“Which is the most important part! Don’t you get that?” I’m yelling now. “I’m stuck here with someone I thought I could trust. Now though, I realize that I know nothing about you. I’m such an idiot!”
“No, you’re not.”
“Yes I am. God, I can’t believe I was falling for you. I’m so stupid!”
He looks up at me, startled.
“You were?”
I nod, crying so hard now that my shoulders are shaking. Tom says nothing. He just stares at me, his blue eyes anguished. A little part of me ridiculously wanted him to tell me he’s falling for me too, but instead he just stands there looking at a loss.
“I want to leave. Now,” I say, not making eye contact.
He nods and pulls out his cell phone. God, that stupid phone.
“John,” he says into it, after speed dialing a number. “Where are you guys?”
Tom is silent while the man on the side of the phone talks.
“Can you be here tonight? Alright, well whenever you can.”
He hangs up and looks at his feet.
“They can be here tomorrow morning.”
“I’m going to stay here until then,” I tell him, looking at the wall. “At the main house.”
“Brynn…”
“No,” I interrupt. “Please just go away.”
“Brynn,” he tries again. “I want you to understand.”
But I continue staring at the wall, and refuse to acknowledge him. Sighing, he turns and walks out of the door.
“Fuck!” I scream once he’s out of earshot. Then, unable to help myself, I break down into hysterical sobs. It’s ugly but it helps me feel better. I cry for a long time and manage to fall asleep for just a couple hours before the sun shows itself through the windows.
A ship arrives as the beach becomes pink with morning. A beautiful and luxurious yacht glides next to the small getty, and after a long night of little sleep, I stumble down to the dock.
“Quite a supply ship you have here,” I say venomously to myself.
The man looks confused.
“We don’t do supplies. This is Mr. Masters’ personal yacht. Now Miss, are you Brynn? We have instructions to bring you wherever you’d like.”
Tom isn’t here, but at least he thought to instruct his crew. I sit down, still a bit pissed, and tell the captain to please take me back to the main island. He and the crew seem undisturbed by my presence and carry on as always.
The trip to the main island is quick, and watching the waves, I feel more depressed than I ever have in my life. I watch as St. Brigid grows smaller and smaller in the horizon and swallow a lump in my throat. Don’t feel this way, the voice in my head says. You’re better off not knowing him. Still, I miss Tom, even as I try to clamp down on the emotion.
There’s a small crowd of people waiting for us at the dock. Simona is in the front, tears streaming down her face, and I feel so guilty because she looks pale and tired.
“I thought you died,” she wails, throwing her arms around me. “Everyone on the cruise ship was looking for you for twenty-four hours! Imagine how we felt when we heard you were safe!”
“I’m sorry,” I say, holding her tightly. “I’m alright, I’m fine.”
She hiccups and pulls me close, her thin arms like steel bands around me. The rest of the day is a blur. I’m escorted to the embassy to make sure everyone knows I’m alright. I have a soul crushing phone call with my parents who alternately cry and blubber with relief. By the end of the day, I’m exhausted and tired. I collapse on a makeshift bed they’ve given me, and close my eyes but even now, the only thing I can think about is Tom. His blue eyes laughing down into mine, his touch driving me crazy, and the comforting feeling that I was home when I was with him. He broke my heart, but then again, it was me who was too trusting. So why do I feel so horrible leaving the way I did?6Brynn* * *One month later.
There’s a knock on my door, which startles me. I wearily drag myself off the couch and trudge to answer it. I never realized how tired depression can make a person because my legs feel like they’re made of concrete, even as a five-hundred-pound gorilla sits on my shoulders. Opening the door, I lean against it as Simona holds up a pizza, a worried expression on her face.
“Hey girlfriend. You look bad. Have you been eating?”
“Yes,” I say shortly, standing back to let her in.
“Sure you are,” she responds, waltzing in. Her brown eyes scan my apartment.
“You bought a TV,” she asks incredulously.
I shrug. “So what?”
“You hate TV, Brynn. You’re so anti-technology that you wouldn’t even watch the TV at my place. But what do you have on?”