by Belle Brooks
“A week is too long for me to be without Delilah. She’s the light which invades the darkness of my broken soul. She’s the hope I never thought I deserved but wished to hold …”
Arlie shifts his hand from my stomach to my hair, running his fingers through my untamed locks as I relax farther back against his chest.
He continues reading. “Delilah places her hairbrush on the dresser. She turns to face me. Her smile is sexy, inviting … I know I’m going to have her over and over. I’ve a week of lost time approaching, and I’ve only eight hours to hold her before I’m gone …”
I tilt my head slightly, so I can hear Arlie’s heart beating more clearly as he keeps reading.
“‘I wish you weren’t leaving in the morning,’ Delilah says. ‘I wish, mon, free, fly, turning start.’
“Delilah ’s words make no sense as her eyes grow. Her arms fall limply to her sides. There’s this imminent fear taking over her expression …”
I gasp.
“What just happened?” Arlie says.
I swallow hard. My heart thumps one intense beat. “Keep going.”
He does. “‘Baby, baby, are you okay?’ I leap from the bed.
“Delilah steps forward. Her eyes roll back into her head. ‘Love,’ she moans before her legs give way, and I catch her slumped body before it hits the floor ...”
I bolt upright. I flick my head towards Arlie overcome with shock. It feels as though I’m Hugh, left holding the love of my life in my arms. This must be a joke. Arlie must be messing with me. “It doesn’t say that, does it?”
He nods.
“Give it here.” I snatch the paperback from his hands. The sense of happiness I felt for this fictional couple has disappeared, now replaced with a painful ache that’s tearing my heart in two. Instant sadness.
I trace my finger down the page, trying to find the last line Arlie read. I know I’m trembling. I can feel the tears welling in my eyes. I read on silently.
“Baby, no. Come back to me. No!” I scream so forcefully I can taste the blood at the back of my throat. “Help me! Somebody help me! She’s dying. She’s dying.”
No matter how hard I pump Delilah’s chest with my desperate hands, or how many times I place my lips to hers and give her my breath, my life, she doesn’t open her eyes.
Delilah doesn’t speak a word.
Her heart doesn’t beat again.
She’s gone.
I spent a lifetime running away. I ran because losing someone to the angel of death again wasn’t an option.
Why did I think things would be different this time? Why did I think my curse would be lifted?
I should’ve kept running when I had the chance. I won’t survive this heartache. I won’t survive losing Delilah.
I can’t live without her.
“Baby, please open your eyes. Don’t leave me,” I howl.
Don’t leave me.
To be continued …
“Fuck off! Who the hell does this crazy bitch author think she is? You can’t do something like that. You can’t,” I shout, ripping my arm backwards and hurtling the paperback across the room. “I seriously hope this author chokes on a dick and dies.” I pull myself upright. I stomp towards the front doors.
“Where are you going?” Arlie says.
“Away from that damn book. It’s horrible. The story is horrible.” I pause. “To be continued! What tripe is that?” I open the door. “To be continued,” I mutter, stepping out onto the verandah.
You can’t end a story by ripping a person’s heart out. Why did this author kill the lead character? It’s cruel. So freaking cruel.
I’m never reading another book for as long as I live.
Well, except for the next one in this damn series, because what happens to Hugh now?
***
I trek down the stairs. I don’t know where I’m going, but I stomp my feet and continue to mutter curse words under my breath as I go.
A catamaran sails across the ocean. I catch sight of it in my peripheral vision. What in the hell? Naturally, I change my direction and march towards the beach.
Jet skis, sailboats, canoes, a windsurfer, surfboards … the sand is littered with them.
I’m confused.
There’s not a person in sight, apart from two camera operators who seem to be filming the arrival of the catamaran heading towards them, and the shore.
I shift my attention to my right and spot a pop-up bar, just like the one I sat in front of for an entire afternoon when I took a vacation to the USA and had a layover in Hawaii.
There’s a grass hut with a roof and brightly coloured flags flapping in the breeze around it. Small tables beside long deck chairs with beach umbrellas placed between them. There’s even a big sign which reads, Happy Birthday, Melinda.
This is all for me. Get out of here.
As I manoeuvre the stairs, I change my stomp-like march to a relaxed stride. When I reach the sand, I note it’s much cooler than it was when I was down here earlier and more pleasant on the soles of my feet. Scanning the ocean, I’m surprised by the thick whitewash being forced in my direction. The sea is nowhere near as tame as it was earlier either.
This ever-changing island suddenly excites me. These watercrafts and activities laid out in front of me cause butterflies to flutter in my stomach.
Maybe the outdoors isn’t as bad as I thought. I can drink, Arlie can play with the boy’s toys; the afternoon promises a change of pace to our current quiet retreat.
A clearing of a throat has me swivelling on my heels until I can see over my shoulder. Arlie stands with an excited smile lifting his lips.
“How cool is this?” I can hear the happiness in my tone.
“Very. I think we’ll need to get changed into our bathers.”
“Agreed.” I flick my vision back to the tiki-type hut, and the chairs set out around it; I can’t think of any way I’d want to spend the rest of this afternoon than drinking cocktails and relaxing.
“Arlie, Melinda.” The familiar voice of Daniel has my eyes travelling in the opposite direction from the cocktail bar.
“How are you enjoying paradise?” he says when he stops in front of us.
I laugh. How am I enjoying it? Am I enjoying it? I’ve no frickin’ idea. So many crazy things have happened in such a short amount of time. My head is spinning.
“It’s been interesting,” Arlie states.
“I agree.” I do agree. It has been interesting and a little crazy.
“How are you feeling, Melinda? That was a nasty sting you received.” Daniel adjusts the collar on his button-down shirt.
“Much better.”
“Good. And a Happy Birthday to you.”
“Thank you.”
“This is the gift you’ve won for completing the mountain hike. Unfortunately, you failed the canoe task, and the date night task as you only prepared a meal in the home, so you lucked out on the prize for both of those.”
There are no surprises on the canoe task, but I happened to enjoy our date night.
“You get to keep this equipment for ten days. Then they’re gone.”
“Okay,” Arlie and I say simultaneously.
“The cameras have caught your reactions to the big reveal …”
“How? They weren’t facing me,” I say.
Daniel points over my shoulder. I twist my head and see a long-lensed camera peeking through some trees.
“Sneaky little sucker.”
“The point of the show is that you don’t see them or the crewmen as much as possible. It’s the deserted island experience. I only came over to make sure you two were well and doing fine, and to film my segments for your island for the show. We weren’t expecting you down on the beach quite so soon, but it’s worked out. We’ve captured what was needed.”
“Sex,” I blurt out, like the word is used commonly and openly amongst strangers in such a manner.
Daniel’s eyes widen as he stifles a smile I can see trying to lift
his lips.
“Sex can’t go on television, right?”
Arlie clears his throat.
Daniel’s attempt to keep his humour cloaked fails. His smile flickers brightly.
“It can’t, right?”
“No. We don’t air nudity or sex,” Daniel says matter-of-factly.
Arlie clears his throat again.
“Okay.” I had to know. I just had to know definitively.
“We’ll go get changed then and leave you to your job,” Arlie says with a hint of humour.
“Have a good time, you two.”
I intend to, now. I plan to drink to my heart’s content, then bang this man who has me so sexually frustrated. I’ve no choice but to put an end to this situation with a much-needed fuck fest. First, I must get drunk. Second, I must complete my mission. I’ve never had sex sober, and I’m not about to start with Arlie Blight.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
The best afternoon of my life began the moment I wrapped my lips around a straw and sucked back the sweet nectar combination of many spirits mixed with juice.
Cocktails: Angel’s brew. The best creation to ever be concocted by some man—I’m guessing it was a man, whose hand I must find and shake with gratitude, even if by now it’s skeletal.
I’ve skulled five tall glasses, and who knows how many will follow? With this liquid courage, I’ve found myself doing things I’d have been too frightened to do otherwise. Like ride a jet ski, and attempt—and by attempt, I mean fail miserably—to ride a wave on a surfboard. I’m having a blast, and from the laughter now coming from the guy with the stunning blue eyes, I’d say Arlie is too.
He’s probably pissing himself from laughing at my expense, but it doesn’t bother me because right now, nothing bothers me. I feel good. I’m free, having fun, and enjoying the big three zero like a woman no longer worried she’s turned the big three zero at all.
“Do you want to try again?” Arlie chuckles.
“Fuck yes, I do,” I cheer, grabbing the strap dangling from my beached surfboard and dragging it back towards the water.
“This time, you need to put your back foot farther to the back end of the board.”
“Got ya.” I make a gun with my thumb and pointer finger and shoot it in Arlie’s direction before blowing pretend smoke from my imaginary gun’s end. Arlie laughs. So do I.
We paddle out, side by side. Arlie winks at me when a wave grows in the distance.
“This one,” I shout.
“I think so. Remember, get your back foot as far back as you can.”
“Back foot back. On it.” I turn and face the board and myself toward the shore. I lie flat on my stomach, plucking one side of my yellow bikini bottom out of my hungry arse.
“Let’s do this,” I chime as I stroke my arms through the water to gain momentum. Jumping upright, I lose my balance instantly, then topple into the water like a massive bag of potatoes.
I’m laughing when I resurface. I can’t surf but trying is so much fun.
Arlie rides the wave like a pro surfer who’s about to go on tour, and as I watch him swing the board, his arms held out wide, beads of water glistening across his back under the sun’s rays, I find Miss Priscilla cheering him on as much as I am.
I’m so turned on right now that if I don’t find a way to alleviate the pressure pulsating through my clit, my vagina might explode, and not in a good happy-ending way, more so in a devastating rest-in-peace, your-pink-lady-taco-has-died way. I need to get my sex on and soon.
When I swim back to shore, I’m greeted by Arlie’s extended arm, and E.T. fingers awaiting me. I take his hand in mine before he pulls me to my feet. There’s a moment, a long pause in time when I find myself gazing deep into his eyes—his beautiful dark blue, forever-changing, sparkling eyes.
I want him … today, tomorrow … always. I’m in love with Arlie Blight, and I need to have sex with him on a television show that won’t show our sexual escapades because it’s a modest and kind entity.
I tilt my head slightly to the left as I wrap my hand around the back of his head. “You’re one hell of a surfer,” I say, perching onto my tiptoes.
“I do alright,” he says, wrapping his cold arms around my waist and pulling my body against his.
“I’m having the best time here with you.”
“Me too,” he whispers.
“I’m ready to take this further, Arlie.”
“I know.”
I press my mouth towards his, closing my eyelids. Our lips connect, and we kiss in a hungry, possessive manner. My limbs become weak. My heart thumps wildly. Every nerve ending my body possesses is overcome with electrical pulses, because kissing Arlie Blight is more magical than a rainbow-coloured dildo with eight speeds of delight. It’s so much better. I lift my leg and curl it around his arse, taking all my weight through only one foot.
Arlie suddenly pulls his mouth away.
What just happened?
“Is everything okay?” I ask, winded.
“Of course.”
My leg falls back to the ground.
“What do you want to do now?” He lets go of my waist, steps back, and turns side on, and discreetly fixes himself below the waistline.
I want to have sex, dumb arse, is what I want to say, but I don’t. Instead, I reply with, “I might have another drink.”
“Okay, well I’m going to take the jet ski out again. Do you want to join me this time?”
“No! I’m fine. I might relax on one of those chairs.” I raise my hand and point in the direction of the chairs in front of the cocktail bar.
“I’ll see you when I get back.” Arlie takes one step forward, dips his head, and kisses me softly on the cheek before turning his back to me.
What the fuck? He seriously just rejected me.
My brain is not one to be messed with. When not distracted, it works at a full pace, questions everything I do and say, and takes me down winding paths of doubt I can’t seem to trek back out of. Right now, my mind is working in overdrive, and no matter how many cocktails I find myself downing, it won’t stop racing.
I need Chris. I need Chris so badly right now I could cry.
Chapter Thirty
Pouring yellow liquid into a tall glass has my body swaying. I skull the drink in one go and top the glass again. My level of drunkenness escalates. I’m no longer happily tipsy. I’m more unsure and unbalanced, and my body is numb. I wish my stupid brain would go numb. That would help.
I bend to retrieve a straw, and when I do, “Never Be the Same” by Camila Cabello plays from within the hut. My hips instantly begin to move to the beat, but I’m confused as to how it began playing in the first place. Where are the player and the sound system?
While slowly dancing, I search the bench and surroundings of the hut for a system. I don’t find one and give up looking straight away. I’m much too shitfaced to go on a hunt.
When the previous song ends, and Sam Smith’s “Too Good At Goodbyes” takes over, I move out onto the soft sand. I’m relaxed. I’m shaking my booty, and I dance along the shore, free from all the worry caused by Arlie’s rejection. A canary yellow cocktail fills the tall glass I have wrapped securely in my hand. I throw my head back and smell the sea air. The breeze is so refreshing. The beach is alight with warm sunrays. I admire the water for its crystal patterns, which sparkle like diamonds. The sound of Arlie speeding over the waves on the jet ski drifts far, far away … The music’s all I hear. Who cares if Arlie doesn’t love me back? Not me. I’m fine on my own and always have been.
The track changes to “Break Free” by Ariana Grande, causing my movements to grow more extensive and upbeat, and for a split moment, I get the sense the songs playing are replicating my current mental state, but I’m quick to squash these thoughts because they’re insane, and I’m enjoying the fact I’m currently having a dance party for one beachside.
Puffed, and with an empty glass, I stumble towards the deck chairs. I’m halted on the spot. Arlie.
He’s lying on a chair with the stupidest grin planted on his face.
“You really are a groover and a shaker.” His grin grows. “How’d you get music playing?” he yells above the beat.
I shrug. “I bumped something and … voila.” I throw one hand into the air. “Do you want a drink?” I shout with one eye all scrunched like a pirate.
Arlie shakes his head. “I’ll pass.”
“Your loss.”
Finding the jug full of the concoction I made, I pour another glass and walk towards the deck chair beside the one Arlie’s stretched out on.
I plonk down. Half the contents of my glass spill down my leg and onto the sand. “Bugger,” I groan before tucking the straw between my teeth and sucking away on the sweet, sweet juice, not caring I’m covered in alcohol.
“You’re enjoying those, aren’t you?”
“You bet your sweet arse I am.”
“Hang on.” Arlie climbs off the chair. “Let me turn this music down; it’s blaring.”
“Whatevs.” I giggle. Holy hell, I’m drunk. My head’s spinning. The beach is spinning, but Arlie’s not. He’s the only object not out of control in my vision.
Arlie disappears from my view. I close my eyes, relax back into the chair, and keep sipping away.
The volume of the music becomes minimal.
I instantly miss it and want the volume turned louder. I need to turn it back up.
I can’t get up. I don’t move.
“That’s better,” Arlie says, causing me to open my eyes.
We lie side by side in silence. The sun lowers toward the horizon. My drink’s empty, and my body’s so relaxed I feel like I’m floating on the gentle waves filling my vision. This is paradise.
“Can I ask you something?” Arlie suddenly says.
“Uh-huh.” Nothing’s going to ruin my state of relaxation.
“You don’t have to tell me about it, but I’m hoping you will.”
I don’t reply.
“When you were planning to leave, you said, well, you blurted out you weren’t a doctor anymore.”
“Yep!”
“You said you were a receptionist when we were back home in Melbourne.”
