Between the Land and the Sea - By Derrolyn Anderson Page 0,96
Ethan’s to find him waiting out front, leaning against the rail. It was starting to get dark and I hoped he didn’t notice how gingerly I was taking the stairs. He greeted me with a big hug and a lingering kiss, making me forget all about my throbbing feet.
“Let’s go for a walk,” he said. Going down the stairs hurt even more than climbing up and I bit down on my lip to keep from crying out. Ethan took my hand and led me along a dock. He noticed I was trailing him as we walked and he turned back to look at me.
“Are you alright?” I nodded and tried to smile, but he looked skeptical.
“I’m just tired– can we sit down somewhere?” I asked hopefully.
“Sure, there’s some benches up here.” As we went farther down the dock the crowd thickened, and all the benches were taken up. I followed along behind him numbly, each step opening up more cuts.
My mind wandered, and I was reminded the classic fairy tale about the little mermaid who traded her tail for legs. She could dance and walk, but every step she took came with agonizing, stabbing pain. I couldn’t help but wonder if my mother had made a bargain like that. I recalled that the story had a tragic ending.
I paused, “Uhm, I really need to stop.” He looked at me strangely. “My feet hurt,” I added feebly.
“OK, c’mon.” He led me down from the main dock to a locked gate where he typed a code into the keypad, standing back as the gate swung open. We walked along a row of darkened boats. We came to the end of the row and he turned to me in the dim light.
“We’re not really supposed to be here, but the view will be great.” He helped me up onto the deck of a beautiful white yacht facing out to the harbor. We sat down on a comfortable padded bench, looking out over the lighted boats. I sighed with relief as the weight came off my feet.
“I’ll give you a foot rub,” he said, as he swung my feet onto his lap.
“No!” I cried, trying to pull them back. But in a flash, he had hold of my ankle, and already pulled off a sneaker.
“Are you ticklish?” he teased, and then stopped short. Even in the dim light you could see a dark blood stain seeping through my white sock.
“What the...” he pulled off the other sneaker and there was even more fresh blood. “What happened?” He looked shocked, and he peeled back the sock to see my makeshift bandages.
“I stepped in glass,” I said. Even in the near blackness I could see his eyes widen. “By accident,” I added firmly. I pulled back my feet, and reached across him for my shoes.
He grabbed my wrist, “On both feet? How? When?” He was upset.
“Promise me that you’re not going to freak out,” I said, pulling my hand back. He just looked at me.
“What did you do?” He sounded intense.
“I was sleepwalking last night,” I said, and it sounded weird. “There were some broken beer bottles down by the pier and I walked over them in my sleep...”
“Down by the pier?” He raised his voice.
“I can’t help it. I tried to stop it...” I grabbed my shoes and put them back on. “I told you I haven’t been sleeping...”
“How long has this been going on?” he asked.
“The first time was the night you got hurt,” I admitted.
I tried to explain myself, but as the story tumbled out I realized how crazy it sounded. I told him about how I had found myself, half dressed, outside in the middle of the night. I described finding myself going down the stairs to the beach, explaining how I’d been afraid to sleep, and started sleeping in my clothes. I told that I’d been barricading myself in my room, that it was getting worse, and that last night I’d somehow managed to move the furniture in my sleep.
“Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?” he choked out.
“You stopped talking to me,” I said. He looked agonized.
“Oh God, I’m sorry,” he groaned as he pulled me into his arms. He felt warm in the cool night air and I rested my tired head on his shoulder.
“It’s not your fault, I don’t like to talk about it anyway,” I mumbled, exhausted.
“You shouldn’t be going through this all alone.” He kissed my forehead, “Let’s go back to my house and