it stood a group of empty bottles, and one that was half full. A blanket had slid off the back of the sofa and lay forgotten in a pile on the floor. The lack of life and decor made me suspect that this house had never included a woman. Where were the plants? The candles? The cozy pillows, and the rugs?

  "Hey. Feeling better?” he asked.

  I managed a nod, inching closer to him and the sofa. He looked at me and the world stopped turning right then and there. I couldn’t breathe, nor move. It felt as though my feet had sprouted roots and were now attached to the floor. Those dark eyes which I had dreamed of gazing into were now locked on mine.

  God, he’s gorgeous, the voice in my mind swooned. Just look at him. I didn't just look; I was drowning in those eyes. The butterflies in my belly multiplied and spread until my whole body tingled with a feeling I couldn’t understand or explain. My belly twisted and clenched, sending small electric impulses through my body. Breathe, the little voice screamed. Get a hold of yourself. My face burned with heat and chills ran down my spine.

  Countless times had I imagined actually standing face to face with him. Hell, I had pictured it in a million different ways, but never had I imagined he would have this impact on me. I couldn’t even remember how to breathe, and the tiniest movement from him made my belly go wild.

  My ears started to ring and a white fog crept into my mind. Breathe, the little voice tried to call to me from somewhere far away.

  I averted my eyes, sucking in a few deep breaths and the fog lifted.

  He cleared his throat, but didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if he hadn’t noticed I had almost passed out at his feet, or if he simply decided to pretend it hadn’t happened. I blushed for a whole new reason this time. Stupid, the voice muttered. Now what will he think of you? I cringed, swallowing down an imagined lump in my throat.

  “Uh, Brianna?” His voice was hesitant, and I looked back at him, this time careful to avoid eye contact. He played with a loose thread of his jeans and I shivered and burned under his scrutiny.

  He seemed to think, chewing the corner of his lower lip while furrowing his eyebrows. Breath once again caught in my throat. How many times had I drooled over his pictures, imagining how it would feel to kiss those lips.

  “Just gonna stand there?”

  His husky voice made my heart skip a beat, and I sucked in a sharp breath from the sudden feeling, then flashed him a nervous smile.

  “I uh—” The words caught in my throat as I tried to speak. I tried again and finally managed to whisper. ”You’re okay with this . . . me?”

  He nodded, patting the space next to him on the sofa. Following his every movement with my eyes, they stopped on the well-known tattoo on his lower arm. The anchor with a rope curling around it. I had seen it in millions of pictures, but never had I imagined actually seeing it for real. I gulped, trying to ignore the tingling in my body and my racing heart.

  "I guess I could use some company.”

  Judging from his flat voice and the somber look on his face, I wasn't convinced he’d told me the truth.

  I forced my shaking legs to take me to the sofa. “Thank you."

  He studied my face and I tried to remember how to breathe. I hoped that he liked what he saw. Normally people considered me pretty; I'd heard plenty say it. What they saw in me that was so appealing, I didn't know. The hair, yes, I could understand that, but hair alone didn't make one beautiful. I was certain there was more to it than that. And now when I needed it the most, not even the hair could be worth looking at. Maybe the heart-shaped face with a slight spray of freckles over my nose and cheekbones, or the green eyes added some beauty to my otherwise pale complexion. I hoped so since it was all I had to offer him at the moment. My natural beauty, at its worst.

  “Whiskey?”

  The question provided a much needed relief to my anxiety.

  “Sure.” I would’ve preferred wine, but at this moment I was sure I needed something stronger. Just sitting there, stealing glances at him was enough to make me tremble. Those high cheekbones and that sharp jawline was so much sexier in real life. I wondered if he noticed what being this close to him did to me. But then again, I was sure the almost-faint-spell I had thrown just minutes ago had informed him of that.

  I took the glass he offered me without dropping it or spilling its contents, and gulped it down immediately.

  This was going to be a long night.

  2

  Broken

  After a few shots, the nervousness was manageable. Johnny’s silence confused me. I’d been convinced I knew him. I’d seen every talk show, every interview, and this was not the Johnny I was used to listening to. What had happened to those flippant comments? The carefree attitude, and the jokes that had a whole crowd laughing. Even his sexy smile was absent, and I didn’t know if I’d ever seen him in public without one plastered to his face. As I studied him, I couldn’t help but wonder if all of that had been nothing but another act. Was he, in real life, someone completely different?

  He looked troubled, and the dark eyes that occasionally gazed at me not only made me shiver, but also filled me with a sadness I couldn’t explain.

  He’d seemed so unaffected on TV. So nonchalant, as if the accusations didn’t bother him at all.

  But seeing him now—that lost look on his face, and the empty bottles on the table—I started to suspect that he was doing far worse than what he was willing to share with his fans. Alone, with nothing but the storm and . . . me, as company, it seemed like he no longer had the strength to pretend.

  “You look sad.” The moment the words left my mouth I regretted them. Heat rushed to my cheeks and I knew they had turned bright red.

  He scoffed, shaking his head. “Is it that obvious?”

  I swallowed down a lump of nervousness, and whispered a small, “Yeah.”

  When he didn’t offer anything else, I heard myself say, “Wanna talk about it?”

  Really? My inner voice asked. How can you even ask such a thing?

  “No.”

  “But—"

  “No.”

  “I haven’t even said anythin’.”

  He actually chuckled then.

  “It’s still a no.” He changed the topic. “Where were you heading?”

  It took me a while to understand that he was referring to the boat, and I shuddered as I thought of the accident. I still didn’t understand how the weather had so suddenly changed from a beautiful calm day at sea to a living gale.

  “Dolphin sightseein’, gone bad,” I said with a grimace. The storm had come out of nowhere and within a few minutes, whipped up the sea into a frenzy. The waves had been so powerful that the small tourist boat hadn't had a chance.

  “What happened to her?”

  “Who?”

  “The boat.”

  “Oh.” I flashed him a nervous smile. I should have picked that up. “Gone,” I said. “I think no one else survived. They were—" My voice broke, and I didn’t bother to continue. I didn’t want to think of it anymore. Without my nautical skills, I wouldn’t have made it out alive. I had my dad, and my grandpa, to thank. Even though I missed them, being on the other side of the world, I still felt the connection every time I gazed out over the horizon.

  “I’m sorry.” Johnny’s voice was surprisingly gentle. I looked at him, and for a moment his face softened as he gazed back at me. My heart skipped a beat and I forgot how to breathe again. It didn’t matter that my senses were numbed by the whiskey, he still had that effect on me.

  “You were lucky to end up here.”

  “Yeah.” No shit, my mind was quick to add. I still couldn’t believe I was really here.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Why are you here in the middle of a storm?”

  He frowned, biting his lower lip as he seemed to consider my question.

  “I live here,” he finally said.
/>   I couldn’t help but snort. There was a small amount of truth in that statement, but certainly not the full truth. He owned the freaking island, that was common knowledge. Not any of his fans could’ve missed such detail, and just like me, dreamt of being swept away by the movie star to this little patch of paradise. But his presence here, in the middle of the ocean, on a small island far away from the rest of the world wasn’t some fairytale. And by the looks of him, I was sure the reasons were of a much darker sort.

  “I’ve seen the tabloids,” I blurted, and he grimaced.

  “What they say, it’s—"

  “Don’t!” he snapped. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” He grabbed the bottle from the table and drank straight from it.

  “Sorry.” Tearing my gaze away from him, I watched the fire devour the wood in a slow but steady dance of crackles and sparks.

  I couldn’t stop my thoughts from wandering. Did my family know about the accident? How much time had passed? Did they think I was dead? A shiver rippled through me as the thought crossed my mind. I imagined my family, devastated and crying. My sister, my mom—maybe the news had even reached my dad? Even though Lissa wasn’t my real sister, I could feel her pain. She was my best friend and it didn’t matter that we didn’t share the same blood; she was my sister in every way that counted. Lissa had been a part of my life for more than ten years. I had been twelve when I first saw her, now I was twenty-seven, and I couldn’t imagine my life without her. I was sure the feeling was mutual.

  “Brianna.”

  Johnny’s voice brought me back to the moment. I glanced back at him, trying to shake the sadness.

  “I’m sorry—" He ran a hand through his hair, then sighed. “I didn’t expect company. I’m not—”

  “Maybe you need it?”

  He raised an eyebrow in question and I rushed to explain. “Company, I mean. You look like you could need it.”

  “I’m fine.”

  He was lying, I didn’t need to know him to figure that out. He was in the middle of a huge scandal, facing charges of sexual assault. Yes, I knew what the headlines said. I’d read it all. Hell, I’d even cried over the news. Both Lissa and I had tried to hide our tears as we watched him on live television, struggling to explain that the whole thing was just a horrible misunderstanding. No matter what the press, or the woman, said about him, I was certain none of it was true. It just didn’t match my image of the man who used to visit orphanages to read for the kids, and taught acting in schools on his free time.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “What they say, it’s—”

  “Bloody hell, Brianna!” He slammed the bottle down onto the table, making me jump from the sudden sound. “I don’t want to talk about it. What part of that don’t you understand?”

  “Sorry,” I breathed. “It’s the whiskey.” I was horrified. For some reason I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, and everything that came out of it was stupid. I started to regret drinking with him. But if I hadn’t, I would’ve died from stress instead of embarrassment.

  He gave me an amused shake of his head.

  “And it’s Bree,” I said.

  “What is?”

  “My name. Call me Bree.”

  He nodded. “Got it.”

  “I know it’s not true.”

  His voice was just a weak whisper. “Please.” He got up on his feet, stood there for a moment, and glared down at me.

  I clamped my mouth shut. What was wrong with me? I had the uncanny ability to babble lots of nonsense when I was nervous, but this took the price. If I continued like this, he’d throw me back out into the storm.

  “I’m sorry! I won’t mention it again.”

  He tried to fool me with a smile. If there was one thing I was good at, it was reading people.

  He sat again, took another swig of whiskey, then closed his eyes and leaned his head back as he let out a deep exhale.

  I watched him in silence, for the first time noticing the dark circles under his eyes and the disheveled hair. It looked like he hadn’t brushed it for days. He emptied the bottle without looking at me, set it aside on the table before reaching for the next one, only to realize it, too, was empty. I pretended not to hear the curses he muttered under his breath. He got to his feet, staggered, but regained his balance and offered me an almost inaudible, “Excuse me,” before leaving the room.

  He came back, holding a new bottle of the same brand. “More?” he asked and I was quick to shake my head.

  “You shouldn’t . . .” My voice trailed off. Who was I to judge him?

  He collapsed onto the sofa, leaning back in a half prone position. When he opened the bottle, the cap rolled over the leather and down to the floor. I couldn’t keep silent any longer.

  “It ain’t good for you to drink that much.”

  “You weren’t supposed to be here,” he muttered. “I can’t do it like this.”

  “Do what?”

  His eyes landed on me, and for a moment it looked like he was about to speak. Changing his mind, he took a couple of long gulps.

  “Forget it.” He drank again. “Just—go to sleep. Pretend I’m not here.”

  My eyes grew wide.

  “Please,” he begged.

  It was his house. I was just an uninvited guest. If he wanted to be alone, I had no right to deny him that.

  “Ok.” I stood on shaky legs. “Just . . .” I cautiously gestured to the bottle. “Be careful with that.”

  He whispered a small, “Yeah,” which made me feel like he had no intention of obeying.

  I stared into the bathroom mirror trying to decide what to do. How could I sleep? I’d found a guest room. The empty bottle of whiskey on the table beside his bed was a dead giveaway. But I couldn’t bring myself to go to sleep, no matter how exhausted I was. My thoughts were with Johnny. The amount of alcohol he’d already drunk would have floored a normal man long ago, and he was still drinking.

  Minutes ticked by too slow. My eyes were blurry as I focused on my reflection. I wasn’t sure whether it was from tiredness, too much saltwater, or simply the goddamn whiskey.

  I sighed, muttering under my breath as I turned around and left the room.

  I found him face down on the sofa. The bottle had fallen to the floor and his arm hung limp over the edge. I grimaced, kneeling next to him, and as I reached out to touch his shoulder, my fingers trembled. He was warm, firm, and the mere contact of our skin sent little electric impulses through my body. I gulped, trying to focus on the situation.

  “Hey,” I said. “Can you hear me?”

  No answer, and I wasn’t sure whether I should be relieved or disappointed. What would I say to him? He’d already made it clear that he wanted to be alone. And while I’d spent too much time stalling in the bathroom, he’d wasted no time drinking himself into a stupor.

  “Johnny?”

  For a moment I was caught up in the feeling of having called him by his name, then I pushed the sense of amazement aside and focused on the movie star who was knocked out next to me.

  “What have you done?” I gave his arm a gentle nudge. No response. My hand hesitated in the air above him, then finally landed on his shoulder to shake him. Still nothing. I sighed, trying to swallow down the nervousness as I let my hand rest on his back.

  My eyes shamelessly travelled over his body. I couldn’t resist brushing hair from his face before forcing myself to get to my feet and away from him. Taking advantage of an inebriated man wasn’t my thing, even though I was more than tempted to make an exception.

  Maybe that guest room wasn’t such a bad idea. If I stayed any longer within touching distance of Johnny I wouldn’t be able to keep my hands to myself.

  3

  Hot Mess

  When I awoke the next morning I had an uneasy feeling in my belly. A shiver rippled through me and I pulled the blanket up to my chin to shield myself from the memories.

  Screams echoed all around me as water came pouring in. I knew only one thing mattered and I only h
ad seconds before it would be too late. I pushed myself through the wall of desperate people and reached the stairs before the cabin filled with water. I didn't hear anyone behind me.

  Realizing I was alone on the sinking boat, I tried to cling to it, desperate to get back down to save the others. They were all strangers, but I couldn't stand the thought of them drowning. The ones that had already gone into the water were lost, but I would never forgive myself if I didn't try to help those who were still alive.

  Against my best efforts, I was ripped away from the boat as well . . .

  My own screams were the last thing I recalled. The next thing I knew was waking up on this island with a big gap in my memory.

  I stretched, enjoying the feel of the soft sheets while I listened to the storm outside. I’d almost drifted off again when a knock on the door reached my ears. Still not fully awake, my first thought was to ignore it and pretend to be asleep. It was probably Lissa, who had the bad habit of waking me too early. With a groan I rolled over, burying my face into the pillow. Then suddenly it hit me, and I sat up straight, staring at the door with wide eyes and a galloping heart. Had I been so tired that I couldn’t even remember being in his house—with him?

  My body began to tremble by the mere thought of it.

  "Bree?" His voice was hesitant. "Are you all right."

  I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came out. Several tries later I managed a quivering, "I'm fine."

  When he didn’t offer anything else, curiosity overpowered the nervousness. I pushed the covers away and stumbled out of the bed. As silently as I could, I tiptoed up to the door and pressed an ear to it to listen. I held my breath as I opened the door and peeked out. Relief washed over me at the sight of the empty corridor. No matter how many times I had fantasized about being in a situation like this, the thought of seeing him again made me want to run and hide.

  I darted to the bathroom, and this time I locked the door once I was inside, not at all ready to see him yet. Would I ever be? I let out a trembling breath. No, I wouldn’t. But I couldn’t hide in the bathroom forever. Being on an island, his island, my mind added, in his house, meant avoiding him was not an option.