Page 3 of Tempted
When I got my driver’s license, I’d also taken a course to be licensed for a motorcycle because I knew I’d one day want the freedom they offered to explore the world around me. Apparently it was the smart choice because I’m starting right now, with this very island.
In preparation for escaping my parents’ house, I’d had notebooks full of photos I’d clipped of different bikes and other off road vehicles I wanted. These two were in the book all the way down to the customized colors dad’s had done. They’re beautiful and can technically be made street legal, while still being perfect for helping me access the rougher terrain of paths unpaved. Though, the island itself does have stricter rules prohibiting the operation of both on any public street, not that there appear to be many. I’ll have to shoot dad a text asking about street usage before I take either of them out on the road.
So, for now it looks like I’ll just have to be extra diligent in my travels. Instead of touring the island’s lengths, I’m going to throw on a bathing suit and hightail it off to the beach out behind the house for a swim and some exploration to find out what it is about this island that sparks that feeling of home and makes my skin feel tingly with anticipation.
Home sweet home,. It’s good to be back.
Chapter Two
Felix
Thetrekdownthepath between my cottage and this stretch of beach is actually lengthier than I anticipated. It’s not bad by any means, but it’s clearly not used often and not made for bare feet. It makes me grateful for my last second grab for my sandals. Some of these rocks look a little mean, like angry soldiers popping up to protect their kingdom, sharp enough to keep themselves safe against the rougher of the elements. Which means there’s zero percent chance I’m subjecting my poor little feet to the ground until I reach the sand.
There’s a bunch of them that are super unique in coloring, shape, and sheen though and my inner Nerd Goddess, the one who desires to learn something new at every available opportunity, really wants me to collect and study them. The overriding sense of leaving nature to its own peace wins though. After all, it doesn’t owe us a single thing. If anything it’s us that owe our planet significantly more respect.
If I caved every time I wanted to study something, I’d be the world’s biggest elemental hoarder. In fact, I sort of was when I was younger. I’d go on these long trips all over the world when my parents were working and I wanted so desperately to be a part of the action that after my studies were done for the day, I’d take myself on adventures and sneak away with some of the dig tools. Anytime I unearthed something I’d consider a treasure—usually stones and small fossils—I’d take it back with me and hide it in my bags to take back home.
Eventually my hidden treasure trove of goodies became too big and I got ratted out by our housekeeper when she found everything from pebbles to shells, to bird bones hidden under my bed. The bird bones thing sounds creepy, but I swear it wasn’t. I really wanted nothing more than to reconstruct them, pretending I were dealing with prehistoric beasts that would become the newest species findings amongst the earth.
My mother threw everything away that day, looking at me with so much disgust and disappointment that I decided that very day was the day she gave up on trying to love me entirely. She’d not bothered much before, but that was the day she decided to let hate win. I never really understood why either, because she did the same thing I’d been doing, she just did it on a much grander scale. I’d idolized the idea of her so much that I had only been trying to emulate her. It’s where my love of history began—with my mother.
Her collections were in museums and occasionally encased for display in our house. It broke my heart that she’d so callously take those things that were, in hindsight, so trivial and throw them in the trash for no reason other than to see me lose anything that mattered to me, and I told myself then that appreciating the world’s beauty didn’t always mean selfishly keeping it for myself.
One day I’ll be able to do it bigger and better than the ever pretentiousDr. Grace Reichmann and I’ll know the right moments to follow my inquisitive nature onto something big. Then she won’t be able to ignore my presence or take those findings away from me. She’ll be able to see what it feels like to be cast aside in someone else’s shadow. Petty? Definitely. I can’t deny how much I need to serve her up a taste of her own medicine though, no matter how petulant it makes me seem.
It’s a sad day when I allow these vengeful thoughts in, but what’s the point in fighting them anymore? I’ll always be alone, the only one cheering for me, and who cares if I’m good or bad when I’m the only person that can be hurt from it? My destructive thoughts are mine alone, right?
I’m not sure how other people deal with their intuition but I trust mine implicitly and one day it’s going to lead me to something completely life changing. I just know it. I can feel it deep within my bones and that should really be my focus, not so much of the “I’ll make her pay” variety.
It’s concerning how often I teeter on the line of finding success for myself and feeling the need to prove my worth to the world. Can I blame it on the emptiness I feel in my soul?
“Watch out!” A stranger’s voice calls out, catching me completely off guard since I was too lost to my own thoughts.
Unfortunately, my reaction time is too delayed what with me getting lost in my own inner monologue and I don’t, in fact, watch out. Instead I get hit in the forehead with an errant… frisbee? I pick it up off the ground and take a closer look, noticing it’s not a frisbee at all. It’s a boomerang.
Who plays with boomerangs over the age of ten?
“Oh shit! I’m so sorry!” The guy yells, and I can feel his approach getting closer, but I’m still stuck staring at the object in my hand curiously as if I can’t figure out how it hit me in the first place. He threw it at me, obviously, but why?
Feeling slightly faint, I blink my eyes rapidly, as if that’s going to fix it. I’m pretty sure I’m making that up as a solution but when my stomach dips like I’m going to be sick, I heave a deep breath and try to concentrate on the here and now instead of getting lost to whatever this sudden onset weirdness is.
What was I thinking about? The boomerang. The man. Why?
Seriously though, why do I feel so strange? It didn’t hit me that hard and yet it almost feels like I’m about to pass out. My head is foggy and my vision is getting bleary.
The air around me is thick with something I don’t know how to explain, but I can sense it, no doubt. Before I can let myself become engulfed in whatever this strange occurrence is, I shake my head and take a second to do some meditative breathing, allowing myself to recenter and focus on reality instead of falling into the push and pull of this odd sensation.
“I’m totally fine,” I laugh lightly, attempting to shake off whatever this dizzying feeling is, hoping against all odds that I don’t look like a total psychopath, not that it should matter when encountering a stranger who’s knocked me in the head with a children’s toy.. “It’s really not a big deal. Here’s your, uh, boomerang,” I tell him, handing off the offending toy turned assault weapon.
When I finally look up, it’s into the eyes of a man whose beauty knocks the breath from my body. The pull I feel toward him scares me, it’s almost… otherworldly, like I’m being sucked into a vortex and that thick foggy sensation grows stronger.
At the same time, my heart thumps with uncertainty and my skin tingles in warning as I do my best not to get sucked into this whirlwind of weird while all the breath is being pulled from my body as I stare at this man who feels like he’s been a part of my existence since the beginning of time while also being major stranger danger.
He appears to be slightly older than me, with skin so golden that it appears to have been kissed by Ra himself. That combined with his square jaw and eyes that are swirls of darkness speckled with flecks of gold, make it hard to discern his nationality. Not that it matters, but he’s so uniquely beautiful—flawless even—that my curiosity is piqued. His eyes are the only thing that set off alarm bells. They’re almost scary in appearance, made even worse by the trap you fall into when you get caught in them. It’s like he’s staring into my soul and attempting to steal a piece of it for himself.
He’s big—really big—he’s super tall and strong, lean in build, but out here on the beach with no shirt on it’s clear as day that he’s muscular. His stubble is dark black, the perfect match to his thick shaggy hair, and his nose narrow.
In other words, he’s like the lead character of a book. The problem is that I can’t figure out if he’s the hero or the villain with the way he’s looking at me. He looks torn between wanting to murder me and ravage me until we’ve both reached sexual heights neither of us have ever experienced. The thought alone makes me shiver.
