Page 33 of These Rough Waters

“Trevor,” my voice cracks, “I didn’t do anything.”

His scathing eyes pin me in place, “No, the only thing you’re good for is laying on your back and spreading your legs.”

I swallow at the intent his words promise, “Trevor…”

“Come on now,” He growls, “Get on the floor and pull up your skirt…”

I’m jolted from the memory when I hear the hollers of men coming from outside, their shouts filled with a sort of urgent terror that has me moving from the couch where I’d been lost in a daydream, or nightmare rather.

It’s quiet. The peace. I’m not used to it, and with Harper at school and the little cabin I’m calling home empty save for me, my thoughts have time to wander, to drag me back.

That particular memory is one that haunts me most nights and it wasn’t even the worst thing he did to me, but it was the one that stuck the most. And I knew why.

Shaking off the tremors it left behind, I get up from the couch and rush to the door, opening it a crack to see what was going on.

The rain has been relentless since I woke up alone on the couch last night. I don’t know when I fell asleep or what time Torin left, but the fire was but a burning ember by the time I moved from the couch to my bed. The rain was pounding against the roof like it was ready to break through it, the creaks and groans of the wood in the building sending shivers down my spine.

Across from me, the sea sends white spray soaring into the sky, the angry grey skies setting an ominous backdrop behind the lighthouse across the bay as the waves smash on the jagged rocks, and the icy water reaches high into the air before it slams back down and does it again, and again.

I could only see the ocean as angry. It wasangryand lashing out, the wind and rain its violent friends.

But I draw my eyes to the group of men as they rush and shout, their bodies leaning dangerously far over the water as they look at something beneath them.

My brows pull down as I try to figure out what it is they are doing, but then I hear it.

“Torin!” One of them yells, “He’s gone under, I’m going in!”

Someone screams for the man to stop but he doesn’t, and he jumps before anyone can stop him. I find myself moving, legs rushing me through the rain and puddles, instantly getting drenched as I close the gap between the cabin and the docks.

Torin’s boat angrily rocks in the water.

“Ma’am!” Someone shouts, “Stay back!”

“Torin!?” I gasp as I catch a glimpse of the man who jumped in fighting against the rough waters with an unconscious man clutched in one arm. He was so big compared to the older gentleman, his body too large to be carried in such a way but the guy manages it, swimming a short distance towards a rope ladder that disappears into the darkness of the sea.

I rush over before anyone else, dropping to my knees with a crack to help get a grasp on the unconscious man.

He was bleeding from his head, the watery stream of crimson turning my stomach as my fingers grasp the wet material of his white shirt, but I can’t lift. He’s too heavy.

“Pull!” Someone orders as more hands come down to join mine, grasping Torin wherever they can reach so they can tug him from the water and onto land.

He lands on his back far harder than he should have but it’s an instant reaction and he abruptly turns himself, spewing sea water onto the ground as his body heaves it out.

“Torin!” I let my hand fall between his strong shoulders, rubbing as if to aid him to empty his body of the water he swallowed.

“The storms too strong to get to the mainland,” I hear someone say. “He needs a hospital,” another asserts.

“No. Hospital.” Torin wheezes out, “No. Travel. Too dangerous.”

“Torin,” Someone sighs.

“I said no.”

“Torin,” I say in hopes of gaining his attention as I shuffle around until I’m at his front, one hand still on his back so I’m leaning over him, “Hey, look at me.” I order gently.

“Maya?” He wheezes.

“Yeah, it’s me.”

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