Page 18 of Waters that Drown Us
Together we watch the surface, the silence comfortable yet tense as we try to anticipate where the whales will pop up next. Emily sees them first this time.
“Over there?” she asks, like she’s unsure. Like she’s deferring to me and my expertise. I kick the boat back on and slowly make our way in the direction of the blows.
“Good spot,” I say, tapping my elbow to her arm. Her smile is genuine when she looks at me, keeping her arm pressed to mine in an agonizing moment of contact. I’m both thankful for and pissed as hell when one of the whales lunges, pulling our attention.
Their mouths jut from the surface, opening like claws and swallowing mouthfuls of water before sinking back below, like a bobbing buoy. The birds have started to join us, clusters of them diving for the same meal as their underwater dinner partners.
“Do they swallow all of that?” Emily asks, her stomach now pressed to the helm as she leans toward the scene in front of us.
“Humpbacks are baleen whales, which means they have long filaments instead of teeth,” I explain, like I do on the tours nearly every day. “They’ll grab a mouthful of krill and small fish, andthen expel the water through the filament, trapping their meal inside.”
“Fascinating,” Emily says, seeming genuinely impressed. And who wouldn’t be? These are some of the largest animals on the planet, consuming tons upon tons of some of thesmallestanimals on the planet.
I’ve been trying to track the members of the pod, but they’re not the group that has been hanging out here the last few weeks, so the markings are unfamiliar. But I have noticed that only three of the whales seem to be popping up for air right now. Which I hope means something spectacular is about to happen.
“Keep your eyes up, look wide,” I instruct, and Emily straightens out, taking everything I say seriously. I press my lips together, trying not to laugh. My chest is so full I feel like it could burst at any moment. I may not be able to show her much, but at least she’s not afraid right now.
Maybe it’s pattern recognition, or I’ve been doing this so long that the ocean recognizes me, knows I respect and love her. Because instinctually, I grab Emily’s hand and point toward a spot about twenty yards to our starboard, around three o’clock.
Right at that point, the smallest humpback launches himself from the ocean.
Emily audibly gasps as he arches from the surface, turning his body sideways and crash landing back into the water with an outsized splash. The waves rock the boat harder, and Emily reaches out with her free hand to grip the railing again. Which makes me realize I’m still holding her other hand.
She looks down at me, her smile so open and wide I swear I’ve never seen anything as beautiful. She laces her fingers with mine like she doesn’t even notice she’s doing it, her body shaking with silent laughter.
“What was that?” she asks incredulously, her tone so much higher than usual, coated in disbelief of what she saw with her own eyes.
“A breach,” I respond, my voice a little caught in my throat. “There’s lots of reasons we think they do that, but I like to believe that they’re playing with us. And each other.”
She’s not looking at the whales anymore. She’s watching my lips as they form my reply, and then her gaze sinks down to where our hands are interlocked before finding my eyes again.
“Thank you for taking me on an adventure, Pecas,” she mutters, her body suddenly so much closer to mine. That buzzing feeling is back, so much different than the adrenaline of seeing the whales. It’s like I’ve been electrocuted, and the current runs through her fingertips. I wonder what they would feel like all over my body, shocking me alive over and over again.
I get a taste of my daydreams. She lets go of the railing and drags her hand across my hip, pulling me gently even closer to her, using the motion of the waves to her advantage. I can feel her touch like a live wire through my clothes, and my vision becomes hazy with something that feels suspiciously like lust.
That guilty feeling of attraction to someone not pre-selected for me still lives deep in my chest, nipping at me. But I think whatever monster makes me feel that way is shocked into submission by Emily’s touch, especially when she drags her hand slightly higher, the motion exposing a sliver of my midriff. Her skin directly on mine makes the small hairs on my entire body stand on end, and I know she notices.
“Are you afraid right now?” I ask, because I honestly can’t tell. But over the past week, I’ve realized she enjoys it when I bite back at her questions or reply to hers with a cutting remark. She likes the fight, and I want her to like me right now.
Even if that’s a terrible idea.
“Of the ocean?” she asks, her touch slightly higher now, skating against the bottom of my ribcage. The little smile on her lips tells me she knows that’s not what I’m asking.
“Yes, of the ocean,” I breathe, trying to maintain my composure. Part of me hates that she’s so in control, so seemingly unaffected, while I can feel my bones being rattled by her touch. But the other part of me doesn’t hate it at all. That other, smaller, louder part of me desperately craves to feel vulnerable around someone who won’t take advantage of it. Who I know will take care of everything without seeing me as weak for it.
For some reason, like the delusion of a wretched, dying animal, I’ve come to believe Emily could be that for me.
“I think you’ve cured me,” she says, her hand now at the small of my back, like she’s a hair’s breadth away from lifting me closer to her. “Right now, I’m not afraid of anything. Are you, Pecas?”
Against my better judgement, I lift myself up onto my toes and bring myself closer to her, watching her eyes turn hungry.This is what attraction is supposed to look like, I think to myself as she scans my face, tracing every dip and line.
“Maybe I like being a little afraid of you.” Even though it’s true, I’m not sure when I realized it. There’s something alluring about the fact that she is stronger and smarter than me, that if she wanted to, she could hurt me. That shedoesn’twant to. I’d put all the money in my pocket on the belief that hurting me is the last thing in the world Emily wants to do.
It’s delusional. Certainly naive. But I want to believe it so badly that I see it written all over her face.
She leans down, so much taller than me it must be an inconvenience. My eyes flutter closed when she’s only a breath away, her lips so close to mine I can feel the heat of them. Everything else has faded away, and the places where we’retouching, or almost touching, are the only things that exist. The sound of her breath and my own heartbeat are the only things in my ears.
It hits me that I want her to touch me. Not just a kiss, not just a brief touch of skin. Those are things I shared with Ilya. I want more—I want what he never wanted to take, even when I offered. What I’ve had with no one else.