Page 32 of These Rough Waters

The storm from that night was almost exactly like this and even with that fucking reminder, it’s still the brown haired, doe eyed girl in the cabin that consumes my thoughts.

Was this where obsession lies? Is this how it begins?

Blinking away the rain in my eyes, I steer the boat to the left in preparation to exit between the large cliffs standing sentinel at the mouth of the bay, the lighthouse at the edge of the landing shining its light just as a particularly violent wave rears and slams against the boat. I’m knocked sideways, feet slipping on the deck as I lose my balance and my shoulder rams into a pole, the joint cracking and whipping pain down my arm which told me I’d just dislocated my damn shoulder.

I grunt and grit my teeth against the pain, lunging back to the wheel to try and regain control of the boat as another wave tries to capsize me in the middle of the bay. Water floods the deck as the water breaches the sides of the boat and I struggle to keep control with only one functioning arm.

“Fuck,” I grunt, I needed to get my shoulder back in before I could do anything else. I wasn’t inexperienced when it came to dislocations or breaks, have had my fair share of them but doesn’t make it any damn less painful.

With the rough waters doing its hardest to take me down, I grab my arm, teeth gritting together so tightly it feels as if I may chip them and position my arm, my roar of pain muffled by the raging storm as I force the shoulder back into the joint. Sweat drips from my brow despite the freezing temperatures and my heart beats wildly against my ribcage.

What the fuck was I doing?

Fuck.

With the pain barely controlled despite relocating my shoulder, I tackle with the waves and the boat to turn back around, hitting full power as I’m continuously beaten by the wind and rain. The boat comes to a rocky stop at the docks and I’m barely able to get the engine off, but a couple of guys rush over, drenched through by the storm to help me anchor up. There are no words exchanged as we do it as quickly as we can and once it is secured, I attempt to make my way off the boat.

“Brace!” Someone yells but it’s too late.

The wave slams into the side of the boat with the determination of a vengeful god, as if the sea is angry it cannot claim a life today, and the boat rocks wildly to the side. With my hand clutching my injured arm, I am not prepared for the sudden tilt of the boat and my body falls to the side.

I don’t have time to react, don’t have time to try and correct myself. My body crashes against the side of the boat, knocking the air from my lungs before the momentum continues and I go overboard. My temple slams into the pier, the burst of pain sending a wave of fog through my brain before I vaguely feel the cold rush of water as the sea clasps me and drags me under.

It isn’t Grace I see in the dark depths of the ocean; it isn’t Leo.

It isn’t my life. Or the lives I’ve stolen.

It’s Maya. And she’s reaching out. Her dainty hand clawing through these rough waters as if she could reach me.

And she’s pleading. Begging.

She’s down on her knees and she’s asking to be saved.

Sixteen

Ifeel the tremors rattle my body, my muscles seizing and cramping with how hard they shake. Harper is hiding in the closet behind me, I can hear her sobs which she tries to stifle behind her little hand.

A glass smashes against the wall next to my head, raining shards down onto me, the tiny needle like pieces getting caught in my hair and causing little cuts against my face where they nick my skin.

“Please,” I beg, my voice a barely there whimper, my strength sucked from me. Tears don’t come, I have none left to give. All I’ve done is cry, all I’ve done is beg but it does nothing. He doesn’t like it when I cry either, which I suppose has trained me not to show that emotion in front of him.

“Where did you go!?” He demands, his anger raising his voice as he grits his teeth, spittle spewing from his mouth as he gets in my face and forces my back against the wall, his chest to mine.

“I told you!” I cry, “I had to get medicine! Harper isn’t well!”

“So where is it, Maya!?” He growls, nose against mine, “Where is it!?”

“In my bag!”

“You’re a lying little bitch,” He snaps, his hand suddenly coming up to grab a fistful of my hair to yank my head back while he raises his other hand to show me the glass he is holding, “You been whoring yourself, hm?” He spits, “You dirty little bitch.”

His anger leaves no room for defense, no room to explain and in the next moment he slams the glass against the wall, shattering it at the same time he forces my head back to take the brunt of the falling glass against my face.

I feel the sharp segments cut further into my skin, but there’s one piece that gets lodged in my flesh, on my left brow and I feel it as it slices through the skin, cutting it deeply as blood instantly begins to pour down over my eyes. I’d only just managed to get them closed to save my eyes from the glass.

“Look what you did!” He snatches away from me forcefully, whipping my head down hard enough I feel it jolt and an instant ache begins to bloom. Harper has gone silent.

Blood drips from the slice he caused himself on the palm of his hand and I can feel my own dripping steadily down my face, other smaller cuts stinging on my cheeks, chin, forehead and even scalp.

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