Page 23

Chapter 23

Lillian

“ A lright. Here’s how we’re going to do this.”

Erik’s been quiet all dinner—even more than usual, which is saying a lot, considering he’s barely spoken to me all week. I thought we may have gotten over the whole “stay away from me, temptress,” phase of our relationship when we decided to teach each other life skills earlier today, but that must have just been a fleeting fancy for my Viking camp counselor.

I’m beginning to think that’s all he is. Hot one minute, cold the next. I wonder which came first: the Kraken possession or the mood swings. Would he be less contradictory if the curse was broken, or was he broken before?

It’s hard to think he’s a bad person, not when it’s obvious how much he doesn’t want to hurt me. He winces whenever our hands touch, and then winces at the wincing, like he feels bad for letting his regret show when he can’t stick to his own strict no-touching policy.

He faces me full-on when I speak, and for the first time in hours I make eye contact with the man. He has circles under his eyes, something I’ve noticed has gotten worse the longer we’ve been avoiding each other.

“How we are doing what?”

“Teaching you to read,” I answer. Duh, I want to say, but he didn’t have TV during the 90s and likely wouldn’t understand the slang.

His language is so proper. I haven’t heard him use a contraction once the entire time we’ve been cozied up together. I’d like to teach him some more modern speech, but sadly all of the books he’s got in his collection are from forever ago, like he started collecting them in the 1940’s. I’d kill for a book that came out in the past decade, but I’m pretty sure the newest volume in his collection was published in 1978, and it’s a historical romance. So we’re out of luck.

I wave the worn mass-market paperback of The Highlander’s Pirate Bride at him, the faded, oil-painting cover of a dark-haired Fabio type clutching a skinny, big-breasted, raven-haired beauty in a peasant shirt, her back bowed over his muscular forearm like he’s dipping her in a tango. The red-tinted sky glows in the flickering light of the cooking fire, which I just freshly stoked to give us more light to read by.

It’s the light that I’m worried about. Out here on the shore of Lake Superior at night, the water sucks every ounce of light from the sky like an inkblot. With the fire, we can see well enough to eat and drink and avoid bumping into each other, but it’s not ideal for reading. Especially this old, tiny print.

While I’d initially thought we could sit side by side and sound out the words one by one, my fingers cast shadows over the text whenever I try. So I had to come up with a new plan.

I pat the furs beside me, laying down so my hair (which is still wet from my evening bath) can dry closest to the fire, with my feet brushing the angled wall of our teepee-like shelter. “Come on over and lay down. I’m gonna hold the book up like this–” I demonstrate, straightening my arms and tilting the open paperback so it catches the full force of the fire’s light above my head– “and we’re going to read together. You’ll follow along with your finger as I read aloud each word.”

I tilt my head back, squinting at him sitting behind the glow of the flames.

“I am to… lay beside you?”

“Yes.”

I figured he’d have a problem with that. I’ll admit, the light source is not my only reason for choosing this position. I want to force him to face his hypocrisy a little bit. I’m tired of being treated like some teddy bear he’s trying to grow out of.

I know he likes me. He’s said as much. And I’m going to force him to start showing me he’s not disgusted by being close to me.

I suspect this has something to do with the monster, which is why he hasn’t said anything about it. He seemed so happy, so relieved when we had sex and it didn’t draw out Phorkys. I want to remind him that it’s possible for us to be close without triggering the monster inside him. That we can be friends.

Maybe more than friends.

At least friends-with-benefits.

Because, let’s be real, I’m not about to read this steamy pirate fucking novel again without getting a little physical relief. And, considering Erik and I are rooming together for the foreseeable future, he’s going to have to rein in the monster long enough for me to get off in his presence.

Finally, he rises from his seat on the other side of the lean-to and lays himself down on the fur beside me, his long hair fanning out next to mine. I wasn’t sure how I felt about his 80’s rock band hairdo when I saw him on the beach that first day, but I’ve gotten used to it now, and it’s actually kind of a turn-on. I like that I was able to grip it when he was eating me out, and the way it fell over us when he pushed himself inside me, tickling the sides of my face and my chest as he moved, was pretty hot.

It reminded me of when some of my past boyfriends used to tell me how they liked my long hair. I thought it was just because they liked to hold it like a ponytail when I’d give them a blowjob, but I’m beginning to think there’s more to it than that. It’s not just a convenient handle. There’s something sensual about the strands falling around your lover’s face, framing their eyes and the curve of their jaw…

“What now, Lillian?”

I blink, Erik’s expectant face swimming into view as I refocus on the task at hand.

I clear my throat. “Right! Um… let’s start with chapter one, I guess.” I flip past the title page. “Here we go. I’m going to read aloud slowly, and I want you to move your finger to point to each word as I say it. Okay?”

He nods wordlessly, and raises his index finger to the pulpy, cream pages and points as I read the heading.

“Chapter One. Boarded by the Pirate Queen.

“The water’s gentle waves were red on the night of the attack. The glow of the sun’s yellow light was hazy behind the smoke of cannons…”

My pace is glacial at first. With every word, I take a little pause, indicating to him that it’s time to scoot his finger forward. At first, Erik furrows his brow in concentration at the end of each word, waiting for me to stop before moving to the next one. Eventually, though, I’m able to increase in speed as he adjusts to the cadence of my voice and is able to match the sounds more quickly.

We’re a few paragraphs in when he stops me.

“What is that word?”

“Lieutenant?”

“Say it again.”

I sound it out, more slowly this time. He scrunches his nose, and I suppress a smile. The fact that his face can look so cute when he’s confused is ridiculous. If I weren’t holding a book, I’d want to pinch his cheeks.

“There are three letters between the L and the T,” he says, “and none of them make the “oo” sound. Why do you say them like O’s?”

I explain that sometimes, multiple letters together make different sounds, and we spend the next few minutes finding more examples that I sound out for him. Shore. Cruel. Waist. Through. Breathe.

“Why does the letter E sometimes get spoken, and sometimes not?”

“That’s called a silent E,” I explain. Although, as I say it, I realize it doesn’t actually answer the question. “I’m not sure why, exactly. English can be weird sometimes.”

I chuckle to myself when I say “weird,” remembering that it’s one of the words I’d always misspell because it breaks the “I before E” rule we were taught in English class. When Erik raises his eyebrows in question, I shake my head.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just funny. I guess I haven’t thought about how tough reading and writing can be since… well, since I was learning. It’s been a while.” I turn on my side a little, until it’s easier to meet his eyes. I let the book fall to my hip, holding the page with the thumb of my right hand while I prop myself up on my elbow. “You said you read these books before.”

His cheeks turn pink, and it makes me want to pinch his cheeks all over again. How can someone so undeniably manly look so boyish in certain lighting?

“I can understand some of the words. The simple ones. I have other books at my more permanent shelter… ones I believe are intended for children. On long summer afternoons, when I was too tired to work or had completed all of my preparations early, I would go between practicing on my own and attempting to read the stories that were more appropriate for an adult.”

“That’s really impressive, Erik.”

“People have lived and campled on these lands for many years, Lillian. I have overheard many conversations, and witnessed many children learning from their parents. It is not impressive that I was able to glean the meaning of some words in so long a time.”

“But you were alone,” I argue. “Anything is hard to learn without a good teacher.”

He swallows, and a shadow passes behind his eyes, almost like he’s keeping something from me. I wish he wouldn’t do that. I know that I have no right to hear his whole life story, as I’ve only known him for a little over a week, but I feel like he already knows me better than most of the people in my life back in Chicago. Other than Tiffany and my therapist.

“You can tell me, you know. If it has to do with the monster. You can be honest with me.”

His eyes shine with emotion, and his voice cracks when he opens his lips. “I cannot.”

“If you can’t tell me, who can you tell? We’re both cursed, Erik. We’re both stuck here.”

“But you can be saved.”

“You could, too. If you just trusted me–”

“I wish you would refrain from speaking of this,” he says, sitting up abruptly. I follow, wrapping an arm over his shoulders and trying to parse out the look on his face, but it’s hidden behind the shadow of his hair.

“It isn’t right that you deal with it all alone. I can help.”

“You are already.” He faces me then, and that’s when I see it. Tears fall silently down his cheeks. His calloused hand grips my thigh as he takes a deep breath and continues. “You are right. It is unfair to you, to resist your charms so inconsistently. It gives you the wrong impression.”

“What’s the right impression?”

“That I cannot be with you in the way I want to. Because He…” He closes his eyes, tilting his head down with a pained expression on his face. I reach up to smooth the lines creasing the corners of his eyes, wanting to see the understanding dawn on his face when I say my next words.

“Erik, I want you. I want to be with you. And I believe that you’re strong enough to be with me.”

“But you do not know,” he pleads, grabbing my hands and cradling them between his. “What if I hurt you? What if He hurts you?”

I will not hurt Lillian.

We both jump at Phorkys’s voice. Fuck, I forgot how low it is, how gravelly and all-consuming, and how it makes my whole body tremble with its power. Maybe it’s because I was only half-conscious last time I heard Him, or maybe it’s because we were underwater at the time, but now that I’m fully aware of everything that’s happening and not in denial about the curse…

It’s a lot. It’s scary. I see my fear mirrored in Erik’s eyes as we stare at each other, unblinking, as if maybe, if we stay as still as fucking possible, the monster will leave us alone.

A low, long-suffering sigh seems to fill the entire shelter, almost as if the earth itself is taking a breath. And then something absolutely crazy coo-coo bananas happens.

A tentacle brushes my cheek.