The words were quiet and slow, like they had been pulled unwillingly forward on a string, and I knew that was all I would get. But it was enough to let me understand much more had happened there that Tri didn’t want to talk about, and I wasn’t going to ask.
And I realized there was so much to this man I didn’t know. I’d barely known him for more than a day, even if it seemed like we’d been together for a lifetime at this point. And it was clear he had many layers beneath the tough and no-nonsense exterior.
The fish was done, and we ate it on large bamboo leaves using the rough chopsticks. It might have been the circumstances, but it was the best fish I’d ever tasted. Possibly the best food I’d ever tasted. Tri seemed to agree because he made a noise of pleasure in his throat, a low hum that echoed exactly how I was feeling.
Afterward, we rested. Tri worked on making more fishing flies out of the bamboo fibers as I lay back on one of the blankets. I could feel the sand beneath the rough blanket, the shifting peaks and valleys that gave way slightly as I lay back, smell the sun-warmed grains and salt of the surf in my nose, and hear the waves as they washed up onto the shore, then back out, its rhythm like a lullaby.
Exhaustion was still set deeply into my body, in the heaviness of my limbs, swirling around my mind like a blanket muffling my thoughts. Time seemed distorted, and I had to remind myself that it had only been just over a day since all of this had started. Of course I was still feeling the after-affects. I’d been through real trauma, being attacked, nearly dying, seeing others killed in front of me, stumbling across my dead colleagues, and then our escape only to be stranded alone on an island.
Why wouldn’t I still be exhausted?
I hadn’t even gotten much sleep between then and now.
But, oddly, and despite all that, I felt peaceful lying on the blanket under the sun for the moment.
I’d always loved the ocean and the beach, felt that they were a part of me, but I’d never been the kind of person to sit and sunbathe. There had to be a purpose for the beach; parties, boogie boarding, swimming, collecting samples, or simply exploring. But as I lay there on one of the blankets I’d washed so that it smelled a little less like fish, in panties but without a bra, I enjoyed the way the sun felt on my skin.
I had a full stomach for the first time in over a day, and we had shelter, fresh water, and even shade if needed. It wasn’t perfect and wasn’t a long-term solution, but at least it was okay for now.
It was strange to think that we’d fallen into his weird, domesticated situation with each other, and so naturally. What did it take to throw two entirely dissimilar strangers together and have them come together, sometimes wildly, to make do?
Escape from terrorists and being stranded on an island, apparently.
What I didn’t know was whether we would have been attracted to each other if none of this had happened. It was lovely to think we would have, but the reality was far different. This was a forced partnership, fraught with terror and the possibility of death, a situation in which we had had to rely on one another to survive. These were all powerful emotions, the likes of which I was sure psychologists would love to remind us pulled people together like magnets, only to pull them apart again once the danger had passed.
The line between love and hate was thin, I’d always heard. But I was beginning to feel that the line between desire and survival was even narrower.
How much of what we’d felt during our wild sessions last night and this morning, the covert looks and comments, the feeling of butterflies I felt when I looked at Tri, was an actual feeling, and how much of it was the situation?
I hadn’t had a boyfriend in a couple of years. Work took up too much of my time—it was challenging to keep up any type of relationship when you were traveling overseas and out of cell range more often than you were home.
More than that, I hadn’t met anyone worth the effort. My last boyfriend had been a dud, barely taking any more interest in me than his career at some tech start-up. Most days, I’d find him sitting at home watching TV, the dishes unwashed, the laundry sitting on the floor unfolded, and a half-eaten pizza on the table collecting flies. He’d told me he was “meditating on a problem.”
What had looked like brilliance at first had quickly turned into simple laziness and a detachment from the world I hadn’t been able to stomach. I’d ended it, moved out the same day, and never looked back.
But Tri seemed different from the other men I’d dated. He had, of course, saved my life, the idea of which gave me butterflies when I thought about it. He was the strong, silent type, smiles and laughter few-and-far-between. But I liked them the few times they’d broken out, a kind of boyish pull to his mouth.
And to say he was strong and gave off alpha vibes was an understatement. I’d watched him fight hand-to-hand with that bear of a terrorist. But he’d also stayed by his teammate’s side as he’d died, which said a lot about him.
Was all that what drove me wild about Triton Rusev? Some combination of maleness and dominance and strength I’d never experienced before? I’d always dismissed men like that as meatheads, but maybe I’d been wrong. Or, at least, I was wrong in this instance. Whatever it was, I could barely look at him without my hormones rising to dangerous levels.
I’d never, ever seen myself as someone who would sleep with a stranger. I’d had one, maybe two one-night stands early in my college career before I’d buckled down to earn my degrees. But between the situation and whatever Tri did to me and my hormones, it had changed everything.
Which begged the question; if we managed to get rescued or found our way off the island, would we still be together?
Probably not.
I had to face the facts. We were two very different people on two very different paths in life. I was a marine biologist who worked in various places all over the world, and he was a special operative. Most likely, not a man who was into settling down. Chances were, I wouldn’t see him again if we ever got off his island.
The way my stomach and chest tightened at that thought, reality though it was, caught me by surprise. Especially as the tightening became a dark, painful hole. But I had to steel myself. That was the reality, and I didn’t even know if we ever would get off this island.
I had to take it one day at a time.