Page 40 of Leave Before I Love You
Eleven days we’ve been here with only each other to lean on. I close my eyes tight and pray that we’ll find a way to get out of here or that someone will find us and save us—savemefrom myself.
We have to leave.
I caress Henry’s face as he sleeps and stare at his beautiful, chapped lips, pressing mine gently to his so as not to disturb his rest.
Everything inside me screams in self-preservation—a reserve that’s dwindling more and more by the second.
We have to leave.
My eyes find Henry’s face again.We have to leave before I love you.
January 12th
Henry
Avery is already up when I wake up the next morning, sitting on the beach with her legs in the water as it washes up and around her. When I look closer, I see she’s giving herself the only bath we have these days, so I leave her to her privacy and work on collecting the water from our makeshift system instead. There’s not much, but something is better than nothing, and since we’ve been largely relying on the heavy dew since it hasn’t rained since we got here, the deficiency isn’t new.
But it is worrying.
I take a small drink, just enough to wet the membranes in my mouth so they aren’t sticking together and save the rest for Avery. I don’t know how much longer we’ll be able to go on at this pace, but I shove the thought aside for now. It’s not worth thinking about because, like it or not, there isn’t a solution.
“I’m done,” Avery calls, noticing me up here and realizing I’ve been purposely avoiding her.
I carry the hydration bag down to her and hold it out, but she shakes her head. “No, I’m good. You drink extra until you feel like you’ve gotten enough, and then I’ll take what’s left.”
“Avery—”
“Henry, do it. You’ve been allocatingmost of the water to me this whole time, and it’s starting to catch up with you. Your lips are chapped, and your eyes are sinking in. You’re majorly dehydrated. Drink.”
Rather than arguing, I comply. For one thing, she deserves the courtesy, and for another, I’m starting to feel like I’d do anything she asked, just to make her happy.
I’m not just noticing her now—I’ve always noticed Avery Banks. But this island has painted a complete picture of the woman she really is in a way our lives at home never could.
Don’t misunderstand. I don’t think she’sdifferent.
She’s still entitled and on her own schedule and work-averse in an almost startlingly selfish way. She flirts her way through town and sweet-talks her daddy into giving her more money and puts herself above others a fair amount of the time.
But beneath the surface, she’s always been soft in the center, a veritable statue in a blowing wind of friendships and life and circumstances. For all her quirks, she’s still one of the most reliable people I’ve ever known and never begrudges you the space to feel your feelings. She doesn’t judge, even as she’s judged relentlessly.
There’s a reason her friendship with June transcends decades and a reason her family would do anything for her, and it isn’t because they’ve all got their heads in the sand. These are smart, caring people.
And they pay enough attention to know Avery is too.
Being here has acted as a highlighter, emphasizing her compassion, humanity, and humor over the rest of it.
I hope I can be what she needs until someone finds us. I hope…someone finds us.
Thirst finally satisfied—but stopping before making myself sick—I hand her the pack, and she drinks until there’s a small amount left for later.
When she finishes, she closes the top, tosses it up onto the sand by our always-smoldering fire, and turns around to face the infinitewater, stretching her limbs. She’s skinnier than she used to be—not that she was plump to begin with—and her skin is nearly tawny.
I step forward and wrap my arms around her from behind, pressing my chest to her back, and she falls into the gesture with ease, leaning her head back on my shoulder and sighing.
“You know, this place would be beautiful if it weren’t such a shitty situation.”
I nod.
“I wonder how far outside of the realistic search grid we are,” she remarks then, her voice flat.
