The minutes stretched into what felt like hours, the waves beneath us gentle now, as the storm had finally passed. I could barely keep my eyes open, exhaustion overtaking me despite the circumstances. The cold had worn me down, and my body felt like it was made of lead, each breath harder than the last.
I tried to stay awake, but the pull of sleep was too strong. The last thing I remember was the faintest sense of movement, a shift in the log beneath me, and the low sound of Mr. St. Patrick's voice calling out faintly.
"Hey…"
I drifted into unconsciousness.
When I woke up again, it wasn't to the violent slap of water or the cold shivers of the night air. The ground beneath me felt… solid. Soft, even. The smell of earth, sand, and saltwater filled my nostrils, and when I opened my eyes, I was met with sunlight streaming through the trees.
I tried to push myself up, but my body was sluggish, and it took a moment to gather the energy. My throat was dry, and I felt the weight of the cold, of the sea still in my bones. My head spun as I finally looked around, trying to understand where I was. It took a second, but I soon realized—I was on land.
An island.
The first thing I saw was Mr. St. Patrick standing beside me, his broad figure blocking some of the sun's rays. He had a steady gaze, like he was assessing the situation, scanning our surroundings.
"What… how?" My voice was hoarse, cracked from both exhaustion and the saltwater.
He didn't look at me as he spoke, his tone still sharp but with an undertone I couldn't quite place. "I brought you here. You were out for a while. Didn't think you'd wake up that quick."
I blinked, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "You carried me?"
He shrugged, a brief flicker of annoyance crossing his face. "Don't make a big deal out of it. You wouldn't have made it to shore on your own."
I frowned. "I can swim just fine."
He looked down at me, his expression a mix of something close to smugness and practicality. "Not in those conditions, you couldn't."
I opened my mouth to protest, but he wasn't wrong. I hadn't been able to keep my head above water for long in the storm, and if it hadn't been for him, I likely wouldn't have made it. Still, I wasn't about to admit that. Not to him.
Instead, I sat up, trying to push myself into a sitting position, ignoring the slight ache in my body. The sun felt warmer here, and the sounds of the island—birdcalls, the rustling of leaves—made everything feel surreal.
"What now?" I asked, wiping the grit from my lips, still trying to process the bizarre turn my night had taken.
He finally met my eyes then, and the confidence in his gaze was almost suffocating. "We wait. Someone's bound to come looking for us. Don't get too comfortable."
His cockiness grated on me even here, even after everything that had happened. I opened my mouth to snap back at him, but he cut me off before I could speak.
"Look, I'm just saying," he started, "this isn't over. We'll figure something out."
I glanced around, taking in the dense jungle-like vegetation that surrounded us, the beach stretching for miles. I didn't have the energy to argue. What was there to say?
Instead, I just nodded, settling back onto the sand, closing my eyes as I let the sun warm my skin. It was a strange, surreal situation, and I couldn't decide if I was more angry or relieved.
"Don't fall asleep again," he warned, though there was no real threat in his voice. "We need to be alert."
I let out a tired breath but didn't answer, the sound of the waves crashing on the shore too soothing for words.
And then, as I lay there, I realized something: he never even asked my name. I wasn't sure if he knew it or even cared to.
The island was beautiful, in its own way, but all I could focus on was the fact that I was stuck here. Stuck with him.
I could still feel his presence behind me, even though I refused to look at him. His voice, that cocky tone of his, was still stuck in my head, and it made my blood boil just thinking about it. I didn't want to be around him for a second longer than I had to.
I turned my back to him, refusing to let my frustration show, and snapped, "I'm going to need help building a shelter. You're not off the hook for that."
Without even waiting for him to agree, I started grabbing branches, leaves, and anything else that might work for some kind of shelter
"I'm not waiting for your permission," I muttered to myself as I snapped off another branch. "So either you help or stay out of the way."
I didn't know if he was rolling his eyes or actually making an effort, but I couldn't care less. This wasn't the time for arguing, not when we were stuck here on some island with no real way off.
"I'm not building you a five-star resort," I added, trying to keep my voice steady as I gathered more materials. "But I'll make sure we don't roast under the sun."
"You know," I muttered under my breath, trying to focus on the task, "I didn't ask to be stuck with you on this damn island."
I heard him shift behind me, his voice a little too calm. "And I didn't ask to be stuck with you, either. But here we are."
"You could at least pretend like you're trying to help," I added, the sharpness in my voice coming through despite my best efforts to sound unaffected. "I'm not doing this alone."
"Well, if you're done complaining, maybe you should try directing me," he said, his tone still annoyingly casual, like everything was just an inconvenience to him.
I whipped around to face him, still feeling the heat in my cheeks from both the sun and the frustration he was causing. "I'm not directing you," I snapped. "You're perfectly capable of figuring it out yourself."
He gave me a small, sardonic smile, and I could tell he was trying to get under my skin. "If you say so," he said, his eyes studying me. "But you're going to need me. Eventually."
I shot him a glare. "I'll manage just fine without you," I shot back, grabbing another branch and shoving it into place with more force than necessary.
"Sure, you will," he said dryly, walking toward the pile of branches I'd gathered. "Just don't act like you're doing all this for fun. You want a shelter, too. That means we're in this together."
I didn't know what was worse—the fact that he was right, or the way he knew how to talk to me like that. Like I wasn't as capable as him.
"Just help," I muttered, resisting the urge to snap at him again. "Get those branches over there, and tie the frame with the leaves. We need something stable, or else we'll be out here baking in the sun tomorrow."
He didn't argue this time, and to my surprise, he went right to work, gathering more branches without saying another word. The silence between us stretched on as we both worked in unison, though there was no denying the tension that hung in the air.
It wasn't long before I noticed his actions had a precision to them. Despite my irritation with him, I had to admit it: he knew how to get things done, even if he was a little too cocky for his own good. But still, I wasn't going to let him have the satisfaction of knowing he was good at this.
"I'll make sure we're covered," I said, focusing on tying the fronds together, trying to keep my voice steady. "You get the sides, and make sure everything's solid."
He didn't respond, just kept working, his movements sharp and quick. I didn't look at him as I continued, my focus now solely on the shelter.