Johnny & I : The Island

by Daria M Paus

I was on my feet in a flash, spinning in circles to spot anything that could help him.

  An abandoned rope tossed aside next to the pier caught my attention and I fell down in my hurry to get it.

  It’s been years since I’d tied a knot, but my hands worked on autopilot, fastening the rope to the fallen tree. Before I had a chance to stop and think, I grabbed its other end and threw myself into the sea.

  The water surrounded me. I couldn't swim, couldn't do anything but keep my head above the water to save myself.

  "Bree!" Something grabbed me and I screamed.

  "What the fuck are you doing?”

  “Savin’ you, you idiot!”

  If he replied, I didn’t get the chance to hear it. The wave hit me hard, spiraling me down into the deep and the rope slipped from my hands as the water drowned my screams. I coughed, only to choke on new water. Something grabbed me, pulling me away, and in the panic that followed I tried to struggle against it. Lack of oxygen made me weak, and the burning pressure in my lungs increased. Then, the water cleared and for a few seconds of panic I couldn’t catch my breath. As if in a haze, I heard his voice, felt him holding on to me. My eyes shot opened, and the water spurted from my throat in a mix of coughs and gargles.

  The curses rolling off his lips sounded like music to my ears. I tried to turn, to hold onto him, but the water kept on rolling, moving me away from him, and he once again disappeared in the waves. I screamed his name, trying to get any bearing to where he’d gone, but only heard the roar of nature.

  Another wave rolled over my head, and the last thing I saw was the dark rocks looming above. The few seconds felt like hours as the power of the sea dragged me down into the dark.

  Clinging to the rope, I broke the surface with a gasp for air. As if by magic he was right there. He called my name again, and something in his voice seemed off.

  "Grab the rope." I flung it in his direction. "Come on." Another wave washed us together and I grabbed him, holding on as if my life depended on it.

  "Hold on to the rope!" I yelled "I'll try to get to the shore!"

  We both collapsed onto the beach in a pile of wet and shivering limbs. Something in the back of my mind urged me to get up, to do something, but I didn’t have the energy to move my legs.

  Drawing in a shuddering breath, I lifted my head in an attempt to get up. The weight of his body on top of mine held me down. The fangirl in me wanted to scream, and for a few seconds the feeling of amazement hijacked my senses. Then the reality hit, and I managed to focus.

  "Hey.” I tried to move away. "Johnny?" He didn't move. I scooted away, letting his body sink to the ground. Stroking hair out of his face, my fingers came back red. I gasped, staring at my hand in shock.

  Trembling, I reached out to move more wet hair away, revealing a gash right above his temple. My hand froze, eyes locking on the blood trickling down the side of his face in a steady trail of crimson.

  “Shit!”

  Without thinking, I stripped off my t-shirt and pressed it to the wound.

  He stirred, letting out a low groan.

  "Hey. You ok?" I whispered.

  I wasn’t sure whether I’d expected a reply or not, but it never came. Instead, he blinked, squinting up at me.

  “Wh—what happened?"

  "You're bleedin'." It didn't answer his question, but it was the most logical thing that came to my mind.

  Confusion flashed across his face. He lifted a hand, hesitated for a few seconds before touching the side of his head. Then he grimaced, eyeing the blood that had stained his fingers.

  "Bloody hell," he muttered. "How—" He cut himself off as his eyes landed on me, and widened.

  I eyed him suspiciously. “Why are you lookin’ at me like that?”

  A grin crept onto his lips and he gestured with a bloodied hand toward me. “What happened to your shirt?”

  “It’s . . .” My eyes drifted from the shirt in my hand, down to my chest. I froze. I’d had no thought of the lack of a bra. My cheeks burned as I lifted my gaze, finding him ogling my naked chest. Snatching the shirt back, I scrambled into it in record time before glancing back at him. The way he looked at me was so intense it made me flinch. My belly clenched and my already throbbing pulse went into overdrive. I was stunned. It didn't make sense. Something about that gaze was more than I could handle.

  Finally, he averted his eyes, whispering a breathless, “Sorry.”

  My cheeks flushed with heat. I couldn’t bring myself to look at him.

  A long silence fell between us, and I was torn between embarrassment and the need to nurse that wound.

  Finally, I dared to look back at him. He lay on his back, staring up at the sky with a tortured look on his face.

  “Hey,” I began. “I’m sorry about that.” I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head at my stupidity.

  “Don’t worry. I didn’t mind.”

  I scoffed, feeling my cheeks flush a second time.

  The look on his face changed, and he turned his eyes on me with sudden recognition.

  "You went in." He stated the obvious. "Fuck it, Bree. Don't ever do that again."

  My eyes widened, and my mouth formed a little O, but the words never came. I closed it again, staring at him.

  "I saved your life," I snapped. "A thanks would be nice.”

  He groaned and struggled into a sitting position. The curses he muttered under his breath resembled those of my Irish grandpa, and I tried not to cringe.

  "Thanks." Sarcasm dripped from his voice. My cheeks burned with humiliation. What had I done? This was Johnny Grey for God’s sake. What was I thinking, talking to him like that?

  The apology that burned inside of me was forgotten as he got to his feet. I jumped up in time to grab his arms to steady him as he stumbled.

  "You ok?" I asked, eyeing the still-bleeding wound with a growing sense of guilt in my heart. A thanks would be good? My mind taunted me. What the hell?

  He mumbled something I couldn't interpret. By the looks of him, he didn't seem to be feeling that great, which should’ve been obvious had I used my mind.

  "Let's get inside."

  ∞∞∞

  For the second time, I found myself wet and shivering in Johnny's bathroom. Only this time, I wasn't the one getting out of my clothes. If the situation had been somewhat normal, I would’ve died right then and there. But this was far from normal, so watching Johnny undress didn't do that much to me.

  All I could focus on was the blood still trickling from that awful wound. I stood in the middle of the room, staring at him as he wriggled out of a soaked shirt. The stiff movements and the low hisses coming from him made me suspect that his head wasn't the only thing he'd hurt.

  Keeping my eyes on his face, I moved closer, placing a cold hand on his shoulder, making him turn. Somehow, I wasn't surprised, but the sight still made me wince. I’d seen the rocks, but not until now did I realize how much damage they could do. The right side of his upper back was scraped and torn, and the sight of the sand and blood mixed mess made me cringe.

  "I need to clean this up," I said, letting my hand slide across the healthy part of his back. "You're so cold.” My voice was barely a whisper.

  Standing close to him, my senses were once again hijacked and all thoughts of reality faded quickly. My fingers trembled as they slid over his shoulder, down his biceps and back up again. Touching him made me forget about blood and wounds, and everything else for that matter. His skin was smooth under my fingertips. Little drops of water fell from his hair, leaving glistening traces on golden, tanned skin. The little drops seemed to be whispering to me, begging me to kiss them away. Without thinking I inched closer, just wanting to . . .

  "Bree?"

  His voice startled me back to reality and I snatched my hand away.

  “Sorry," I gasped.

  "I'll be fine," he said. “Let me get you something to wear, you're as cold as ice." Before I could protest, he left the room, trailing drops of water in his wake
. It didn't take long until he came back, carrying a black T-shirt, sweatpants—and a bottle of whiskey. My eyes widened as he opened it and drank straight from the bottle.

  "Here.” He handed the clothes to me. “You can fix me up later.”

  "But you're . . ."

  He shook his head, taking another swig from the bottle, then turning to leave.

  "Wait!” My voice stopped him. "Where are you goin'?"

  "Just—"

  "But you're—" I gestured to his damaged skin.

  He shook his head as if it was nothing, and irritation once again flared up. Why was he being so stubborn? It was clearly something. I was sure it took him all his strength to act unaffected. It didn't surprise me that he was good at pretending, but would it kill him to admit that he was hurting? How could he not be concerned about his health—or his life. Hell, if it had been me, I would’ve freaked out long ago.

  "Just drop the act!” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I mentally kicked myself. Really? My inner voice asked. Can you be any more embarrassin’?

  He raised a blood-smeared eyebrow in question.

  My cheeks burned. "Just—" I shifted my weight, trying to look at anything but him. "It's just me here, it's not like you have to pretend to be so cool or somethin'."

  He chuckled. "Ok."

  "Ok?" I echoed.

  "Fix the bloody wounds already," he said, handing the bottle over to me. I shook my head in bewilderment, then took it, knowing before asking, that the liquor was the only antiseptic available.

  I muttered under my breath, “You’ve got to be jokin’.”

  6

  Baby can I hold you?

  The heat from the fireplace dried my skin and softened my stiff muscles, and once I’d started to relax and relief filled my senses, I swore to never go near the sea again. Every time I did, something horrible happened.

  My eyelids drooped as I listened to the crackling wood, and the howling wind outside seemed a little less frightening once we were a safe distance from it.

  Sitting there, I couldn't help but let myself get lost in the romantic fantasy which my mind all too willingly provided me with. My mouth twisted into a smile and a soft sigh slipped through my lips.

  Then I realized the stupidity of what I was doing and the smile vanished. I didn't really know Johnny, even though it felt like that sometimes; and Johnny didn't know me. Hell, he’d probably drag me down to his boat and ship me off to the mainland as soon as the storm was over. I couldn't blame him, considering my behavior. I sighed, then shrugged it off. There was no need to worry about that now. My motto had always been 'live in the moment' and that was exactly what I planned on doing.

  “If you wanna sleep . . ." Johnny trailed off, letting the silence fill the room, before continuing. "You don't have to stay up because of me.”

  I shook my head. “I’m good.”

  He gave me a small smile in return, and I melted right then and there. He was gorgeous, but when he smiled he was breathtaking. I couldn't stop staring.

  “People must be worrying about you?” He made it sound like a question instead of a statement, and I nodded.

  “There’s a phone on the boat, but—" He cut himself off, as if he didn't want to think of the boat at the moment. I couldn’t blame him. No matter how badly I wanted to call my family and tell them I was alive and well, it had to wait until the storm subsided.

  “What’s your family like?”

  His question surprised me, and I thought about how to describe them all.

  “My mom is like me; she likes to know everythin’—doesn’t like surprises. My stepdad is the opposite. I can’t really see how they get along so well but they do.” I smiled at the thought. “Lissa, my sister, takes after her dad, she’s a mess. She can’t remember anythin’ and she has worse organizing skills than you do.” The words slipped through my lips before I could stop them. I held my breath.

  “I doubt that’s a compliment.”

  I winced. “Not really.”

  He actually chuckled then, and I relaxed.

  “You live together, all of you?”

  My cheeks turned red. Did he think it was weird? That I was too old to live with my whole family? Sure, he was right. But where would I go? I didn’t know anyone in the States. I’d never made friends in school, and once I’d been done with school, I worked on the farm. There had never been anyone I’d wanted to move in with, and I was sure I’d never get to that point in any relationship. My trust issues and high expectations were excellent guy-repellants. Finding someone who was worth my time was difficult. I’d tried and failed, too many times to want to get back on the horse again. It wasn’t that I was scared of love. The hopeless romantic in me loved love. I just preferred watching from a distance. It was less complicated, and minimized the risk of being disappointed or let down. My love life had been non-existent since Adam had embarrassed me in front of the class in Kenville high. The only thing he’d ever wanted from me was to get into my pants. I could still remember his mates’ laughter as he’d dumped me the next day.

  Getting involved with anyone else simply hadn’t been worth the effort. I’d never wanted to put my heart on the line again. I’d learned from my mistake, and wasn’t ready to repeat it.

  Besides, the only people in this world who I felt comfortable and at home with was my family and the farmhands. If people considered me weird, I didn’t want to know, I just wanted to be happy.

  “Yeah. It’s a big house, it ain’t like we’re in each other’s face all the time.” The need to defend myself was strong, even though he hadn’t said anything. The feeling of being judged made me cringe. A grown-up girl living with her mom and sister . . .

  “I’ve always wanted that.”

  The words were just a murmur, and I wasn’t sure they’d been meant for me to hear.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  He shook his head. “Just . . . it sounds lovely.”

  “What about your family? Where are they? They must be proud of you.”

  He clenched his jaw, squeezing his eyes shut before looking away. The small shake of his head and his sudden tense posture made me regret asking. I’d never read anything about his family, never seen any pictures of him with a mom or a dad. Never heard him mention any family member at all.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to . . . Did I say something wrong?”

  “No, just . . . prefer not to talk about that.”

  “It’s ok,” I said. “No talk about family. Got it.”

  He flashed me a smile—hundred percent fake—but sexy as hell.

  “Do you ever see him? Your dad I mean?” Johnny surprised me by asking.

  “Not as often as I’d like,” I admitted. “I was a daddy’s girl growing up. I adored him. Now I only see him on Christmas, if I’m lucky.”

  A silence fell over us and I took the opportunity to let my mind wander back to Ireland.

  “You are lucky,” Johnny murmured. “You have no idea.”

  “But you’re not?”

  He raised an eyebrow, silently reminding me about my promise.

  “Right, sorry,” I breathed.

  I studied him in silence, not knowing what else I could say.

  “Not at all,” he whispered at last, once again surprising me with the honesty.

  The sudden urge to reach out and hug him was hard to ignore. If this topic didn't change, fast, I wasn't sure I’d be able to resist. Not when he looked so sad. Grasping at the only thing that came to my mind, I asked, "Does it hurt much?" I gestured to the wound in his temple. It had stopped bleeding, leaving him with a headache that long-expired aspirins hadn’t been able to rid him of.

  "It's not that bad," he said, and I was sure he was lying.

  He sat forward leaning, his elbows on his thighs, and his chin resting in his hands. Despite his efforts to appear unaffected, I could see straight through him.

  “Are you sure there’s nothing I can get you?” I ask
ed, still not able to understand the fact that he hadn’t brought any supplies when coming here. From the notes I’d seen, the trip had been a desperate attempt of escaping reality, but heading into a storm with nothing else than the clothes you were wearing didn't make sense in my well-organized mind. If it had been me, I would have brought half the pharmacy, just in case.

  Shaking my head at the stupidity, I leaned back against the pillows. Wriggling around to sit comfortably, the idea came to me like a light bulb switched on in the dark. That little 'ding' as the thought popped into my mind made me smile in triumph. But then just as fast, I discarded the idea. There was no way I would be able to pull such a thing off without making a fool out of myself by passing out or showing any other act of indecency.

  My arm reached out for him despite my mind screaming at me to stop. My hand landed on his still bare back. My eyes flickered to my wrist and widened. A gasp slipped through my lips as I suddenly realized it was empty. I’d been too distracted to notice the missing watch, and the sudden discovery filled me with dread, momentarily stealing my attention away from Johnny.

  "No.” His voice brought me back to the moment, and it took too long for my mind to connect his words to the question I’d asked him earlier.

  ”I’m fine.”

  I didn't reply. Instead, I pushed the feeling of loss aside and sucked in a few deep but subtle breaths. When I hoped I had gathered up enough courage, I spoke.

  "Come here. Lean against me."

  For a few seconds he tensed, and I held my breath, trying to still my galloping heart. My mind kicked into overdrive and the thoughts swirled around so fast it made me lightheaded. What was he thinking? Was I taking it too far? Did this place me in the crazy-fan-category?

  He shifted, but I still didn't dare to breathe. Then, to my horror, it occurred to me that he could’ve misinterpreted my intentions and I rushed to explain.

  "I didn't mean anythin' weird," I blurted. "Just—" My voice died a quick death as he straightened his body, and turned to look at me. I gulped. "You can rest a bit, at least. Without puttin' pressure on the back."

  A shadow of a smile went over his face, and his dark eyes locked on mine, seeming to ask—are you ok with that. I smiled. If he only knew how ok I was. The mere thought of holding him, sort of . . . made my head spin with delight.