Johnny & I : The Island

by Daria M Paus

  I didn't correct him, and when he mentioned it—there were questions. I just hadn't brought them up. If I didn't talk about it, it hadn't happened. That’s how I felt.

  I nodded slowly.

  He took a sip of his coffee, then put the mug down.

  "About what they said . . ." He didn't know how to finish the sentence and the look on his face made me feel bad for him. He’d come out here to get away from the nightmare he seemed to be living in back in reality, only to have it follow him like a tail.

  I made it easy on him. "Nothin' of what they said was true, I know."

  "You’ve read the tabloids."

  "But that doesn't mean you did what they say."

  He let out a shaky breath. "True." He ran a hand through his hair, brushing it out of his face. "But what they say, what these—" He cut himself off with a deep sigh.

  "Those accusations are all bullshit," I said. "We all know that."

  "Thank you."

  I smiled, reaching out across the table to put my hand over his.

  "How did they get here?" I asked the main question that had been on my mind from the start.

  He was silent as he thought, and the puzzled look on his face told me he had as little clue as I had.

  "I don't know," he said at last. "The only thing that makes sense is . . ." He paused as if to consider. "They followed me.” He frowned, and seemed to think. “Or they came on my boat." He looked down at our hands before continuing. "I wouldn’t have noticed. I just wanted to get the fuck out of there. Fast."

  I nodded thoughtfully. It made sense, but it didn't make the whole thing less creepy.

  "But why did they wait so long to—" My voice broke and tears built up in my eyes. The moment I asked the question the answer presented itself to me. If it was more than a theory I didn't know, but I got the feeling it had to do with me. Had I not happened to arrive that same night, they would’ve finished their business long ago. But as Garrett had said, me being there changed things.

  Had they lurked in the shadows, spying on us the whole time? The thought of it made me shudder. What had they waited for? The storm to pass? Or for Johnny and I to fall for each other so torturing us would give them some sick satisfaction?

  Tears fell down my cheeks, and I quickly wiped them off, hoping Johnny hadn't noticed.

  "Bree." His voice was soft. "I'm sorry you had to go through this." As he was about to continue, I hushed him, knowing he was going to blame himself.

  "You couldn't have known."

  He nodded, letting it go.

  "Why is she doin' this? I have a feelin' I don't know the whole truth."

  Johnny groaned. "I knew that question would come."

  I smiled despite the situation being anything but amusing. When he remained silent, I started to think he wasn't going to reply. When he did, my eyes widened in surprise. I hadn't expected it, having his secretive history in mind.

  "I uh—" He ran a hand through his hair. "I met her once. She seemed . . ." He scratched his head, searching for the right word. "Fun, maybe. After too much drinking, we ended up . . . well, you know . . ." The awkward look on his face could only mean one thing, and even though the reaction wasn’t justified or even acceptable, jealousy bubbleed up inside me. I forced myself to nod, digging my fingernails into my palm to distract myself from saying something stupid.

  "Just once," he quickly added, careful not to look at me as he continued. "But she wanted more. I didn't. I turned it down but she wouldn't take no for an answer. I kind of told her to fuck off." He grimaced then let out another dramatic sigh. His eyes met mine for a brief second, then he averted his gaze again.

  “The woman came to my hotel room bloody naked." He shook his head in exasperation. "She threw herself on me, literally, what was I supposed to do?"

  My mouth hung open, and for a while, I forgot how to breathe. If I hadn't been too emotionally involved and if the scenario had been presented to me in any other situation, I would have laughed. Now all I could do was question the sanity of humanity and feel bad for Johnny.

  "Holy shit!” I said. "I would've done the same thing." The moment the words left my mouth I heard how weird it sounded and me cheeks turned red. "I mean if I were you," I added quickly. "Not what she did."

  Are you sure about that? The little voice taunted. You could barely keep your hands off him.

  He looked amused and I relaxed.

  "But assault, rape . . ." I frowned. "You didn't do it. How's there any evidence to support her bullshit?"

  "Bree." His voice was just a sigh. "You don't wanna hear this."

  Maybe he was right. In fact, I was sure he was right, but I had no choice. I was already too deep into the drama to back out now. But then again, I was just as sure that his words had been a subtle but desperate attempt to make me back off. He’d already told me more than what I’d expected.

  "I do," I heard myself saying. Seriously? My mind snapped. Just give the guy a break.

  He took a sip of the coffee, which had already gone cold. "It's her word against mine. The fucking evidence she has against me proves nothing more than—" He cut himself off, but he didn't need to say it. I already knew what he was referring to, and I was glad the words were left unspoken. The last thing I wanted was a description of his latest one-nighter and how the bitch had used it against him—turning normal sex into a crime.

  He slammed the cup down so hard the coffee splashed. "She's claiming sexual assault even though she's the one to fucking assault me."

  I flinched, and he looked down at the spilled liquid.

  "I just wanted her to get off me; I might have grabbed her." He scoffed, shaking his head. "She ran out of the room naked and crying, you can imagine the rumors."

  I managed to nod. I could. All too well. But what I couldn't understand was how quick people were to jump to the wrong conclusions. How one rejected girl could create such drama. And for what? Money? Attention? I shook my head at the absurdity. I looked up at Johnny. He was watching me, twisting his scarf and biting his lower lip even though it hurt him to do so.

  "Hey." A frown formed as a thought struck me. "How come you suddenly answer all my questions?"

  He actually laughed then, and the sound made me feel warm inside. He studied me for a while, then he smiled a small smile, shrugging.

  "Why the hell not?”

  I laughed but shook my head. "No, but really?”

  His face turned serious. "That's the least I can do."

  I wasn't sure whether I should feel sad or flattered. I got the feeling he thought he owed me somehow, and even though I was happy that he was opening up to me, I didn't like the reason behind it. Giving it some thought, I started to realize, circumstances aside, there was no reason for him to tell me the details. And he wouldn’t have if he hadn't trusted me to keep it between us.

  I stared at him as the feeling washed over me. I wanted to hug him, or a hell of a lot more than that, but most of all I wanted him to know how much that trust meant to me—how he was slowly infiltrating every fiber of my heart. But I didn't do any of that. Instead, I changed the mood. If I stayed in this emotion I would either start to cry or say something which I’d come to regret later.

  "Can I ask you anythin' I want? A question-game?"

  He gulped, clearly taken aback by my sudden request.

  "Uh—" He bit his lower lip and winced as if it hurt. Then he looked at me with a look that seemed to say ‘Really?’ When I didn't withdraw the request, he let out a shaky breath. Then he nodded. "Shoot."

  I was at a loss for words. This was my big chance, and I had no idea what to say. There was so much I was curious about. So much I wanted to know. But I couldn’t ask the things burning in my mind without admitting that I’d spied on his private journal.

  Say somethin' my inner voice urged. Are you stupid or what?

  "If you could have one wish what would it be?" I blurted.

  He frowned, thinking. "Happiness . . . love . . . I don't know."


  "That's two things."

  He chuckled then. "True love."

  I couldn't stop a small gasp from slipping out. My heart started to beat faster. I picked up a strand of my hair and twisted it around my finger.

  "Biggest fear?"

  "Uh—" He scratched his neck. "Many things . . ."

  I opened my mouth to speak, but he cut me to it. "I know, one thing."

  I smiled.

  "Flying."

  My eyes widened. "You're jokin'?"

  He shook his head.

  "But you fly all the time."

  "Doesn't mean I like it.”

  "How do you handle that?" The whole point of this game was to not get stuck on one question, but I couldn't help myself.

  "Sleeping pills and whiskey." He refused to look at me, and I started to feel bad.

  "That ain't a very good combination."

  He chuckled. "Gets me through it," he said. "Next question."

  I stared at him, having a hard time shaking this new information. Though it was clear he didn't want to dwell too long on it so I forced myself to move on.

  "Uhm . . . city or country life?"

  He was silent for a long time and I took the opportunity to let my mind process the stuff I’d learned. Johnny Grey, scared of flying. Wow. How could he have kept such thing a secret from the rest of the world? Clearly, someone must have noticed something. At least the probable overconsumption of drugs to get through every long shift of traveling across the world. Was there a special reason for his fear, or was it was something he couldn't explain, like my strong and extremely inappropriate dislike toward spiders.

  "Do I have to choose only one?"

  His voice snapped me back to the moment. "Uh, yeah."

  "City." He made it sound like a question, as if he wasn't sure he was actually telling the truth, but rather saying what was to be expected of him. I didn't allow myself to think about it.

  "Blondes or brunettes?"

  He chuckled then and I couldn't help but join in.

  "With only those two options available I'd have to say brunettes, but—” He gave me a little wink that made my heart skip a beat.

  “Deepest secret?”

  He scoffed. “If I tell you that it wouldn’t be a secret.”

  I got the hint. Too much, and too private.

  “Favorite color?”

  “Blue.”

  I smiled.

  “Worst trait?”

  He laughed. “Too many.”

  I opened my mouth to protest, but he beat me to it.

  “I can’t cook.”

  My eyes opened wide in feigned surprise. “Really?”

  “Aren’t you gonna say you already knew that?”

  I laughed. Even though I’d figured it out the moment I’d laid eyes on his empty fridge, I doubted it was his worst trait. What about the cursing, the drinking, and the inability to plan more than five minutes ahead?

  “Hey, you ok?”

  “Fine.”

  My eyes narrowed as I studied him. He gripped the table with one hand, and rested his head in the other. His skin glistened from a thin layer of sweat.

  “Bullshit,” I snapped. “What’s wrong?”

  He just shook his head, letting out a low groan. “Just need some water,” he whispered.

  “I can get—" My voice died in my throat as he got up, took a few steps—then collapsed.

  23

  Fever

  “You’re burnin’ up.” My hand trembled as I touched his forehead. “Why didn’t you say somethin’?”

  He gazed at me through heavy eyelids, then shook his head before letting his eyes drift close again.

  “Hey,” I shook him. “Johnny!”

  He groaned, but managed to drag himself up into a half-sitting position. Watching him, I feared he was going to pass out again.

  “Come on, stay with me,” I tried to keep my voice steady to hide the fear lurking under the surface. It was hard. Sitting there on the kitchen floor, thoughts started to creep into my mind, What ifs. . . Should haves. And no matter how I twisted and turned it, the problem remained. I’d made a big mistake. Hoping I hadn't risked Johnny's life by ignoring that boat wasn’t much of a comfort when he was almost unconscious in my arms.

  “Let’s go back to bed, ok?”

  We made it to the living room before he needed to sit down. I sat on the floor in front of the sofa, studying him as he sat, elbows on knees and head in hands. He must’ve sensed my gaze because he spoke without looking up at me.

  “I’m fine. Don’t look at me like that.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.”

  “You’re not even looking,” I protested.

  He lifted his head and gave me a sleepy smile. “It’s just a fever. It’s nothing.”

  I tried to smile. “Yeah.” I leaned in and placed a kiss on his lips. "I'll be back soon."

  "Don't go."

  The sudden urgency in his voice made me freeze. Slowly, I turned back to him. Taking his outstretched hand, I brought it to my lips and kissed it.

  "I'll be right back, I won't leave you," I said. “Just goin’ to get some water.”

  “Don’t go.”

  What was he talking about? I was just going back to the kitchen, and he behaved like I was about to disappear forever. I didn’t understand, but something in his voice made the sadness in my heart come back a little stronger. I was going to the next room, but the fact remained—soon, I’d be going away permanently. And no matter how much I wanted to stay with him, it wasn’t going to happen.

  “I can’t live like this.”

  A gasp slipped through my lips. His words, unexpected and raw, went straight into my heart. And even though I was pretty sure he wasn’t referring to his current health, I said it anyway. “It’s a fever, it’ll go away.” It was easier than having to think of the deeper meaning behind it.

  He shook his head. I’d been right.

  “It’s a fucking—"

  I gulped, waiting for him to go on.

  “It’s never going away—a fucking curse.”

  “What is?”

  “This—me . . .”

  He looked up at me and the pain in his eyes as he stared into mine was more than I could handle.

  “Baby.” I wrapped both arms around his trembling body and pulled him close. “It’s ok, you’ll be ok.” You have me, I wanted to add, but managed to shut my mouth before I made it worse.

  He shifted, leaning his head against my chest, and murmured, “You make me feel better.”

  I kissed the top is his head, softly running a hand through his hair.

  “Try to rest now, I’ll be back soon.”

  ∞∞∞

  When I came back, Johnny was sleeping. I placed the glass of water on the table and sat next to him. "Hey. How you feelin'?" I asked.

  His eyes fluttered open and it seemed to take him a while to focus. He tried to smile. "Been better."

  "I brought ice," I said as an answer, holding up a towel with ice wrapped inside. I brought it down on his forehead and he flinched from the sudden cold, but then he relaxed.

  “What else can go wrong, huh?” he muttered. “My typical bad luck.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  He scoffed, and the look he gave me spoke louder than the words that were left unspoken. It is.

  “You’ve been through too much, it’s normal to—" The look in his eyes cut me off, and a frown formed on my forehead. “What?”

  He sighed. “This is nothing,” he said. “A few bruises and a fucking black eye.”

  I could only stare at him, torn between annoyance and amazement. How could he pretend that what had happened was nothing? How could he act so unaffected? How was it possible that, despite everything that had happened to him, he still refused to accept the sympathy?

  “You’re serious?”

  He gave me a weak nod. “You don’t know my life. You don’t know what my ‘normal’ is. This—" he gest
ured with a trembling hand toward his body. “Is nothing.”

  I wanted to protest, but somehow, I believed he didn’t just say it to make himself look brave. My chest tightened with emotion, and I forced myself to nod.

  “You’re right, I don’t know what happened to you.” I let my free hand rest on his thigh. “But I’m sure it ain’t pretty.”

  His eyes met mine, and he kept my gaze for a long time until he looked away, whispering an almost inaudible, “Yeah.”

  “It will be ok.”

  Not knowing what else to say, I focused on the whirlwind of thoughts in my head.

  When all the ice had melted, I set the wet towel aside and placed a cold hand on his arm. "Do you think you can get up? I'd like to get you into bed."

  He lazily raised an eyebrow and a shadow of a smile came over his lips. "I don't think I'm up to that kind of thing just yet.”

  He knew what I meant, so I didn't feel the need to correct myself, but it made me blush.

  "Would have been nice though,” he added. Noticing my embarrassed face, he smiled weakly up at me. Then he held out a trembling hand.

  24

  Demons

  A sleepless night passed slowly. I couldn't bring myself to relax. My decision to stay on the island had not only risked Johnny's life, it had also messed up my mind. I’d never felt so scared, for my own safety, but mostly for his. I hadn’t heard a sound from the basement since we’d locked the creeps in, but just knowing that they were there, especially now when Johnny wouldn't be able to defend himself, sent chills down my spine.

  I lay on my side, eyes wide open in the dark. If I took my eyes off Johnny for even a few seconds, I was sure something horrible would happen.

  He shifted, mumbling something I didn't understand, and I jumped. My heart started to pound and I forced myself to suck in a few deep breaths to calm my nerves.

  He spoke again. I drew myself up into a half-sitting position with one elbow supporting my weight.

  Judging from the tangled cover at his waist, he’d stopped freezing, and I interpreted that as a good sign. The fact that the fever had stopped on a dangerously high degree and refused to lessen, worried me. I’d tried everything I knew of, but nothing seemed to have any effect on him at all.