Alaska
I'd heard Ezzie talking quietly, but she'd been doing that quite often-- as she stated, loudly, that she was going to find plants, I was relieved that I'd have alone time.
I flicked my eyes open, listening as Ezzie exited the tent, her feet making soft shuffling noises against the dirt outside. As the footsteps trailed off, I released a breath.
"Hey," I jump at the sound of this voice, and at first I thought it was Chris-- only because the speaker was distinctly male. "I'm Mark. McSugar."
I roll myself over, careful to avoid both my burned and contused legs, and stare at the boy in front of me. With sandy hair, this kid had bags under his eyes, but he was handsome-- I'd seen him before, on the plane. I blinked, and realized that I hadn't replied.
"...Alaska," I croak out, flinching at my own voice. Weak. Pathetic. I could barely even talk, what made me think I could provide fruits for everyone? That's what landed me here, anyways.
"So..." he pauses, glancing over me, and raises a brow, "fell from a tree, huh?"
Furrowing my brows, I force myself into a sitting position, and clear my throat, "And from the sky, in a plane going over 200 miles per hour."
"Really? So did I. Coincidence?" He smiles, as if he were the funniest person on this God-forsaken island, and crosses his arms, "Anyways, I see Ma-homie's got himself a new gir-"
"Don't," I cut him off sharply, though I regretted it instantly. I didn't want to hear anything about the manipulating asshole that was called 'Chris'. "I'm not his girlfriend. Not that I would even want to be."
His lips part, as if he were about to remark back with something fiery and stupid, but he seems to stop himself, thinking better of it, "How's that leg?"
"Which one?" I snort, and pick at the bandage wrapped around my left knee.
Mark shrugs, and uncrosses his arms so he can touch his forehead, "Both?"
"I don't know," I reply, mimicking his movement by shrugging once, then rubbing at my eyes with the back of my hand, "Bad? Messed up? Here, let me go to the hospital real quick, see what the doctors think-- oh, wait, we're in the middle of dumbfuck Egypt."
"Woah," his eyebrows shoot up, and he raises his hands defensively, "I didn't-"
"No, no, I'm sorry, Mike," I sigh, and he cuts in with a quiet 'Mark', though I ignore it and shake my head, "I'm not in a good mood. First Ding Dong Dickhead screws me over, you know...manipulates me into thinking..." I trail off, purposefully, thinking that now wasn't the best time. "I'm just tired."
"I can tell," he murmurs, and I purse my lips together. "Ding Dong Dickhead. Interesting. Sorry. I-- hey, you're a little red. Do...I don't know, do you want to go and sit outside?"
I snap my head towards him, which was a bad thing to do, because it hurt my neck, but I ignore that and nod once, "That'd...be great. I think it'd be kind of hard to get out there, though, what with my legs. They hurt awful bad."
Mark cracks a smile, "Awful bad. I like that."
I thought he'd been joking, but his expression seemed real enough. I feel my cheeks warm up a bit, but I tell myself that it was just the heat.
"Oh, right," he stares at me for a second, then steps forward. "I can help you out there, if you want?"
"Please," I say with an exhale, "and thank you."
**************************
Instead of making Mike-- er, Mark parade me around the beach, I had him put me down near the water so I could rinse my hair out as best as I could, and decided that was good.
Near me, a couple of people sat, their heads lowered as they either cried or mumbled to themselves, some even playing with the sand.
I dip my hands into the cool water, then lift it to my face, rubbing it all over. I immediately felt better. Not completely, but slightly. It was a work in progress.
It took me maybe 20 minutes to completely soak my hair, and after that, I decided that I wanted to wash my body-- or, the parts I could reach. Pulling my shirt over my head, I twist myself around, and lean back until the top half of me is submerged in the water.
It was cool against my baking, caramel skin, and I wanted to stay like that for hours, but I knew I couldn't.
Firstly, I'd get sun burned. Secondly, my skin would turn into a raisin, from the water. Thirdly, if Ezzie found me out of the tent, she'd tan my hide. I didn't need my hide tanned anymore-- it was dark enough.
After pulling myself out of the water, with no support from my legs, I pull my dirty shirt back over my head, and sit there for a moment, observing my surroundings.
One of the kids near me, with their head between their knees, caught my attention. It was obviously a boy, with brown hair, and tanned skin. His shirt caught at the hem of his jeans, and pushed up a little bit, revealing an equally tanned stomach. My breath caught in my throat as I realized that I knew this person:
Chris.
I tear my eyes away, determined not get his attention, but a low, broken voice rasps out a weak, "Laska?"
I don't respond-- I simply sit there, staring out at the sea; watching as it beckoned me forward, into it's open arms that were made of tortured waters. I almost obeyed. I wanted to. I would, if I could walk.
He lied to me. He manipulated me. He didn't care about me. I didn't care about him. I didn't need him. He didn't need me.
"I-I know you can hear me," his voice is slightly closer now, and I was hoping that it was because the wind carried it towards me, but as I check from my peripheral vision, I see a boy with a tear-stained face crawling towards me; weak.
My father once told me that crying was for the helpless. I cried all of the time. Did that mean anything? I knew it did.
As I sat there, forcing my face to show no emotion, I scream at myself silently. His voice was desperate for something. Someone. Not me.
"Hawaii," his voice is pleading, now, and I'm confused because he was the tough guy. He was the one who didn't show fear, weakness, all of that. "New York, California, Virginia, Ohio-- I can't remember any other states, but please. Just...Alaska, listen to me."
"Why?" I growl, and turn towards him quickly. "So you can use me again? So you can kiss me, touch me, make me feel special, then go back to your girlfriend and forget all about me? What am I to you? A booty call? A toy? You can't do this. We're in the middle of nowhere, and you're pulling middle school stunts, Chris."
His face was contorted with pain-- though it was clear that the pained look wasn't from me snapping at him. Something had happened. He'd seen something. I didn't care.
Masking his pain, now, was a look of shock, "Al-"
"Please, stop," I cut him off, and forget all about kindness, forgiveness, hospitality...and just focus on my anger. My anger towards everything; my mother dying, us moving to the U.S., my father being too good for me, me not being good enough for anything, the trip to Africa, the crash...Chris for making me feel like I was actually good enough, for once. "I am so sick and tired of being treated like this. Like I'm just a rebound. I'm always second. I can't get what I want, ever. I can't do a nice thing without getting hurt in the process. I can't even climb a fucking tree without falling and hurting myself even more. So what, Chris? What do you want from me? What do I have to give to you? What is it that draws you back? Why aren'-"
I'm cut off by chapped lips and heavy breathing. Chris' lips were on mine, and for once, I didn't want them to be. After a second, I rip my face away from his, and wipe at my mouth roughly.
"See? You can't just fucking do that. You can't go around kissing girls randomly, and making them feel wanted, then running off and never giving them a second look," I spit, and glare at him. "Go find your girlfriend, and fucking leave me alone. I have better things that I could be doing."
...like laying on a cot made out of random objects, and being useless. Sounded better than being here. Still unable to stand, I begin crawling away, dragging my legs with me, hatred on my tongue and fear forcing my lips to tremble. Locking eyes with Mark, I slump onto the ground, and watch him make his way towards me.
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