Fifteen ~ Nine-one-one

I perched on the edge of the table, listening to the rain hammer the roof of the wooden hut. Brent sat in the opposite corner, not too far away considering the small nature of the room. There was an element of claustrophobia, but it wasn't a genuine fear—it was a concern about being so close to Brent, for so long.

"Are you sure we're safe in here?" I asked. "What if lightning hits the roof? Won't the wood go up in flames?"

"We're safe."

I wasn't usually afraid of thunder, but watching a storm from inside a large house was much more comforting than watching from inside a tiny, wooden hut that seemed especially perceptible to fire.

"Do you know what kills more people than thunderstorms?" Brent asked me.

Plenty of things probably killed more people than thunderstorms, so I wasn't sure whether Brent was attempting to make awkward conversation or attempting to calm my nerves. Either way, he seemed to be waiting for a response.

"No. I do not know what kills more people than thunderstorms. Please enlighten me."

"Rip currents."

Even though it wasn't funny, a small laugh spilled past my lips. Brent showed a glimmer of a smile, too.

"It's true," he said. "You, in particular, are safer in here than out there."

"Hilarious."

No sooner had the word left my mouth, a loud crack of thunder accompanied a bright flash of light. The walls of the hut trembled, the rickety windows rattling. I shied away from the wall beside me, before realising that the small room meant I'd just moved closer to the opposite one... and Brent.

"In fact," Brent continued, "given your track record, you're probably safer in here regardless of what the statistics suggest."

I rolled my eyes. "By the end of this summer, you'll have succeeded in classically conditioning me to have a fear of water."

"Can't be a bad thing," he said with a shrug. "Although the idea that anyone's able to classically condition you is laughable."

I didn't respond, partly because he'd caught me off guard; I hadn't expected him to be familiar with Ivan Pavlov, but perhaps I hadn't given him enough credit.

"Got any more tests for me?" he asked, and when I spared a glance at him, he raised a challenging eyebrow that seemed inexplicably intimate.

My stomach clenched. Being trapped in here with him made me anxious anyway, especially since we'd reached a stage in our relationship that was neither hostile nor friendly. It was like a narrow, unstable bridge between antagonism and amiability that swung in the wind with the constant threat of snapping and breaking, sending us hurtling back to square one at the slightest provocation.

"No," I said curtly.

"Glad to hear it."

Awkward again, I crossed my arms over my stomach. Brent often saw me in a bikini, but out of its acceptable environment, I felt exposed. My kimono—which I'd brought down to the beach every day after the back incident—did little to uphold my decency.

If Brent was also uneasy at my lack of clothing, he didn't show it. That was unsurprising, considering he rarely displayed any kind of emotion, particularly when it came to giving away his inner thoughts.

"Are we likely to be stuck in here a while?" I asked, unable to sit in silence any longer.

"That depends."

"On what?"

"On what happens first: the storm passing, or us getting hit by lightning."

I narrowed my eyes at him, unimpressed with his dark sense of humour. Although good to see a lighter side to him, it was being exposed at my expense.

"Well, you're a lifeguard, so hopefully you'll come to my rescue."

"Yeah, maybe I'll throw you in the ocean to cool the flames."

"At least that'll give you a chance to redeem yourself."

"Redeem myself?" He arched an eyebrow, a mixture of threatening and curious. "Did I not rescue you well enough last time?"

I shrugged with one shoulder. "Well, you could have been less of a twat about it."

Rather than becoming defensive, or even getting offended, Brent's lips twitched into a cunning smirk.

"That's quite a coarse word to come out of such a refined mouth."

"Maybe I'm not as refined as you think I am."

He chuckled, stretching his legs out until they reached beneath my dangling feet. I shuffled back on the table to avoid my bare soles brushing his tanned calves. His proximity made my stomach tighten, thickening the air between us.

"Maybe you're not," he said. "Although, inviting me into your house would also suggest a dirtier side to you, and yet you insisted on that being out of character... So, the jury's still out, I'm afraid."

My face warmed, not only in embarrassment at recollecting that night but also at the awkwardness of Brent bringing it up so casually when trapped in a small room together. With nowhere to run or hide, I had to face my actions, and he was apparently intent on making me squirm. All I could do was ad-lib and hope to maintain my dignity—which was already proving hard to do.

"How do you know I wasn't inviting you in for coffee?"

He let out a short laugh, and I jumped in surprise. It was the first time I'd seen him properly laugh, and I cherished it like a long-desired accomplishment, despite the circumstances.

"Coffee? In the middle of the night?"

I shrugged, trying to keep my cool. "That's what we do in England."

Brent stood, all my senses jolting alive in anticipation. After being away from London for so long, the constant desire of power had faded somewhat, but I could still sense it lingering in the back of my mind as Brent moved closer to tower over me. He stopped between my legs, so close that my inner thighs grazed his broad hips.

Without a word, he skimmed his index finger down the centre of my chest, gliding across the narrow strip of skin left uncovered by the kimono and leaving a trail of treacherous goose bumps in its wake. My heart lurched and my stomach twisted at the unfamiliar intimacy. At Brent stood between my legs, touching my body, with unmistakable heat present in his eyes.

"And is this what you do when you invite someone in for coffee?" he asked me, his voice low and daring.

The words caught in my throat as he withdrew his finger just before he reached my cleavage, his hand falling back to his side. His unexpected action made me even more aware of my exposed body, especially when I wet my lips to moisten my drying mouth and saw Brent's eyes follow my tongue.

Too much time had passed without me saying anything. I'd lost my cool; the effect he'd had on me was obvious. My thoughts complete mush, fiery blood coursed through my veins, alighting every inch of my body with a sensation I'd not experienced in a very long time.

This was wrong. I had a boyfriend. Just because Brent had represented a frustrating enigma over the course of the summer didn't mean I should encourage the side of him he now offered. His rejection a few weeks ago might have embarrassed me, but that didn't mean I should now be flattered at him potentially returning my advances.

I wasn't Alastair. And even if it was Brent initiating the intimacy, allowing the situation to progress would make me as bad as my cheating boyfriend.

"Stop teasing me," I said, finally managing to articulate words. "I didn't invent the English customs."

A lame recovery, and we both knew it was irrelevant considering that my reaction to Brent's touch had all but confirmed the motive behind my actions that night.

"I can't wait to find out more of them, then," he said, stepping back and taking a seat again.

Was he flirting or taking the piss? I didn't respond, not wanting to press the matter. The hut seemed to have shrunk in size, and I didn't want to get myself into any further prickly situations. When I crossed my legs to stifle the growing ache between them, Brent's eyes followed my movement.

Clearly satisfied that he'd made his point and fulfilled whatever his intention, he pressed his lips together and turned his attention back to the window. The storm raged on outside, but my primary emotion was no longer fear of lightning, but of something much more dangerous.

~~~

As I gazed out of the window, fascinated yet fearful of the stormy weather, I caught sight of bobbing within the water. Frowning, I sat up and leaned closer to the glass, cupping my eyes to get a closer look. Even with the sea so choppy, there was no mistaking what I saw.

"There's someone in the water," I blurted out, nausea rising deep inside me.

"What?" Brent leapt across to the window, almost dislodging me off the table. "Fuck."

Only a few seconds passed between him getting up, validating my statement, and then diving out of the door. I lay my arm to rest against my churning stomach as I watched him hurtle towards the shore, his pace not slowing even as he entered the water.

Clutching onto the edge of the table, I bowed my head and closed my eyes to calm the growing dizziness and anxiety. It wasn't just the prospect of witnessing a death that shook me; it was the sheer realisation that, five weeks ago, a similar scene had played out with me.

Although it hadn't been stormy, I had no doubt that Brent would have charged towards the water with as much purpose back then. It was instinct from being wired to save lives. When I was drowning, it didn't matter what kind of person I was or how well we'd get along in the future. I'd just been a girl in danger of dying.

I breathed in for a count of three and turned back to the window. From within the rough waters, Brent resurfaced with a body draped over his shoulder. A girl. When he placed her on the sand, she didn't move. I fought back the rising bile, praying she wasn't dead. I'd never seen a dead person before, and a death through drowning would hit too close to home.

As he began to perform mouth-to-mouth, Brent glanced towards the hut, his eyes wide in desperation. Despite my weak limbs, I had to help. I pushed open the door and stumbled out into the rain.

"Call nine-one-one," Brent shouted as he placed his ear over the girl's mouth.

I didn't move, my attention transfixed on the girl's pale, motionless body.

"Do it now, Rosalie!"

It might have been mistaken for aggression, had sheer panic not consumed his eyes. Spurring into action, I leapt back into the hut and grabbed my phone, punching in the numbers.

"Nine-one-one, what's your emergency?"

"Um, there's a girl, she drowned, the lifeguard is trying to resuscitate her." I tripped over the words, my voice choked, unprepared for the conversation.

"What's your location, ma'am?"

"Camberley, North Carolina," I said, before adding my home address since that was the nearest house. I had no idea how much information they'd need; surely they could track my phone? The thoughts rushed through my head, none of them settling into anything coherent.

"Is the victim breathing?"

Was she breathing? Tears burned my eyes, already feeling like a complete failure. In desperation, I glanced back out of the window at Brent, who was still carrying out chest compressions on her.

"I don't know." My voice broke. "The lifeguard is doing CPR, but I don't know if she's breathing. He just told me to call."

She then asked me basic questions, such as my name and phone number. It was information that should have been ingrained in my mind, but I still struggled to recall it through the panic.

"Okay, stay calm," she said. "An ambulance is on the way, but I need you to stay on the line with me, all right?"

"All right." I took a deep breath.

Where was the nearest hospital? How long would the ambulance be? Was she going to be okay? Was Brent succeeding in resuscitating her?

The woman began to ask me other questions to help the paramedics, such as things to do with the beach, to do with Brent, to do with the storm... I answered them all as best I could until the sound of a siren pierced through the howling wind.

A few moments later, a couple of paramedics skidded down those same stone steps I navigated every single day.

"Okay, I'm going to disconnect now," the operator said.

No sooner had I said okay, the line cut off. My mouth dry and my heart thumping, I reached for the table to steady myself as I watched the unfolding scene outside. The paramedics kneeled by the girl while Brent stood further back, observing with his hand clasped over his mouth.

After what seemed like an eternity, she was carried away on a stretcher. Did that mean she was okay? I hoped so. If she died, her poor family would be traumatised. And Brent... I dreaded to think how it would affect him.

The door to the hut opened, and a drenched Brent stepped inside. His eyes landed on me, his forehead wrinkling. Leaning closer, he placed a damp hand on my upper arm.

"You okay? You're looking a little pale."

"I'm fine," I said, my trembling voice betraying me. "Just a bit, you know, a bit... Just..."

"I think she'll be okay," Brent said, turning around and tugging off his sodden t-shirt. I averted my gaze and kept them fixated on a pile of stray sand, even after he'd pulled on a dry top.

"She's alive?" I asked.

"Yeah. She's swallowed a lot of water, though. I think the ambulance got here just in time..."

Brent paused, prompting me to look up again. He stared straight into my eyes, his expression impossible to read. I wished I could tell what he was thinking, whether he did feel calm about the situation or could just hide his trauma better than me.

"Good job," he said.

"Huh?"

"Calling nine-one-one. You reacted quickly."

"Not as quickly as you."

His brow furrowed again, and he edged nearer. My stomach jolted, which didn't help the residual feelings of nausea. I kept it together, though, wary of his actions and his sudden softer side.

"Are you sure you're okay? Are you in shock? You seem a bit... spaced out. Perhaps you should sit down."

I shook my head, clueless as to whether I actually was in shock. "No, Brent, listen... about that time... when I went in the water and you had to..."

"Here." He took my arm, guiding me to the chair. "You look like you're about to pass out. I don't want another unconscious female on my hands."

I eased myself down, relieved at the support that the chair offered to my quivering legs. Bursting into tears would be an effective way to release the turmoil inside me, yet my eyes stayed dry, like my body and mind refused to communicate.

"Do you want some water?" Brent knelt in front of me and rooted around in his cool bag.

I took the bottle from him once he'd loosened the cap. After a few sips, I inhaled deeply, feeling myself become calmer.

"About that day," I continued before pausing.

I knew what I wanted to say, but not where to start or how to express it. I was frightened of it coming out wrong and offending Brent again, especially since I desperately wanted him to understand how appreciative I was.

"Rosalie," he said, his voice quiet. "It doesn't matter."

"No, it does matter, because that day, me going into the water and you having to help me, that whole thing has shaped our relationship. You wouldn't hate me half as much if I hadn't done it—"

"I don't hate you." He sighed, scratching the back of his neck.

"Regardless." I swallowed. "You resented me after that, and now I understand why. What I just saw you do was one of the most amazing—and terrifying—things I've ever seen. When I went into the water that day, I should have been more careful. I should have looked at the flag and not assumed the water was safe just because it was calm. I'm so sorry for not expressing how grateful I was. Today was a real emergency; mine shouldn't have been, and I know that's why you were so angry about it."

Brent stayed silent for several moments, looking at me with an intense gaze that made me uneasy, and not just because I couldn't read it. For the first time, I'd properly let my guard down in front of him. I'd addressed the one issue that had caused all those problems between us. The ball was now in his court.

"There aren't degrees of emergency. If someone is struggling, it's an emergency."

"That's not what I meant. I was careless, whereas today the weather probably played a huge part in it."

He seemed to consider this, finally looking away from me as he did so.

"We don't know that," he said. "We don't know why she was in the ocean. She might have been just as careless as you, even more so since the weather was so bad."

I didn't argue with him, but you'd have to be pretty stupid to fancy a swim during a thunderstorm. I doubted she was there through personal choice.

Brent rose to his feet. "The rain's easing off; do you want me to walk you back?"

Just what I needed after an emotional afternoon—another uncomfortable encounter at my front door. I might not be drunk this time, but the topic would be fresh in our minds after Brent's suggestive taunts earlier.

"I'll be okay. I'm feeling better."

I pushed myself up from the chair, forcing my legs to straighten and hold my weight. Brent hovered nearby, his eyes sharply focused on me. He really wasn't one for tact, or perhaps he just refused to give in to awkwardness. I, on the other hand, couldn't help but look away.

I ducked my head as I squeezed past him, but just as I pushed open the door, he called after me.

"It's okay to be scared. It's not a nice thing to see."

Glancing back over my shoulder, I forced a smile. "I'll be fine. Thanks, though."

He nodded in acknowledgement and I took that as a goodbye. The rain had turned into drizzle as I crossed the beach, as fast as my weak legs could carry me. No longer in the safe company of Brent, the anxiety bubbled inside me again, fusing with anger at myself for coming so close to drowning that day. I'd been lucky, but that girl might not have been quite so fortunate if I hadn't noticed her.

I tried to convince myself that noticing her was my opportunity to reset the balance. If it hadn't been for me, she might have drowned. My incident inconvenienced Brent, but this one had been an actual emergency and I may have been significant in saving her.

Despite this rationale, I couldn't shake the image of the motionless girl from my head. Five weeks ago, I was nearly in that same position, at the mercy of a lifeguard who dedicated his days to saving the lives of others. What had I contributed to this world? What was my worth?

It put a lot of things in perspective. I'd formed a real, close friendship over here; Mia was kind, genuine, and she'd never hurt me. Brent was rude at times, but he still spent his time looking out for people. Brooke was a bitch, but at least she didn't hide that fact: she was a bitch to your face.

Before I'd even realised it, tears rolled down my face. Maybe it was exhaustion, or relief, or panic. Maybe all three. All I knew was that things were starting to change, and I'd never coped well with change.

~~~

Thank you for reading :) xx

~~~