Azure (Drowning In You)

by Thoma, Chrystalla

  He said nothing; seemed to be waiting for more, and she wondered yet again why she was telling him all this.

  Maybe because he’d asked. Persisted. She hadn’t even told Kirsten what happened afterward, but he gave her that expectant look, as if it mattered to him, as if he really cared to know why she was sad.

  “I said no. He said I’d come around. We had a huge fight.” The things he’d said... Horrible things. Too close to home. That she didn’t pay attention to others’ feelings, didn’t seem to notice or care. “I hadn’t known the ring meant anything. He bought it for me just a month after we started going out together. I didn’t think...” She never thought. That was her problem. “He was supposed to come to Crete with me, but after the fight we didn’t speak again and he didn’t show up at the airport, so... Here I am.”

  With my heart bruised. Sort of shredded. But not broken. Because she didn’t love Justin as she’d thought she did, and the way he’d smashed things and yelled at her during the fight told her there was a reason. Many reasons, probably. Anyway, it was over now.

  “But you kept the ring,” he said, thoughtful. “You were still wearing it around your neck two days ago.”

  “I guess I hoped we’d make up.” Though really, had she hoped that? She’d been confused, that much was true.

  Her chest felt too tight and it wasn’t for Justin. No, it was all that had happened in the past year, rising up to choke her.

  The soft noises of their surroundings — the low voices of the other customers, the rustling of leaves overhead, the clinking of spoons on dishes — rose to engulf her and she feared she might break down, right there, in front of this beautiful stranger who owed her nothing.

  She wanted to run out of the cafe and find a quiet corner to sob. She hadn’t cried after the fight, hadn’t cried... in a long time.

  Oh god, how mortifying.

  His hand was suddenly on top of hers. “Liv. Are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” She shook her head, her breath caught on a sob. “Yeah, I’m all right.”

  “Here,” he said. “Try this.” He pushed the sweet toward her.

  Glad for the diversion, she leaned forward and gave the sweet a suspicious look. “What is it?”

  “Watermelon preserve.”

  “You’re kidding me. Watermelon’s red, and this is a yellowish strip of something.”

  “Watermelon rind, the white part between the red and the green. Cooked with sugar.”

  “Really?”

  “Try it,” Kai said again and she stabbed the small fork into the rubbery thing and lifted it to her mouth.

  It was crunchy and very sweet. Flavored with something. Cloves? Cinnamon? She swallowed and looked up to find him staring, his eyes gone dark as night, his lips parted.

  He licked them when he caught her gaze and looked away. His cheeks colored and it made her smile, lifted the weight off her chest.

  Oh my god. He was way too cute.

  “It’s delicious.” She grabbed her glass, gulping down water. Her mouth was gummy with sugar. “Thank you.”

  The sun was sitting low over the sea, a golden disk. The light reflected in the pebble she wore around her neck.

  “What’s that?” He pushed his chair back and came around the table, a shadow against the sun. “Let me see.” He leaned over her, washing her in his scent, and lifted the pebble with his finger.

  “Just a pebble I found on the beach.”

  He hissed and let it go, his eyes darkening. “I’ll take you back to the hotel.” He turned, tossed some money on the table and left toward the car with big strides.

  “What? Wait!” She grabbed her purse and ran after him. “It’s still early.”

  “I need to talk to Panos.”

  “Why?” She reached the car as he started the engine. She slipped inside and she’d barely closed the door when they were rolling out onto the road. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing what exactly?” His teeth were clenched.

  “Going off without explaining why. Last time it was when I said I majored in English literature,” there, a flinch, a tightening of his jaw, “and now because I gathered a pebble from the beach. What the hell is wrong?”

  He said nothing, driving so fast the tires squealed.

  “You promised to answer a question,” she said as they reached the main road and took the direction of Kissamos.

  “I promised nothing,” he muttered, his eyes fixed straight ahead.

  “Oh right. Be that way.” Make me open my heart to you and then walk away. She turned away from him, staring at nothing as they passed outside villages and restaurants. She saw a convenience store and reluctantly turned back toward him, catching a flash of his eyes before he was looking back at the road.

  “Can you stop? I need to buy some water.”

  “There’s a mini market closer to the hotel.” But he swerved and parked in front of the grocery store.

  “Do you need anything?” she asked as she opened the door and stepped outside.

  He shook his head, his face unreadable. “Just hurry up.”

  Bastard. Fuming, she stomped into the dimness of the market. A smell of must and stale bread hung inside. Fridges hummed at her right and she went and grabbed two big bottles of water. Two old men were talking in low voices at the cashier, stroking their huge, bushy mustaches and shooting her covert glances.

  What? She looked down at her shorts and sandals. She was decent, thank you very much. She paid and lugged the bottles outside. Dusk had gathered like a mist, blotting outlines and giving the car headlights a ghostly aura.

  An old woman stood, bathed in the eerie light, wrapped in a black shawl and hunched over like a vulture. She was muttering in Greek, her gnarled hand making the sign of the cross over and over again. She shouted something unintelligible to Olivia, gesturing at the truck.

  Then she spat twice on the ground, raised both hands, and turned to leave, still muttering. She disappeared among the trees by the side of the road.

  Olivia frowned as she climbed inside the car. Kai was gripping the wheel tightly, his knuckles white.

  “What was that about?” she asked.

  “Nothing,” he whispered and revved up the engine. “Nothing new.”

  ***

  Olivia was distracted when Kai left her at the hotel. So distracted, in fact, that she walked up to the reception desk, asked for her room key, took it and turned to go before she realized Panos was talking to her.

  “Sorry?”

  “I say, decided to leave the boy, come to the man?” He wagged his brows, grinning.

  She sighed and shook her head. “I quit, Panos.”

  “Quit?”

  “I can’t do what you asked me. Can’t make him laugh.” She glanced over her shoulder, but Kai didn’t come in. “I’m not sure I want to spend time with him. His mood swings are so sudden... and he flips out over strange stuff, like this pebble.” She held it up for Panos to see. “Why? What’s this all about?”

  He squinted at her new pendant and rubbed his chin. “A rock?”

  “A rock.” She let it fall back against her chest. “And an old woman was swearing at him and spitting. Did he do something bad? Is he a criminal?”

  “No criminal.” Panos’ face was serious. “No do nothing bad. Old people... old habits. How you call it?” He snapped his fingers. “Superstit.”

  “Superstitious?”

  “That. They think he do something bad, but they are wrong.”

  She hadn’t wanted to pry, but this felt important. “So what did he do?”

  “Can not say.” He placed a finger over his lips. “Promise.”

  “You promised to whom?

  “To Kai.”

  Dammit. “Fine, don’t tell me. But then, you make him laugh. Don’t expect me to even try.”

  Shit, she was acting like a petulant kid, but a tiny pin-prick of fear hit her chest. Who was Kai, really? She shouldn’t leave the hotel with strangers.

  And ye
t... And yet...

  She fled to her room where she proceeded to pace a furrow into the carpet. This was all wrong. She’d set out to make a new beginning, to have fun, and now she felt like crying because she’d bared her heart to this handsome stranger and he’d tossed it out the window.

  She shouldn’t care. Didn’t know him. Should have learned her lessons long ago.

  Kirsten and Markus were up reading when she knocked on their door. Kirsten seemed to sense something was off and asked if she was okay.

  “The not rebound guy isn’t so nice after all,” was all Olivia said and refused to talk more about it. For dinner, they snacked on fruit Kirsten had bought at the small convenience store next to the hotel and talked about the next day.

  Markus, as it turned out, was feeling just fine now, and they could go on an excursion. They joked about buying him a Mexican sombrero and making him wear cool packs under his clothes, then he pretended to be on fire and submitted to a tickling attack led by Kirsten.

  Once order had been restored, they settled on meeting in the morning to decide where to go.

  The night was warm. Her room felt too big and empty. Talking about Justin and all the mess didn’t make her feel better; she felt worse. She thought about calling him, hashing it out.

  Only they’d done that already.

  It was as if she’d lanced an infected wound but hadn’t drained it completely. The infection remained and it hurt.

  She didn’t want to talk to Kirsten about Andria, either. Didn’t want to talk to anyone. She just wanted the pain to go away. She wanted forgiveness and peace.

  Her mattress was too soft, and she tossed and turned, feeling as if she was sinking in it, through it, down to a dark void. A big moon shone outside, over the sea. She didn’t want to read more of the novel with its stunning and powerful heroine. Instead, she picked up Markus’s guide to Crete, a much thicker and detailed one than her own, which she’d nicked when he hadn’t been looking. She checked the map of the area, locating the small cove of her hotel, Nautilus bay, and traced the coastline to the east.

  Navagio Beach. The text said it meant ‘wreck’ and that it actually had three small wrecks on the beach. Fishing boats, thrown out by the storms. The bay was said to have tricky waters with rocky reefs and rip currents. After a more recent boat accident, the superstitious locals avoided it.

  A picture of the bay took her breath away. It was narrow with white rock cliffs around, the wrecks looking like alien shadows on the beach, and the water was the purest azure. It wasn’t far; she could walk there. Just to have a look. Surely that wasn’t dangerous.

  What accident had scared the locals so much they’d started avoiding the bay and telling tourists not to go? She’d grill Panos until he told her — or the blond barman. She’d seen a sign for wi-fi in the hotel. If there was a computer, she could google it, find the local newspapers. A pity her mobile phone didn’t have internet.

  She put the book down and stared up, at the slowly spinning fan on the ceiling. Project shift. Since Kai was acting up, she’d investigate the accident of Wreck Beach instead.

  Though all information would probably be in Greek.

  Dammit.

  She closed her eyes, but sleep still eluded her. Behind her lids played images — the jasmine flowers, the small coffee cup, Kai’s dark eyes.

  Unable to take it any longer, she hopped into the shower to wash the sweat away. Wrapped in a towel, hair dripping, she stared out into the night. She needed to get out, stretch her legs.

  Pulling on a short dress and her sandals, she hurried down. The reception was deserted, so she took the key with her. Shoving it into her purse, slipping the strap across her chest, she came out the revolving doors and walked down the path to the beach. A cooler breeze blew here, carrying the salty tang of the deep. She took off her sandals as she reached the beach and slung them in one hand, relishing the coarseness of the sand between her toes.

  The moon painted a path of silver on the murky sea and the stars shone bright. Wavelets whispered and filigrees of white surf decorated the water’s edge. She walked toward it, her dress fluttering against her legs.

  Someone sat on a deck chair, a dark figure against the moonlit sky. A man. She knew those broad shoulders, the wild dark hair, the intense gaze.

  Oh crap.

  “Hey,” she said, and it came out sort of harsh.

  Kai flinched and shot to his feet. “Liv.”

  “What are you doing here?” She glanced behind. The bar was closed.

  “I couldn’t sleep. Too warm.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  He’d gotten rid of his t-shirt and only wore his long slacks. The moon silvered the ridges and planes of his muscled chest and arms, lent a bluish cast to his hair.

  “Liv, I’m sorry. I wasn’t very nice to you.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Shit. I always fuck up with people.”

  He seemed so contrite her anger began to fade.

  “I’ll forgive you,” she said and sat down. “If you tell me why.”

  He sat down, too, on the other end of the deck chair. “Why what?”

  “Why my pendant scared you.”

  “It didn’t.” He sighed. “I thought it was something... else.”

  “What then?”

  “Damn, Liv.” His voice shook and he kept his face averted. “I’m sorry. You were sad and I upset you more, but can’t you ask me something else?”

  So odd. She wanted to ask him a million things but right now her mind was blank. She also wanted to comfort him but wasn’t sure how because she had no clue what was going on. “Where do you live?”

  He turned toward her, lifting a brow, then he pointed over her shoulder. “There.”

  There? She’d meant whether he lived on Crete or if he was here for the summer, but she turned to look. “What’s there?”

  “A hut.” He shrugged. “I don’t like closed spaces.”

  “You’re claustrophobic?”

  “I guess.”

  Oh. “How bad?”

  He snorted. “Define bad.”

  She squinted at the direction he’d indicated. The pale moonlight picked out cliffs and a few scattered sheds behind the hotel. “I can’t see your hut.”

  “It’s too dark.” He moved slightly closer. “Will you be around tomorrow?”

  “I’m going on a hike with my friends,” she said and suddenly regretted it.

  He said nothing for a moment. “That’s nice,” he whispered.

  “You could come with us.” She smiled at him in the dark.

  “I work tomorrow,” he said quietly.

  “You don’t get a day off?”

  “Yeah, the day after.” He stared at her sideways. “We could take the pickup, go to a nicer place, if you like. You wanted to see the area.”

  Suddenly nervous, she licked her lips. “Will there be more people there?”

  “Do you think I’d hurt you?” He rose to his feet, his breathing coming faster. “Forget it.”

  “Wait.” She scrambled after him, caught his arm. “Please, don’t run off again.”

  His breath caught. “You’re so warm,” he whispered.

  She frowned, stepped in front of him and caught his hands. They were like ice. “And you’re cold.”

  “I’m often cold.” Again so quiet. He was looking right at her, through her. Then something changed. His gaze moved down her throat to her body, and the night turned hot and sultry.

  Focus, Liv. “How long have you been sitting out here?”

  He blinked. “Don’t know.”

  “Come up to the hotel. I’ll warm you up.”

  “Oh god, don’t say such things.” He swallowed hard and stepped closer, until their hands were trapped between them, crushed against his muscled stomach. She was pressed against his chest, his lips inches from hers. She longed to kiss them, feel their softness, taste his salty skin.

  He pulled back, withdrawing his hands. He was breathing hard, the sound loud in th
e quiet.

  “Kai...”

  He reached up, touched her pendant and shook his head. “I’ll see you around.” Turning, he jogged up the beach, leaving her feverish with desire and damn confused.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Nothing can come of nothing.

  Shakespeare

  Resonance governs the spheres; it brings us together and drives us apart.

  Myra Crow

  The hike over the forested hills and among leafy orchards was amazing, the Byzantine chapel with its frescoes unexpected, and the picnic they had in the shade of an ancient olive tree delicious. A perfect day, despite her friends’ teasing regarding the relation between olives and her name, and about how she was the least olive-like creature they knew.

  “A noodle,” Markus decided.

  “Excuse me?” Olivia stifled laughter.

  “You’re a blond noodle.”

  “A noodle. A hairy noodle. How flattering. Is that a line from your favorite poet?”

  “No, this is all me. You’re long and white and blond.”

  “You sure know how to make a girl feel pretty.” She stuck her tongue out at him and inside she vowed to get a golden tan before leaving Crete. “What about Kirsten?”

  He turned to his girlfriend, his gaze heating. “She’s a ravioli.”

  “Imbecile,” Kirsten muttered, her lips twitching. “A ravioli? That’s all you can compare me to?”

  “A ravioli stuffed with a piece of heaven,” Markus elaborated, taking the tone of an orator in a Roman forum, brows drawn and voice booming. He waved his hand at his audience. “Bathed in rich, sweet sauce that makes the mouth water, a ravioli, finally, which is firm and robust, its dough firm and pleasant to the palate.”

  Kirsten tackled him to the ground and tickled him until he begged for mercy.

  “Robust.” She sat back and wiped her blond bangs off her face. “Really. Mistkerl.”

  Olivia rolled her eyes at their theatrics, laughing along. Kirsten was anything but a ravioli. She was tall, strong, beautiful, clever. First in her class, speaking five languages, excellent in so many sports Olivia had lost count, and a great cook.