Page 16 of Wild Life (STEAM-y #2)

Flowers for Ghosts

Maris

In some cultures, bats represented transformation. It was believed that after slumbering all day in secrecy, they were reborn at sunset. Their reemergence was a sign of rebirth. Another chance at existence. A chance I hadn’t been awarded on the beach.

Hope had shimmered so vibrantly in my chest that I’d been sure anyone could have seen it from miles away at sea, like a star in a clear night sky. I had stupidly believed that I would be rescued within hours, so much so that I hurried Cryptid away after he’d brought me some fruit to keep on hand for nourishment. However, as the sun had set, so had my confidence.

No one had come. Not one airplane overhead. And a new dread had set in—the possibility that my team hadn’t been as lucky as I had to have survived the storm.

Lucky. I chuckled at the irony of the word. Sure, I was lucky to be alive. But was life worth living when you were invisible to the world, doomed to spend your days living somewhere no one knew existed?

It was like when people survived some sort of disaster, like a house fire. Friends offering their condolences always said shit like, “At least you’re alive,” or, “How lucky you must be!” all while the person who’d experienced the disaster stood there with nothing but the clothes on their back and the very real knowledge that their life might never recover from the plunge into misfortune.

People had said that kind of crap after my parents died, and it had always irritated me. My entire sense of security had been stolen from me, yet I was supposed to thank some dude who lived in the sky for sparing my brain from hemorrhaging upon impact, like my emotionally negligent parents’ had, and subsequently forcing me to be raised by my even colder and more distant aunt. If that was what luck meant, then slap my ass and call me Lady Luck .

I skinned another rambutan and popped it into my mouth. Juice exploded over my tongue when I punctured the flesh with my teeth, and the mild tartness made my lips pucker.

A moist nose shoved its way into my lap, nostrils vibrating and expanding at my stash.

“Hey!” The fruit had taken me all morning to harvest, and I wasn’t going to give it up easily. I turned away to escape the garbage-disposal-on-legs that was trying to attack my treasure.

There was no hiding food from the pig. He could’ve given those bougie truffle pigs they used in France a run for their money, except he probably would’ve eaten everything he found before it ever had a chance to make it to market.

I gently trapped his snout with my hand, and his eyes shot to mine as if I were keeping him from the only meal he’d had in a week, although he had just stuffed his gut with a hearty portion of the bananas that Cryptid had harvested for us. Leaning in, I held his innocent stare. For a giant creature, he was so juvenile. The more I was around him, the less I noticed his intimidating size.

I softened my voice. “I will share my treats with you if you calm down.”

His eyes darted between both of mine as if he understood my words, which was remarkable since he’d probably never heard another human speak in his life.

A loud grunt startled me. Cryptid stood in the doorway of the hut, watching my exchange with the pig. He had avoided me all morning, so I wasn’t shy about giving him a taste of avoidance, too.

“Good boy,” I praised, turning back to the pig. I removed my hand slowly and straightened up while he remained seated before me, no longer a frantic barge of huffs and snot. I quickly peeled away the spiky shell of a rambutan for him and tossed it in the air. He caught it and immediately swallowed it down, then resumed position. “See? Good things happen when you’re patient.”

I fluffed his ears and went back to peeling fruit for both of us.

Cryptid lumbered past as if I didn’t exist. As if we hadn’t spent the night in each other’s arms.

When I had returned to the hut, I’d been defeated. I should have stuck it out longer on the beach, but with every degree the sun had traveled closer to Earth with no sign of rescue, the harder the rejection had gripped my suffocating hope. Spending the night out on the beach was lonelier than when I had spent it outside in the hammock pretending to sleep.

My brain had been too tired of thinking, allowing my feet to take over and bring me back to camp. I didn’t know how I had remembered the way. It was like my body had been pulled on an invisible line that connected me back to the hut. Back to Cryptid.

I had given up. Then I had given in.

Like always when I was lonely, I’d found my way into a man’s bed. Except this time hadn’t been out of desperation. Instead, it was like coming home to a place where I could be completely honest and not worry about having to mask my childhood-trauma-turned-adult-dysfunction.

Despite his frequent attitude, Cryptid felt safe. And last night, he’d proven that he was capable of warmth. He had given me what I needed rather than me taking it like I always had from other men. And for the first time, I hadn’t used my body as a bargaining chip.

I was in the habit of trading sex for intimacy. Some believed the words were interchangeable—a common misconception. Sex was physical, the act of fucking, so to speak. But intimacy went deeper. It had the power to make you feel whole when sex left you incomplete, especially if you forced yourself to go through with it without having a real connection with your partner.

For once, I hadn’t offered myself up to a man like a platter of goods. I’d been truly vulnerable and received the intimacy I needed to ease my loneliness.

All of that had vanished when I woke up in an empty bed, yet again. And he had punctuated the insult by acting as if it had never happened.

It was almost as if I had imagined the entire thing—a dream. But I distinctly remembered how secure I was in his arms.

And I also recalled how his hard dick had pulsed against my thigh. He could pretend I didn’t exist, but he couldn’t fake an erection.

I watched him as he organized more wood against the hut. More specifically, I watched his loincloth shift as he bent over, hoping to catch a glimpse of the bulge that had pushed against my leg all night. My teeth sliced the rambutan in my mouth in half, and I used my tongue to dislodge the flesh from the seed.

The man might’ve been unfortunate to be stuck on a deserted island, but that misfortune didn’t extend to his length. Cryptid was a monster of a man with a monster dick, and I was too curious to see what it looked like. A quick peek.

Last night, I had demonstrated control in not straddling him in hopes that he’d hold me afterward, and that certainly deserved a preview of what I was missing. I had been a good girl, and good girls deserved rewards, right? Just a glance would do the body good.

It had been fully erect for much of the night, and it must’ve been painful to have gone that long without coming. Maybe that was why he was cranky. Did he know how to take care of his business ? He had to, right? It was something all men instinctively knew. I mean, if apes could do it on their own, certainly a man stranded should know how.

His cock sucked me so deep into the rabbit hole of dirty desires that I hadn’t noticed the pig gobbling fruit from my lap. I tried to push him off and failed, falling over as rambutans rolled in all directions around me. I opened my mouth to curse the lug out, but the seed inside went rogue and slipped into my throat. It traveled down my esophagus, but not without a fight. Coughs and gags racked my body, until I was on all fours, hacking like a cat with a furball.

When the tears finally cleared, I was face-to-dick with the loincloth that had distracted me almost to my death.

The cock’s owner stared down at me with nothing but a raised eyebrow, as if I were an idiot.

Not funny, Universe.

I scowled and stuck out my hand. “A little help here?” My voice was still hoarse from escaping death.

Instead of being a decent human being, Cryptid ignored me and walked away.

“Jerk,” I muttered. That man was insufferable.

I pushed myself up and dusted off my palms and knees, watching him as he headed for the line of bushes. His hair was down and the old rubber band he used to secure his bun at the crown of his head was missing. I’d only ever seen his tresses loose when he was about to go to bed, and I had never really taken the time to appreciate them. Luscious, wild waves cascaded down his neck, the tips grazing his broad shoulders. He was a darker version of Tarzan, both in appearance and in mood.

He examined the full blooms dotting the wall of dark green leaves. He plucked two ruby-red hibiscuses and turned to the side, his profile visible as he brought one of the flowers to his nose and inhaled. Fleetingly, he resembled a little boy, his innocence visible in that hard exterior.

My heart softened as I approached him. “Those are beautiful,” I said. “Going on a hot date or something?”

He faltered at my voice, shuffling backward. I had intruded on a personal moment.

I held my breath as his lips parted, expecting miraculous words to escape. Only, nothing came out. Instead, he walked off.

“God, I wish he could talk to me,” I said aloud to no one in particular, and the pig snorted. I turned my focus to the black-and-beige spotted bundle sitting on his hind legs, begging me for more treats. I stooped before him and patted his head. “Reading your friend’s mind is exhausting. How do you do it all day?”

The pig grunted. How was it that this animal with hooves could carry on a conversation better than his human?

“Where do you think he’s off to?” I asked my animal companion.

All I was met with was a blank stare.

“I don’t blame you. He doesn’t really tell us anything, does he? How about we find out ourselves?” I patted my thighs, and he stomped excitedly. “Let’s go.”

We followed behind at a safe distance. If Cryptid could hear us, he didn’t let on. I was rather surprised, between the pig’s hobbling and my clumsiness, we made more noise than a train.

The trees with the mysterious tick marks were on our right, and I was immediately filled with overwhelming heaviness. My fingers involuntarily skidded over the grooves as we passed by. I didn’t know what it was about them, but a sense of foreboding twisted my guts into knots. The trees communicated deep grief, telling me a heartbreaking story.

The island had a way of speaking louder than its inhabitants could, like it had a life of its own.

The brush thickened, making it harder to tail my target while still maintaining ample distance between us. The pig had a tougher time wading through the vines on the ground, and every so often, I’d have to stop and untangle his legs.

Jeez, where the hell is Cryptid going?

There were too many trees to see clearly. I had lost him, but the pig still trotted along, and I trusted that at least he knew which way his companion had gone.

I was ready to give up this spy mission and head back to the hut when I spotted him through the leaves. There he was, hunched over on his knees, his shiny locks covering his face like a curtain. He held the two flowers in either hand, resting them on his lap.

Two dirt beds lay before him side by side, separated by a line of small rocks. They were too perfectly arranged to be natural. Someone had created them intentionally—like graves.

He set the flowers down by his side and pulled at the weeds that tangled over the soil, working diligently and exercising so much care in cleaning the beds—gardening with no garden. Then he carefully scooped up and covered the beds with new soil.

Gently, he laid a flower on each fresh bed and stared at them for a while. I could finally see his face as he turned it to the sky, eyes closed and hands resting on his lap. He was so still, he didn’t seem real anymore—like a carved statue posed deep in prayer.

The pig was restless at my side, his legs wrapped in weeds. He let out an angry grunt, disturbing the peace.

Cryptid’s focus shifted toward me, pricking me with its sharpness.

He stood up and stalked closer. His size overwhelmed me.

“Umm, I was looking for…”

My mind raced as I stared wide-eyed back at him, hoping an excuse for my nosiness would present itself, but I was never fortunate enough for things like that to happen. Being on the island was proof of just how unlucky I was.

“The trees.” I pointed up to the canopy that enveloped us. “They’re interesting, huh?”

He glared at me, clearly seeing through my bullshit. Then he stormed off, leaving me with the ghost of whatever emotion had gripped him moments earlier.