Page 27 of Hate Wrecked

“I guess that’s why all the basins were left. So he always had rainwater to drink. It’s always raining here.”

I stare into the distance, following Rowan’s gaze. Another storm is coming in, and we will have to take shelter. It’s getting harder and harder not to curl up close to him at night in our tent.

Does he think sleeping next to me hurts? Does he want to reach out to me, too?

“Can we leave the tent open a little tonight so he can come in if he wants?”

Rowan grunts but nods. “I think he’s used to the storms. But maybe he will like being near someone.”

Too? I think, but don’t dare say. Do you like being near me?

“Have you set out the basins?” I ask, thinking of our own water situation.

Rowan nods, poking the fire. It’s flickering out. I run a hand over my stomach. The fish was good tonight. Thank God for the spices left behind. Thank God for the flour. The fillets were crispy on the outside and delicious.

Food tastes best when it isn’t doctored by all the artificial shit we add.

I think of all the ridiculous and fancy meals I’ve eaten in five-star restaurants.

They can’t compare to what we have caught with our hands, tended to.

I know this feeling won’t last, and eventually, I’ll be so sick of fish that I won’t be able to stand the sight, so I savor the feeling.

Rowan catches me. “What are you doing?”

I stop rubbing my belly. “Thinking about dinner.”

“Are you sick of it yet?”

“Not yet,” I reply. I’m not sick of any of it—of sleeping beside him, of playing out a fantasy in this dangerous world.

I’m starting to wonder what the hell is wrong with me. A question I have asked myself my entire life. But this time, I’m not as concerned.

“I think my mother would love it out here. Sometimes, I see it play out like a movie. She and my dad are here, filming a survival tale or living it—a team. I’m not foolish enough to wish they were still together.

I know they weren’t a match, but for a brief moment, they were.

Do you think we have soulmates? Do you think there can be more than one? ”

Rowan looks at me with a narrowed gaze as his eyes catch up to the words tumbling out. He’s studying my mouth in such an intense way I almost forget what I asked, and wonder if his mind went back to earlier, when I was naked, close to him.

“I do.”

“It breaks my heart that they weren’t each other’s,” I admit. Another reason I’m terrified to read her book.

“Maybe we get more than one. Or maybe we don’t always end up with ours. Not forever.”

“What’s the point then?” I huff. “Should I be looking for my soulmate and wondering how long he will hang around?”

Rowan contemplates his answer, and I’m transported to a place and time when I wondered if he was mine. I still wonder. I don’t dare allow myself to say I think he is. Because if his idea is true, and we don’t end up with ours, I can’t take it.

It’s hard enough to take the space between us now.

“I don’t know.” He looks down, then at his hands, before turning away from me and my wondering, away from my hand resting on my belly—full yet empty at the same time. He fills me up; I want him to fill me in every way. Take me on this sand, this vacant land.

Anything to stop my mind from swirling.

“Sorry. I just…I feel good out here, and I know you don’t understand that. But when I look at this place, I feel free to say whatever I want and wonder and…” I close my eyes, feeling the storm moving closer.

“And?”

I look at Rowan, daring him to turn away. “And be whoever I want.”

He doesn’t look away, standing, eyes turning cold. “Riley, I need you to pull your head out of the clouds and think about what’s happening here. There’s no one coming for us. There’s no way to radio home. This is where the story ends.”

I stand, defiant, anger in my eyes. “My parents will look for me. They’d never let me stay out here for long.

Being their daughter has brought so much fucking pain, but right now, maybe it’ll be a good thing.

Because as fucked as they can be, they love me.

And they will never let anything happen to me. They won’t let me be lost at sea or?—”

“Or what?”

I shake my head, guilt washing over me over the phone call I never made. “Lost. They won’t let me be lost. They’ll do whatever they can to track me down. You’ll see.”

I don’t stay by the fire with him; his warring emotions are too much. The desire I felt in his eyes in the water—his anger now. I don’t have to take it. I won’t.

So I leave the fire, walking inside the building, to the tent, looking for another escape.

Not long ago, it would have been a drink, pills, calling someone to touch me, make me forget who I am. But I’m different now. Something about this island has made me different. And no amount of anger from Rowan Finn will make me feel guilty or sad I feel good out here. Because I do.

Once I locate my Walkman deep in my bag, I pray to God or whoever that it still has a charge and didn’t get damaged in the wreck.

I watch Rowan by the fire through the door as I unravel the cord of my headphones, sliding them onto my head.

When I press play, music fills my ears, and I almost sigh. And maybe I do, because I see Rowan turn sharply to me.

When I see him stand, I close my eyes.

“Does that thing work?” Rowan asks, walking into the building. I nod my head, pulling the headphones off. “Yeah. I’m only going to listen to one song at a time, though. I want to preserve the battery.”

“What are you listening to right now?” he asks, walking closer, his version of an apology.

I pat the blanket and offer him the headphones. “Come listen?”

It’s an intimate thing, sharing music with someone. Or at least, it’s a very intimate thing for me. Music is my love language; it’s in what I sing, what I listen to, and what I write—though nearly everything I write is secret. Rowan knows what it means to me. It’s how we bonded and came together.

He can’t help himself. He walks to me, sitting down on the blanket, his arm grazing mine. I hand him the headphones, and he puts them on, pressing against me.

I had the volume up, so I can hear the Mazzy Star song swell. But I restart it. I’ll waste the tiny little bit of battery it takes to go back to the beginning so he can hear it as I did. Every bit—as it’s supposed to be.

He smiles a little, and the wrinkles around his eyes are beautiful. “I like this one.”

I want to lean into him as her voice lulls us. Fade into him, the way the song suggests.

I love him still, wholly and sadly.

We sit in silence, the slow tapping of Rowan’s finger on his knee, the slow swaying of my body. I make sure not to bump into him, scared to frighten him off after our fight, and the way I tried to tempt earlier.

It’s rare to be side by side with the love you lost. It’s rare to have that chance. And fate handed it to me; Rowan did not offer it.

That’s the rub, the writing on the wall. In the sand…

When the song ends and “Into Dust” starts, I feel him tense. I don’t stop the song—just one isn’t enough with him—and I’m transported back to the hood of a car the year the song came out, his hand in mine.

I know he can feel it; I can sense it in his stillness, the way his eyes wander toward me for even a moment.

I reach across the space and rest my hand on his knuckles. His clenched fist tenses, and his head hangs—an offering. His hand moves, flips around, and he threads his fingers with mine. But he doesn’t look at me.

Not yet, and maybe he won’t.

Maybe slipping into the past is enough, all he will give me.

I get five minutes of closeness before everything fades out.

Before the song can end, Rowan takes the headphones off, dropping them as he stands.

“Thanks for the song,” he mumbles as he walks away, out the door, to the waves, down the shore.

I wait for him as the song fades out, as the sun fades away.

When it ends, I turn off the Walkman, slip it back into my bag, and head toward the fire, gazing down the shore.

I don’t see Rowan, as expected, but I do see his notebook open next to his pile of belongings.

The temptation to open it and see what he’s always scribbling in there is strong.

Does he write of us, or is it all just facts and figures about the lives of two stranded people on an island?

I wish I knew. Before I can stop myself, I make the decision to look.

I’ll glance. Just one glance.

That’s all I get before I hear Rowan coming. But not before I see my name in his handwriting.

With one word close by. Hate.