breath. I’m a strong swimmer, always have been, but I’m not used to hauling people around.
When the air returns to my lungs and my heart slows, I sit up and peer at Gabrielle. She’s sitting, staring off at the sea, her knees cradled against her chest as she hugs her legs. I ache to reach out and touch her spine, to let my finger follow the beads of water that drip down her back. But I don’t want to set her off again, so I just watch and wait.
Moments turn to minutes. There’s just us and the silence and the blue sky and even bluer sea and the sun beaming from up high.
Finally, I have to ask. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She doesn’t say anything.
“You scared me,” I admit, taking in a deep, shaking breath. For some reason, it’s easier to unload on her when she’s not looking at me. “I thought I lost you for a second. I didn’t . . . I didn’t realize how painful that would be. To lose someone. I’ve never had someone in my life to lose. I’ve always pushed people away. Shoved, more like it. I’ve acted unfettered by rules and morality. I’ve done as I pleased, and what pleased me was to make sure no one could ever get close to me. I’d been taught that letting people in meant letting your guard down, and when you let your guard down, that’s when they stick in the knife. Why would I risk it? How could it ever be worth it?”
I start drawing lines in the sand with my forefinger, aimless, as everything I’ve kept locked away and buried is starting to surface, as if it’s found the key.
Gabrielle is my key.
The key to becoming a better man.
She’s the one who is worth it.
Silence falls on us again save for the crashing of the waves and the occasional cry from a gull up ahead, wondering if we have anything to eat. I’m not sure if we should continue to sit here or head back to get the towels and water, but then she starts to stir. She doesn’t face me, but her head drops to the side, resting her cheek against her knee so I can see her profile. Her eyes are searching the sky.
“I was raped,” she says, and the stark admission makes my heart free-fall in my chest. “When I was young. Several times. All by the same person.”
I swallow the thickness in my throat, feeling livid that someone did this to her. “I’m sorry,” I manage to say. I don’t know what else to say. But it explains a lot.
“I’m sorry too,” she says quietly, still avoiding my eyes. That’s okay. “I thought it was my fault for a long time. I thought at first maybe I led him on. I was young and stupid. He was . . . older. He paid attention to me in ways that no one else did, and after my childhood, it felt good. But I never thought of him in that way. I thought maybe he was a friend. Except he wasn’t.” She pauses, licks her lips. “I never told anyone this. I never went to therapy for it. I know I should have, but it’s too late for that now. It’s too late for a lot of things. I think maybe I’m beyond saving.”
“You don’t need to be saved,” I tell her. I’ve always questioned the existence of my own heart. It never seemed to beat or bleed for anyone, not even myself. But now it aches, a full-on pain in my chest, like it’s opened up and bleeding me dry for her. I try to compose myself, but it’s hard against the pull of emotions; they grab at my ankles like an undertow.
“I do need to be saved,” she says, her voice taking on an edge. “You have no idea. I need to be saved from myself. I’m the thing most dangerous, and it’s not in a way you’d expect. I have revenge on my mind. I think that’s the only way out of this. I dream about killing him, I fantasize about it. And I know I’m an awful human being for even having those thoughts.”
“You’re a normal human being. He probably deserves it.”
She closes her eyes for a moment. “I think he does. That’s the only thing that keeps me going.”
“Who was he?” I ask, even though I know if she tells me, I’m going to have