by L. B. Dunbar
“We won’t go far,” he promised, looking up to see me staring at him. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he promised once again. He must have questioned something in my expression. I was beginning to think it was ominous as if something bad were coming, and he kept wanting to assure me he’d protect me. I shook off the thought and continued with my twisting and tying of long grasses and stripped leaves that we were using as rope to secure the outrigging.
On day fifty-six, we took our maiden voyage.
“We’ll go just to the edge of the bay and back,” he promised, but I worried a riptide was out there. If we fell overboard, we couldn’t swim back.
“I think mice prefer to stay on dry land,” I said, teasing him, but he held up his hand, offering it for me to take. He led me to one side of the craft.
“We’ll have to work together to get it out there, but I’ll let you hop in before it’s too deep. We each have an oar, and I’ll tell you how to stroke once we are settled.” He winked at me. “The Vixen awaits.”
“The Vixen?” I questioned.
“Every boat needs a name, and every boat is a she, so this one is The Vixen, named after one of our building crew.” He winked at me again, and I blushed.
“Foxes like dry land as well,” I teased.
“Yes, but a vixen is sly and cunning, and can handle any situation dealt to her. She knows when to trust in her captain, as well.”
I shook my head again. He made no sense, but he crossed behind the boat we’d designed together and walked the double outrigger out to sea. When we were calf-deep, he told me to jump in. I fumbled a bit, not finding leverage with the water, but he held the boat steady enough and patiently waited for me. Once inside, we both sighed a breath of relief. She wasn’t sinking.
He jumped in after a few more steps, and I screamed when the craft elevated on my end with the sudden weight on the back. I held my breath, preparing to capsize when my portion of the boat returned to the water. Slowly, we skimmed across the ocean bay.
“She’s sailing,” I yelled behind me.
“She’s perfect,” he chanted back. I twisted in my seat to find a brilliant smile on his face, white teeth fully on display. He paddled like he’d done this every day, stroking side to side to keep us moving straight ahead. Without his shirt, and in his tan skin, he looked like a voyager set to see the world. He looked happy.
25
Day 60 – Tack
I almost dreaded Garvey’s visit, but he brought fresh supplies and occasionally new linens. I hadn’t mastered washing sheets that well. He never brought letters. I wasn’t allowed communication with the outside world, but I had to ask.
“Has anyone asked about me? Has my dad?”
Garvey looked up from admiring my small boat. I was proud of my first attempt at building something. I’d had some trial and error in the design but it felt amazing to build something. I hadn’t worked on anything like that since my grandfather had me help him sand an old wooden boat in the back dry dock. The thought was so ancient in my memory, it was hazy, but I saw the outline of my grandfather, working slowly as he pushed the sanding block along the grain of the wood.
“You treat her right, stroke her like she needs, and she’ll skim like a dolphin through the sea. You’re a lucky sailor then,” he whispered in my recollection. His reverence spoke of the boat, but now as a man myself, I sensed he was trying to impart some deeper wisdom on me.
“You know I can’t tell you anything,” Garvey said softly, letting his hand coast over the curve of the canoe. “You built this yourself?” he asked.
Irritated that he couldn’t even hint about my parents, I snapped in response. “Nah, my monkey minions helped me.”
“Anger still lives, I see. But I’m impressed.” His hand cupped the outrigger float.
“I don’t think it’s ever going to leave,” I retorted, ignoring his compliment.
“It won’t,” Garvey said, creeping his fingers along the outrigger on the port side. “But what you need to learn is to control it. Without anger, we cannot know peace. Without hatred, we do not know love. It’s about recognizing one and controlling the other.”
“That sounds kind of negative,” I snorted.
“It isn’t. It’s opposites. We cannot appreciate one thing without knowing the opposite of it. Love. Hate.” He held up two fists and moved them back and forth as if they struggled for balance. “Anger. Calm.” He flattened his hands, and slid them away from one another as if he smoothed out a bed sheet. Garvey’s analogies made me irritable. Anger still lives, Garvey’s words rang through my head. I hated when he was correct. Maybe my irritability was because it took me away from Juliet. She seemed to be the calm I needed. She was taming me, and we were becoming friends. It was a foreign concept, and one I’d begun to relish, but my body ached for hers. I wanted to take things deeper but didn’t trust myself. Not yet. I looked off toward Juliet’s tree house.
“There’s a storm coming. I don’t know that it will reach here, but you might want to take precautions. Tie down some things. Save up others. You haven’t been fishing or gathering food like I expected.”
I hadn’t gone into forager mode, although after building my own boat, I imagined anything could happen next. Some moments I worried I was going native, but I had Juliet to keep me in check. She kept me sane. I don’t know that I’d fare well on the island alone. She’d been my opposite. My balance.
“I’m assuming you haven’t danced yet.”
I rolled my eyes to the sunny sky overhead, wondering how he detected a storm from this beautiful weather.
“I don’t dance alone,” I said.
“Then you better summon your imaginary friend,” Colton snarked. Anger certainly lived when he was near. In fact, it roared to life with his presence.
“Yeah, shut the fuck up,” I snarled. It was clear he lacked balance, or he’d understand better. Imaginary or not, Juliet had become my other half.
+ +
I tried. I did. But dancing around the campfire was just asinine. I was a grown man, and even though no one could see me, I couldn’t comprehend what I needed to discover from prancing around a circle of logs. Ironically, the trees appeared to dance as the wind picked up, and they swayed side to side. Some of them even bent gracefully backward, as if they were being dipped by a lover. I’d been taught to dance, as all young men in my social category had, so I knew the tango, the merengue, and even a salsa dance or two, but I wasn’t about to dirty dance with myself.
I stalled from my attempt as a loud crackle of lightning came from up the mountain. The sky had grown dark and the stars were missing, hidden by angry clouds. Suddenly, the heavens opened and water beat down like the gods turned on a faucet. Another sharp rumble of thunder followed a second spark of lightning rippling up the sky. My thoughts immediately jumped to Juliet, and what she’d told me about her parents. She feared the lightning. While I should have taken cover into my dry tent, I raced for her tree house instead.
To my surprise, the ladder hung down as if she were expecting me. It kicked out in the increasing wind and I struggled at first to climb. The rungs were slick, and the rain was nearly sideways as if it scooped up the bay and flicked it at me. Something slammed above my head, and I hastened my climb.
“Juliet,” I yelled, as I crossed onto the porch platform. It only took one large step to reach her door. I opened it against the force of the wind and slammed it behind me after I entered. Looking at the empty bed, I yelled again.
“Mouse!” My eyes quickly surveyed the small enclosure before finding her huddled on the floor near the table. Her knees were drawn up, and her head tucked against them like she’d been the night of the snake attack.
“Mouse.” I breathed a sigh of relief as I squatted before her. I was soaking wet, and I reached sideways for a towel hanging over the back of a chair, swiping it over my face and my hair. She didn’t look up at me.
“Hang on,” I said, lifting the wet T-shirt over my head. I sh
ifted to sit next to her, wrapping my arm around her shoulders and setting the towel over my lap.
“Come here, Mouse. We’ll stay right here, but you’re going to let me hold you, so you know you’re safe.” I gently nudged her to move forward, slipping her onto my lap. She tucked her head into my shoulder and her palm flattened on my chest. My arm curled around her lower back, resting my hand on her hip.
“I’ve got you,” I whispered, pressing my lips to her forehead as she flinched against me after another crack and shock of light. My other hand smoothed up and down her arm.
“Want to talk?” I asked, stretching for something to distract her. She shook her head against my shoulder.
“How about we kiss?” I teased, but she shook her head again, letting out a squeak at another snapping sound outside the tree house. I momentarily thought our position in a tree might not be the safest place for us, but I didn’t risk moving her. I liked that she let me hold her. I liked that I felt she needed me. I liked trying to protect her.
“Okay, baby. We’ll just sit here. All night, if that’s what it takes.” I pressed her closer to me. Her arm snaked around my neck, and she pulled herself flush against my chest. Her face buried in the space between my neck and shoulder, and she kissed me briefly.
“Thank you,” she whispered. Her appreciation pleased me. In that moment, I was more than a little prince. I was king of the jungle.
26
Day 61 – Juliet
After Lillian’s visit, I was shaken. My uncle had come to her for money. He’d spent all he received when my parents died—what little there had been after the sale of their home and depleting their bank account. Thoughts of him worsened my fear of lightning. I hadn’t told Tack that one night I found my uncle standing at the end of my bed. The flashing light from a storm startled me awake, and I heard his heavy breathing as the thunder subsided for a moment. Holding my own breath, I deciphered the sound of skin slapping skin. I couldn’t look, and my eyes twitched as another brilliant flash crossed through my window. The slick sound increased, and my heart raced as I realized what he was doing to himself. He groaned at his climax, and I swallowed back the bile in my throat.
“Oh, Juliet. One day you’ll give me everything I want from you,” he muttered in the darkness of my room before lightning sparked again. Even after he left my room, I couldn’t move, frozen with fear at the storm, his words, and his actions. After that night, I locked my room each time I went to sleep, but I didn’t trust him when I was awake, either. I lived in a perpetual state of fear until I graduated high school and escaped the trailer park. I begged Lillian not to involve him in the proceedings related to the manslaughter case. Lillian said if there was any evidence I had a living relative, the experiment could be recalled. I needed a family member in case of a dead body. Even the thought of him claiming me in death made me shiver.
“He wanted money, but this isn’t a contest. You aren’t winning a million dollars by surviving. This is about you and your reflective process,” Lillian reminded me. She was correct, but the fact my uncle knew my whereabouts worried me. How could I return to Baltimore if he knew I lived there? What would happen when my time on the island was complete? Where would I go? What would become of Tack and me?
A greater question bothered me—had I atoned for my crime?
Thoughts of killing Rick niggled at me. I hadn’t meant to kill Tack’s friend. I hadn’t thought of him like that—someone’s friend, someone’s son, someone’s lover. But then again, Rick hadn’t thought of me in that regard, and neither had Tack, until we were forced together. Could I forgive my attackers? Could I absolve them of what they did to me? In many ways, it wasn’t a matter of forgiving what happened, but taking back control of my life for me. Hadn’t Tack deserved that right as well? Even if I once hated him. Even if I once wished him dead, like his friend. How had everything changed? When had the shift occurred? How did I let go of the pain in order to enjoy pleasure?
I’d wrapped myself around Tack and held onto him like a life preserver, hoping to weather the storm with his strength circling me. Through the course of the night, I’d fallen asleep, despite the rumble of rain and the distancing lightning. I woke in his arms, which were slack from his sleep but still draped over my legs and around my back. I shifted, sensing he had to be uncomfortable with my weight on him all night, but his arms engulfed me and pressed me to his chest. I giggled a little.
“What’s so funny?” His sleep-laden voice was rough and sexy. Something long and hard pressed against my hip. My thighs clenched and my core pulsed.
“I thought you were sleeping.”
“I thought I was dreaming you in my lap,” he said, roughness still in his throat as his lips pressed to my head.
“I weigh too much to sit on your lap like this,” I said, pressing back on his chest, but his hands tightened on me again.
“Yet you’ve been here all night,” he teased, his eyes still closed. “You can straddle me instead if you’d like. You know, balance out the weight and all.” My head shot back, and I looked up at him to see his eyes still closed but a smirk on his face. He was teasing me without any threat. I shifted, and he groaned, the length of his excitement evident in his shorts. I shifted once again, removing the towel he had placed over his lap, and crawling over him. His eyes slowly opened.
“Keep them closed,” I whispered, testing his trust. My thighs straddled either side of his. He squeezed his eyes shut but his eyebrows rose as my palms flattened on his lower abs and climbed up the ladder of his chest.
“Mouse,” he croaked, as I slid forward a touch on his lap. The heat of his erection was merely a centimeter from my core. We weren’t touching there, but the anticipation of pressure made me wet. I’d reached his shoulders and curled my palms over the bulk of them. Slowly, my hands skimmed down the length of his arms. He was still wearing my bracelet. Trapping my fingers as they drew close to his, his eyes remained closed, but they twitched. He wanted to open them and see me, but I wasn’t ready.
“Not yet,” I whispered. “Trust me.”
“Mouse.” His voice hitched, and I cut him off with the press of my lips. I was in control, I told myself, curling my hand around the nape of his neck. I lowered onto the length of him and he hissed against my lips. I rubbed up and down the stiff shaft beneath the heat between my thighs. Our shorts created a welcome friction. My mouth didn’t leave his and I slowly sucked on his lower lip before melting both of mine to his. He took the lead with our mouths while he let me conduct the building pleasure in our laps. His mouth moved over mine, drawing me into his with deep drags. When his tongue crossed the line, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I drew back, gripping his shoulders as anchors, and rolling against him. I slid my center down the heat of him, desperate to ignite us both.
“Keep that up, Mouse, and we’re going to have a problem.”
I nodded as my lids drifted shut. Continuing to ride him at the pace I set, I ignored his words. I was taking control of him, while his body was pleasing mine.
“Mmmm, baby, I like you taking what you want,” he growled, flexing his hands on my hips. He tightly squeezed, as if to stop me. “But Mouse, we don’t have to do this. We have ten months to discover one another the way we should have in the first place.”
The words spurred me onward. I made no move to stop, struggling as the storm in my lower belly grew to threatening proportions. His fingers dug into my hips, and he guided our rhythm with his fingertips. The friction under the seam of my shorts grew, the tension reaching a new height as I rubbed over him, searching for relief I hadn’t experienced with him yet.
“Like that, baby.” It wasn’t a question. He was telling me he approved of what we were doing. My mouth fell back to his but I couldn’t concentrate on two areas at once. As my eruption reached its peak, my mouth hovered over his without kissing him. I groaned against his lips, drawing his breath as my oxygen because I could hardly breathe. My body tingled with relief. He captured my lips as he stilled
me over him. The short jolt of his erection under me alerted me to his own release, and a moist warmth seeped between us. I felt like a vixen, as I’d cunningly taken what I wanted from him.
“You undo me,” he moaned against our combined lips, still pressed to one another, but not kissing.
“I was hoping to tame you,” I whispered.
“I think I want you to tame me,” he hummed. “But you make me wild instead.”
+ +
“Wait,” he said, reaching for my hand and stopping me in my tracks as we traveled a new path through the jungle. I stopped, thinking he heard something or saw something. Instead, he cupped my jaw and tugged me to him, kissing me deep enough to lose my thoughts, my breath, and my whereabouts. Then he pulled back, smiling slowly as if he savored the taste on his lips, and began trekking through the trees once again, as if nothing happened, as if he hadn’t just chipped away at my heart a little more.
“You seem to know your way around these woods,” he said, and for some reason, a Robert Frost poem popped into my head.
“Years of practice,” I grumbled. He twisted his head to glance behind at me.
“Tell me,” he asked, but then looked forward again to give me the freedom to speak.
“My uncle. I told you about him and his disappointment that he inherited me. I also mentioned how inappropriate he was at times, and it became more difficult to avoid him as I grew older.” I shivered with the memories. “He liked to play this game with me when I was younger and newly under his care.” My memory raced backward. His voice in my head.
“He’d tell me if I could get myself out of the woods, I would be free.”
