Swept Away

by Beth O'Leary

God, she was beautiful. Is beautiful. I guess she’s still beautiful, she’s just doing it somewhere else.

I’m almost…missing her. Which is ridiculous. We met yesterday. Maybe this is the thing everyone says happens once you “open yourself up to finding something meaningful”—the bit where suddenly everything seems to hurt. Not sure how I feel about it, so far.

I have my family. And that’s it. I should try to make new friends, really, but that requires putting yourself out there, and—worst of all—waiting around to see if people still like you once you have.

“Is she right? Do you mean well?” I ask him. “I do lots of things well,” he says, poker-faced, but teasing.

Ok that was smooth asf Ezekiel

shield. Everything about Lexi’s like this—kind of hemmed-in, muted, like someone’s dialed her down. You can tell she’s complicated. I am such a sucker for complicated.

I’d be the first to admit that I have a pretty low opinion of men, generally speaking. Experience has taught me that they’re useless at best and dangerous at worst. I know that good ones must exist, but I’ve met very few.

He’s not actually a kid: he’s twenty-three. That’s young, but not that young. A man can do a lot of harm by the age of twenty-three.

We’re stranded here together, and we’re strangers, and all of a sudden I’m feeling so aware of what it means to be trapped somewhere with a man I don’t know.

“You swear a lot,” Zeke says. And then, “Why do I like that so much?” That makes my stomach flutter, a strange sensation after the heavy, sickening panic that’s sat there for the last day and a half.

I hope she just thinks I’m not replying to her WhatsApps because she kicked me out; the thought of her being frightened makes my stomach bottom out.

Damn why'd she kick you out??

I don’t know when it became a habit, but it did. Wanting to give people what they need from me so they’ll like me better, and then wanting to leave when it’s still my decision to go.

Dad always loved his hidden compartments. When we were kids, he built us our own secret drawers inside our IKEA desks. Mine was filled with marbles, then scrawled song lyrics, then the little scraps of evidence that my father wasn’t really my father.

Wait seriously?

“Can I give you a hug?” I ask, still crouched opposite her with Eugene in his box between us. “What? Yes, fucking hell, just because we’ve said no sex doesn’t mean you can just squat over there while I’m having a breakdown,” Lexi sobs, and to my surprise, that makes me laugh. I stand as she unfolds herself and I pull her into my arms. She smells of that perfume I caught on the first night—kind of lemony—but she also smells of the houseboat, and of the sea.

“You’re my person, too,” he says eventually, and the corner of his mouth rises in a crooked, closed-mouthed smile.

“What? What’s shit? Are you OK?” She’s breathing hard, and her bun has slid all the way to bob down by her left ear. And…she’s…uh. She’s wearing nothing but a pair of black knickers.

OH MY GODDDD

“I don’t regret it for a second,” he says quietly. “Not even now, with everything that’s happened since.” “That’s mad,” I say, before I can stop myself, and his smile widens. “Maybe,” he says. “But I can’t help hating the thought of never having met you.”

So instead of shrugging off the compliment, I let myself absorb it. He’s glad he met me. That’s lovely. I’m so glad I met him, too.

I want it all, really—everything about her.

“How old were you?” Lexi asks. “I was sixteen.” “And she was…” Lexi’s so good at reading me now. “Twenty-eight,” I say reluctantly. Her eyes snap wide open. “Twelve years older than you?”

THATS A CRIME

It’s difficult to match the woman in my lap with the woman I took home on that first night. She’d been a stranger then, and this is my Lexi, my only person in the world.

“Zeke?” Lexi whispers. “Mm?” “You’ve surpassed all my expectations,” she says, her voice fainter now, as if she’s about to fall asleep. “Every single one.”

I gather her into my arms, and she melts against me, damp and sea-smelling, the most precious person.

THE MOST PRECIOUS PERSON? Im crying rn dont mind me

He’s a beautiful man. Thoughtful and kind, with just a dash of darkness to him. When I’m with him, I feel different: like I’m worth what I used to think I was worth. Like I’m someone. That’s the gift he’s given me out here, and despite every horror we’ve been through, I feel genuinely lucky to have had this time with him. That’s how special he is.

“Lexi? Listen to me. I’m right below you. OK?” “Why?” I choke out. I’m angry, because why have I done all this if he was just going to come up anyway and risk himself?

Yeah that was DUMB of him

feel an acute, almost painful desire to be held, and I make a vow that if I get off this tower alive, I am going to kiss the man who climbed up here to tell me I’m amazing, rules be damned.

“Let’s keep going,” I find myself saying. “We’ll see more from the top.”

GIRL WHY THE HELL

“Ask me a question,” I say, when I run out of things to ramble on about. “Any question.” Lexi hesitates slightly, then keeps climbing. One steady step after another. My wound throbs nonstop, and my head feels tight, but I bet she’s suffering worse. “How many women have you slept with?”

Priorities are in order

But whatever else changes, Lexi’s still Lexi: brave, frightened, strong, soft, warm, cold. I’ve never met a woman who’s so many things at once. And I want her, even here, after this mad, wild day. I want her like I’ve never not wanted her, like every other time I’ve wanted a woman, I’ve been looking for Lexi.

smile. “Well, yeah. But even so. I knew there was something about you even then.” I look down, the sea tugging at the edges of my vision. “Maybe I’ve had sixty-five one-night stands, but I’ve never once had this.” “What, you’ve never once ended up lost at sea with a woman you slept with? Does it even count as sleeping around if you don’t tick that one off?” I cut her a look. “I’ve never had this.” My voice shakes slightly as I say, “I’ve never felt like this about a person before.”

My heart pounds. I love her. It’s obvious to me. Not like some blindsiding bolt from the sky—I just know it in my gut, in the way I know it’s right to be kind. It’s an instinct.

“I think we might die on our way back down this tower, and if we do, I’m pretty sure I’ll be out there in the afterlife thinking, Why the fuck didn’t you kiss Zeke Ravenhill when you had the chance?”

“Put me down,” I say, kicking my feet as we approach the stairs. “Can’t,” Zeke says, voice strained and thick with laughter. “Got a point to prove.” “What point?” I say, still kicking. “Whatever it is, I’m pretty sure it’s problematic.” “Really?” Zeke says. “Thank God for that.” He sets me down on my feet and leans against the wall. Then he pulls me toward him. “To be clear, I think your body’s perfect,” he says. “It was the day I met you, and it is right now.” “It’s changed a fair bit in that time,” I say dryly, leaning into him, bringing my hand to my hip to show him what I mean. “The lost-at-sea crash diet.” “It’s still yours,” Zeke says. “So: perfect.”

“This is incredibly weird. You know that, right?” Zeke adjusts his ridiculous hat, and then mine. “I’m shooting for ‘quirky.’ ” “It’s giving ‘I lost my mind at sea.’ ” I pause. “Did I use ‘it’s giving’ right?”

LMAO

“You reckon that one’s him?” Zeke asks, pointing at an entirely random seagull. Eugene left his box sometime yesterday afternoon—Zeke is convinced he tried to fly up and help us climb the tower, which is an adorably ridiculous idea, but I have to admit, I kind of like the thought that Eugene might have been one of the birds I heard on my way up the ladder. That healed-up seagull is so much more than just a bird—he’s proof that sometimes daft humanity can win out after all. I miss him already.

Aww Eugene :(

“That’s not why I feel lucky.” I look away from him, but he turns my face back to his gently, with one finger on my jaw. We’ve come to a stop on a rusted walkway on the far side of the rig, the sea stretching out before us. “It’s you,” he says, “by the way. It’s less cute if I spell it out, but I feel like if I don’t, you’ll tell yourself I’m talking about something else.”

“I love that.” And I love you, I think. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Too soon. Too…much. She’ll write it off as something I’m just feeling because I’m stuck with her. I know Lexi, and I know she’ll be waiting for me to leave her the minute we hit dry land. So that’s when I’m going to tell her. Once we’re home, and she sees I’m not going anywhere.

Putting on makeup with butterflies in my stomach makes me feel like I’ve thrown a line back in time to the Lexi who lives on land, and the moment of connection makes it so obvious how different I am now. That Lexi moved through life without looking. Now I’m scared and desperate and drained, but I’m also living so hard it’s like I’m doing it in Technicolor. If I survive this, I’ll look back on these days as the making of me, I know I will.

“What’s it about? Why can’t you take a compliment?” he asks softly. I shrug, avoiding his eyes. “It just feels kind of wrong. Like it shouldn’t be about me.” “What shouldn’t?” “I don’t know. Anything?”

“I just feel like I didn’t know at the time how important that was. Our night together. It was amazing, but I wish I could go back and tell myself…this woman, she’ll be your everything. Then sometimes I wonder if I sort of did know.

“That’s all I want,” he whispers. “You. All of you.”

“I love you,” he says. “Sorry. I had hoped to do a big buildup and everything, you know, wait for the perfect moment. I was going to tell you once we’d got you home to Mae, but…now I’m wondering if we might be short on time, so I figured, I’d better just let you know.”

STOP IMMA CRYYYY