by Lexi Duval
“The one against the rocks?”
He nods.
“The plane went down, and I couldn't see anyone...and then I saw a body, floating in the water. It was you, Libby. I managed to get you onto the raft, your head was bleeding, but I knew you were alive.”
A deep silence seems to have engulfed the world as he speaks, nothing but his voice sounding. No waves, no clicking insects, no rustle of the palm leaves above us. Just his words, painting a picture in my head.
“I don't know how long we floated for, but I must have passed out, because when I woke we were caught on the rocks here. I carried you up the beach, found a first aid kit in the sand, and patched you up.”
“You saved me...”
“I did what anyone would do.”
He takes no credit, the night once more coming alive in his mind. But all I can think of is that without him, I'd never have even got here. Without him, I'd have drowned in the ocean like everyone else.
He turns over, shielding his face from me, and I watch his back rising and falling.
“I'm sorry,” I say. “For bringing it up.”
He doesn't answer, his mind lost to that night again. A night he lived through more than me, a night he can recall with greater clarity.
For me, it was horrifying, but my terror was brief, limited by the arm rest that knocked me out. For Flint, it was endless, all consuming, and will most likely haunt him forever.
When I wake the next morning, the sky dark and miserable for once, I find Flint lying beside me, his body closer than when we fell asleep. There's a mugginess in the air, a closeness that sets my body sweating and begging for water.
I reach to the single water bottle we have, lying behind Flint, and accidentally brush his back with my arm as I reach over him. His eyes creak open at my touch, and a strange smile runs across his face.
“Morning,” he says, blinking and looking at me like I'm the last person on earth.
I guess I am, in a way.
“Morning,” I say back, as a natural smile arches across my face.
I feel like I've just woken up with a guy after spending the night with him, our eyes meeting, our lips both smiling in a moment of attraction. We've already been through so much together, and in an odd way I feel connected to him more than I have anyone before.
With my arm still reaching over him, he leans up and reaches my eyeline, our faces close. A desire to kiss him rushes through me, despite everything, and I can't help but lower my eyes to his lips, slightly ajar and so inviting.
But I don't and, feeling suddenly awkward, I lean back, pull my arm back over him, and open the top to take a swig of water. I down half of it before handing it to him to finish off.
Outside, the rain is just beginning to fall, so Flint quickly goes out and positions the bottle in the sand. It fills quickly as Flint stands for a moment under the deluge, his body quickly soaking to the skin, his underwear growing wet and the shape of his penis becoming visible beneath them.
He turns to me, leans down, and reaches in with his hand.
“You've got to get out here Libby, it's beautiful.”
I hesitate, wondering if he's gone mad as a smile grows on his face, and take his hand. He pulls me up and out of the opening and the cool rain quickly soaks into my tattered shirt, sticking it to my chest.
Flint points out to sea, where dark clouds rumble and rage in the distance, flashes of lighting zapping down from the heavens as thunder shakes the island.
A huge thunderstorm swirls, the most powerful vision of nature I've ever seen. We stand, side by side, feeling like the only two people left on earth as the world seems to end around us. The rain crushes down to the point where we're almost swimming on the sand, our sun kissed skin being washed of grime and sand and dirt.
Flint lifts the bottle from the sand, which is already full, and takes a long swig. He passes it to me, and I do the same, drinking down the liquid from above, cool and refreshing and the most natural tasting thing I've ever drunk.
He digs the bottle back into the beach, and it quickly begins to refill.
Then he turns to me, takes my hand, and shouts over the roaring storm.
“Come on!”
He runs, pulling me with him toward the surf, and we rush into the sea.
“Isn't this dangerous?!” I shout.
He shakes his head, smiling bright.
“No, the storms over there.”
He points to the monsoon tormenting the distant seas.
“We're only catching the edge of it. We're fine.”
He dives under the water, and pulls me with him. Below the surface he points up and I look to see a million drops dancing on the surface of the water above me. Down here it's silent, calm, a world away from the fury of Zeus above.
Fish calmly swim nearby, going about their normal routines, their world unchanged by the alien land above the surface of their domain.
We rise again, and watch the roaring storm unfold, the wrath of nature seeming so much more powerful here. I feel Flint take my hand again, and we watch with our fingers entwined, and I know that if I have to be here, on this island, there are few people I'd rather be with than him.
Gradually, the force of the tempest fades, moving away from us further out to sea, nothing but the lingering droplets of rain remaining in the air.
We return to the shelter, which remains standing to my great relief, as the skies quickly change and everything begins to calm. And, just like that, the world above starts to turn blue once more, and the sun peeks through the dispersing clouds.
And I realize the capricious nature of the weather is all powerful, unstoppable, ready to chew you up and spit you out whenever it pleases. And that Flint and I are nothing but pawns in this grand game of life and that, sooner of later, the world will forget about us.
Chapter Five
Over the next few days we constantly keep looking out for passing boats and planes, and even begin to take it in turns to keep watch at night in case one passes as we sleep.
During my turns, I spend as much time watching Flint as I do the ocean and the sky. I watch as his eyes flicker and his limbs flex and twist. I watch from the outside, knowing the turmoil he's going through within.
I know it's probably the same with me. Most times I wake, I do so with images of the crash in my head and a sheen of sweat on my body. Sometimes I see Flint looking at me as my eyes open, his expression sympathetic, knowing what I'm going through.
He seems nothing like the man I've read about in the press and seen on the news. Nothing like the prima donna playboy he's made out to be by some publications. He seems every bit the man for a crisis, the rock that I need to help get me through this.
And in reply, I try to be a rock for him too, pushing all fears and concerns to the back of my mind, refusing to think that this island might be my home for a lot longer than originally thought.
It's over a week in that we decide to build a fire pit on the beach outside our camp. We dig a hole, fill the base with rocks, and explore the jungle for all the dry wood we can find. We pile it high, leaving as much wood as we can gather in reserve nearby, and then spend the entire day trying to get it lit.
Flint tells me he knows exactly what he's doing, and that he's even done it before. However, the odyssey he embarks on reminds me of how easy it is in the real world to get anything you want. It's all at your fingertips, there for the taking.
But not here. Something as simple as making fire is proving difficult to master. There are no matches, lighters, no magnifying glass to concentrate the energy of the sun.
All Flint has are his wits and his perseverance, struggling for hours to create enough friction to generate a spark. He has it all set up, rubbing small pieces of dried wood together for an almost torturous amount of time before, eventually, a spark lights up and he quickly sets it to the rough kindling in the base of the bonfire.
Slowly, surely, the blaze begins to rise, and within a few minutes we have a roaring
bonfire on the beach.
“Will it be visible?” I ask, praying that perhaps the fire will act as a signal to a passing ship or plane.
He nods enthusiastically, but I suspect it's all for my benefit.
“Maybe, we have to hope so.”
But I realize that it's a long shot when I think about how we're only just doing it now. Surely, if it was likely to flag someone down, he'd have set about doing it earlier, when we first arrived.
I ask him that, and he admits that it's unlikely that anyone would see the fire unless they were passing close by. In any case, he tells me that it's a good idea for us to load it with palm leaves and other vegetation during the day so that it spills out black smoke. If any signal's going to work, it will be that.
We keep the fire lit day and night, scouring the jungle for as much wood as we can gather. Thankfully, the island's large enough that we should never run out. Just about big enough to give us everything we need and keep us alive.
At night, we continue to take watches, but let the fire burn down to its embers. When morning comes, we build the blaze back up again and cover it with leaves, creating the black smoke that we hope will be our savior.
But the says continue to pass, and the horizon shows no sign of a boat coming our way, the skies no sign of a plane.
Sometimes, I see lights dotted in the distance, but Flint only tells me that they're cargo ships, most likely, and that somewhere out there there's probably a shipping lane, miles and miles in the far off distance.
We spend our days talking, keeping busy. I learn so much about the man behind the mask, the real Flint Young beneath the media profile the press have built around him.
He tells me he's not that guy, that playboy party animal. Not really. That he enjoys having fun but it's massively blown out of proportion. I think of Benjy, and we laugh when I tell him about his so called 'Playboy Mansion' in Australia.
“Just a normal mansion, I can assure you Lib. It's really quite boring actually.”
Within a couple of weeks, we're calling each other Lib and Flin, and I feel as comfortable around him as I have with anyone. We build up the shack together, perfect our methods of picking and opening coconuts, and even begin to fashion spears to try to hunt fish.
The first time Flint makes a catch, we celebrate like someone's arrived to take us off the island. It's only small, but we cook it with relish over the fire and devour every last bit of it. I can honestly say, I've never tasted anything so amazing.
With the taste of meat on our tongues, our need to keep hunting grows, and gradually we spend all day improving our throwing skills and, eventually, our success rates too. After several days of trying, I manage to spear a decent sized tropical fish that neither of know the name of.
And slowly, as the hours turn to days, and the days turn to weeks, we stop looking out for boats. We stop watching the skies for planes. And we begin to focus on each other, a caring and attraction developing that neither of us can control.
And one night, when we're lying together in the shack that's become our sanctuary, we find our lips touching in the darkness, our hands caressing each other's skin, and our bodies linking in an embrace that lasts until morning.
When I wake the next day, the world seems a brighter, happier place. And I begin to think that maybe, being stranded here with Flint Young isn't quite so bad.
PART TWO
Chapter One
The water laps around my breasts, golden with the kiss of the sun. It tickles my nipples as it rises up and down, warm and comforting against my hot skin. Beneath the surface of the water, my body is free of any garments, my skirt, my panties left in the shack under the treeline.
Beside me, Flint stands naked too, the water not quite so deep to him, reaching up to the top of his abs. His body shines and shimmers under the morning sun, and I see the shadow of his penis swaying beneath the surface of the sea.
He splashes me and I giggle, and we frolic in the waves like two kids without a care in the world. He pulls me in for a kiss, his beard scratching against my cheeks, the whiskers now growing thick and dark.
His hair is longer too, dark waves falling down his head. They turn dark as he dives under and reappears, his hair matted down against his forehead. I reach forward and brush it aside, and he reaches in to kiss me again.
Our kisses soon turn to something more, his hands touching me in places that sends sparks through my body. I smile and hold him back with a cheeky grin on my face as his lips venture toward my nipples.
I swim backward a few feet, teasing him, kicking my feet out and opening my legs so that he can see between my thighs. He bites his closed fist and shakes his head with feigned anger, before coming forward once more.
I hold him back again, and reach down to grasp his penis. It's already starting to stiffen beneath the waves, growing longer and wider as my hand clasps around it. I begin tugging gently, the feel of water rushing over my hand, as our lips come together again.
He walks me toward the shallows, and slowly our bodies rise up out of the sea. When it's no higher than our knees, I lean down and kneel into the sand, the water splashing around my pussy, and begin gorging myself on his dick.
It tastes salty from the sea, warm and tanned under the sun. His entire body is tanned, groin and ass included, as is mine. For weeks now, we've taken to spending much of our time naked, letting the sun soak into all areas of our body.
All tan lines I once had have faded, my body colored in bronze all over, just like his. I send his golden cock inside me, slipping it in and out of my mouth with a smile on my face.
His eyes sparkle as he watches me, and I quickly slide a finger up between my legs as I work at him. Soon he takes over, standing me up and kneeling down himself, licking the water from between my legs, darting his tongue up inside me and rubbing my clit.
The world around us makes it all so perfect, our minds turning from the hope of escape and rescue and to the carnal needs we feel toward each other. For weeks now, we've been exploring each other's bodies, making love under the stars, in the sea, up on the highest plateau as we look out for passing boats and muse over whether we'll ever be found.
He lifts me up in his arms, as he did when we first came here, and drops me into dry sand, hot under my ass. The grains immediately stick to both of us as he opens my legs and climbs into me. He penetrates me deep and we laugh and roll around, covering our bodies from head to toe in the soft sand.
I ride him until he comes, the sun beating down on my back, shielding his face from the sun. I watch his eyes morph and change and cloud over inside his skull, a grin of joy on his bearded face, his teeth shining out from the bristles.
He groans, and I groan louder, and we laugh some more. And when we're done, we lie side by side, my head against his chest, and bathe under the sun's warm glow, with nothing better in the world to do.
Nothing to do but wait, and hope that someone will eventually come. But it's all out of our hands now. There's nothing we can do, and we know it. We accepted that long ago now, the night that we first kissed and realized that, maybe, there was something else we could live for.
That we could live for each other. That being together here, in this lonely paradise, would keep us alive and keep us sane.
So we explore and enjoy our carnal needs. We spend our days building the shelter up more, turning it into something you'd see in The Swiss Family Robinson. We fish and continually improve our skills, and make sure the fire keeps going.
We begin to settle into a routine that keeps us from going mad, that keeps us from focusing on the negatives. We talk and get to know each other's deepest fears and regrets, speaking about our families and friends and our lives beyond this beach.
Soon I know Flint inside out, and he knows me. And we share in the grief we feel for our lost worlds, lift each other up so that it doesn't weigh us down. Help carry each other along, day by day, enjoying the world we can control while the other continues its search.
&nbs
p; “They won't stop until they know for sure,” Flint tells me, but by now I've begun to think that we will never be saved from here.
And part of me hopes we never are.
We discuss the options we have, and consider building a raft to take us out to sea. If I was alone, I know I'd do it. Flint certainly would. But together, here, neither of us make the choice.
We let the idea float around and never settle. We know such a thing would be to risk our lives out there on the open sea, to take our chances against the storms and the sharks and the vagaries of the currents.
Flint tells me that our chances of survival would be low, that with no implements to build the thing it might not even be possible. And as he speaks, I accept every possible hurdle he sees, and say that we should leave such an idea until we're at the end of our wits.
Because now, together, I see no reason to take such a gamble. The gamble of losing my own life, and losing his.
So I settle the issue in my mind, and we make love again, and we realize that, while we might have died in that crash, we've been granted a chance to truly live.
Here, just the two of us, on this island that's brought us together.
Chapter Two
“It's my birthday today you know.”
Flint sits on a rock by the fire pit, staring into the flames. There's a melancholic tone to his voice, reflective and solemn.
“How do you know?”
In any other place, such a question might seem out of place. We all know when our birthdays are, and we usually plan for them and celebrate. For many, the date is something to look forward to for weeks or months. Not the sort of date you'd forget.
But here, I could hardly tell you what month it is, let alone what day. By now we must have been here for several months, and the days are starting to merge together into one. There's no distinction from one to the next, no events to look forward to, no markers in the calender.