Page 4 of These Rough Waters

I hadn’t cried.

Not once.

But the sting of those tears now threatens to spill over. My face was just a mess of aches and pains, swollen and puffy, and every now and then, the metallic taste of blood fills my mouth if I talk or eat. The raw flesh on the inside of my cheek was still incredibly sore, cut up by my own teeth when I took the several hits to the side of my face and that first day after the initial assault, I couldn’t open my eye.

I hadn’t seen myself in the mirror, but I knew I looked as bad as I felt.

Harper had cried and still cries when she looks at my face, her young mind unable to comprehend why this has happened.

I wasn’t ready to tell her that story, though I believe, in some sense, she already knows.

The boat slows and I stop staring at the man’s back to lift my chin, watching as we drive through a opening where the land stretches out into the sea on one side, and a cliffside reaches into the sky on the other. A lighthouse blinks on that flat piece of land but it was the only building there that I could see, the surrounding area condensed with thousands of pines that stretch towards the clouds.

We’re driving in for maybe another five minutes when the trees start to become fewer, and buildings take their place. The man brings the boat to a stop at the dock, several other boats already anchored up and bobbing on the now much calmer water of the bay. He says nothing as he starts pulling on rope and I move my gaze now to the island in front of me. There were only a few people I could see, and they paid no attention to us. Crates that looked like they had moving things inside were piled at the end of the dock and the smell of the sea, salt and brine permeated the air. Birds squawk loudly, wings flapping and gliding in the gentle breeze.

It was almost early evening, and the sun was slowly descending, turning the sky from blue to a mix of pinks and oranges, setting fire to the thick fluffy clouds moving lazily above us.

It was late September and while it wasn’t freezing cold, it was getting colder as the day falls into evening. I needed to find somewhere for Harper and I to stay in this small town for at least the next few nights while I figured out what the hell to do.

I chew on my lip, wincing when my teeth scrape a sensitive spot that was still healing and my stomach knots with anxiety.

I hadn’t thought about getting this far, just escape. That’s all that was important but now I was far, far away from them, I realize I should have planned this better.

“Out,” The order startles me from my inner thoughts and I whip my head around defensively, seeing that the man was now much closer. Instinctively, I curl around Harper before I force myself to relax and stand, coaxing her behind me.

The man tracks the move with his eyes, his predatory focus not missing a thing.

“Is there a hotel here?” I ask.

“In town,” He grunts, jerking his chin to reiterate his order to get off his boat.

Right.

I help Harper onto the dock first before I lean down to grab my bags but he’s already there, grabbing the suitcases and lifting them onto solid ground and then the duffle which he eyes suspiciously, turning that gaze to me as he throws it next to the suitcases.

He cocks a brow and waits.

I feel those silver eyes on my back as I climb out and then I hear his feet thud against the wood behind me.

“Which way to town?” I ask.

“Straight.” Is all I get back.

With a sigh, I look down to Harper who is watching the man curiously again, her intelligent blue eyes scanning him, “You’re not very polite.” She tells him.

“Harper!” I whisper hiss.

But he doesn’t respond at all. He moves past us with an envelope of paperwork and continues down the dock, not turning back to us. Even when I shout my thanks to him, he doesn’t react as if we simply didn’t exist.

Slowly, I follow, pulling the cases behind me with the duffel attached to the top of one, body exhausted, bones and muscles aching but where I’m to head straight, the man who brought us here turns right, heading to a ramshackle looking shed that had, what appeared to be, a hole in the side. An elderly man suddenly appears in that hole when he gets there and hands across the paperwork.

I was grateful to him, for not turning us back even if he didn’t want my gratitude. He couldn’t know he had quite literally just saved my life.

Maybe someday, sometime, I’d be able to return the favor.

Three

The walk from the docks to the center of town takes ten minutes at most. It’s a quiet town, I’ve come to realize, incredibly small too. Main street is simple, with shops and cafes that line either side of the narrow, cracked and pot holed road. They were all closed now for the evening except for a small grocery store right on the end and then opposite that was a diner, I assumed, the light from each spilling out onto the darkening street.

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