Monday, January 8, 2018

I

t rained for hours, yet I did not move. I needed Craig and George to believe I was still a vegetable, so they would fall asleep without knowing I had the power to turn this boat around, and kill them if I had to. I prayed I wouldn't have to.

The red sky died into the night and turned an inky black around a glowing white moon that lit the sea. Water drops still trickled off the wet debris while the rain dwindled into a depressing, drizzly haze.

I could still smell the ash and the sulfur. I don't know where the bloody color of the sky nor the ash had come from; but I imagined hopefully that it was a fire burning from another bay house with another set of six stranded people, because I didn't want to be the only chance to have our story told.

But that was just wishful thinking. There was no party like ours around. Not for miles. Maybe not even for days. I could still taste Jack's lingering kiss from days ago. Craig's freezing hand was still stuck like a puzzle piece in mine as he slept with a soft snore, but I wish it was Jack's.

I would not move until they both fell asleep, I repeated to myself, I will turn the boat around.

George was still awake, relentlessly rowing the boat against metal scraps in the water. He could see nothing; yet, he ploughed onward. Maybe he had bat-like senses, I wondered. I wouldn't be surprised if he was a disgusting bat. No offense to bats.

I took a moment to admire my own stoicism. I never realized how long I could go without eating.

Into the night, I could hear Craig fall asleep while holding my hand. George had stopped the boat, and because it was very cold, George pulled his body up against me becoming an even greater test to my resilience than my hunger.

To my utter revulsion, he spooned me, taking full advantage of my apparent unconsciousness.

I did not shudder. I did not budge. He began to stick his freezing hand on my waste. And then moved it underneath the hem of my shirt, and rose it up my belly, and then put his spidery fingers across my chest. He gripped my breast in his hand. . . and took advantage of me. . .

I held my breath, as my eyes went wet with anger and agony because I didn't know how to decide whether my loyalty to Jack rested on letting George molest me or giving up my strategy to return the boat unnoticed. Who knows if my plan would work anyway? I might be letting myself be used without any real payoff.

A line began to blur. The heat in my head dazed me with horrified confusion as George pressed himself into my back. He was exploiting me in the dark, thinking I would never know. My jaw clenched. My body is not a damn toy! I am a human being! George was an even worse creature than I could have ever imagined. He was a pig. A misogynist. A little shit. I hated him. I hated him to the point that I hated myself for hating someone so much.

George began to advance into worse territory, and I wanted to scream. I wanted to wake Craig and tell Craig to kill George for what he was doing to me. No desperation could justify this exploitation. Was I doing all women and myself an insufferable injustice by remaining still? I was letting myself be intruded like a hand tool—just for Jack? Was governance over my body a worthy sacrifice? It was for love, wasn't it? To save his life?

Have I lost myself?

I held onto my scream this terrible night. I did not moan. I did not cry out loud.

I let George use me. Let him kill me inside. Was it worth it. . . to live anymore? My thoughts drowned under the surface of this most terrible sacrifice I'd ever suffered.

And what's worse. . .

I then tried to enjoy it. . . To save my sanity.

But I couldn't.

When it was over, he moved to the other end of the boat, and fell asleep.

I stayed awake, looking up numbly at the moon, unthinking.

I hoped I'd be the one to kill George in the end.