I wake up to a sound I haven't heard in years. For a few moments I just lay there and listen to it, still half dreaming. It is the ocean. The waves crashing against the shore in a violent and rhythmic sound. The gush of water seems so close I can smell the salty air. I feel the work of the wind raising sand.
It's the ocean, but that is impossible. I haven't been around a beach in years. I must still be dreaming, I must, but I am not. I once read somewhere we never feel pain in dreams. That is how I know I am awake. I am in pain. I cannot pinpoint where it is coming from; it feels like nowhere and everywhere in my body. It is not acute, paralyzing pain. It is more like I have overly exercised yesterday, and today I am completely sore.
Did I exercise yesterday?
What day is today?
Where am I?
I open my eyes at last, and there is a new sound to wake my stunned brain. It is a voice this time. Draco? No, certainly not. Draco's voice is very low and husky these days. And the voice I hear is high and pitchy and definitely girly. Bella?
Pull yourself together, I scold myself, straitening up on the mattress. Bella's voice is a memory almost as forgotten now as the sound of waves.
I start to feel a ting of apprehension as I look around. I don't know this room. I have no recollection of how I came to be here. I am wearing my dark blue nightdress, and the feel of it is familiar against my skin, but that is where familiarity ends.
"You!" The door to the bedroom slams open, and instinct puts me on my feet. The girl on the threshold points a finger at me as if she caught me in some mischief. "How did you bring me here, and why?!" She demands, her voice as high and as pitchy and as girly as I have heard in the distance.
It takes me a few seconds absorb the question and formulate an answer.
"I did not bring you here," I tell her at last. "I don't even know where is here. I just woke up."
"Don't play with me, or you'll pay for it, I swear. Where is my wand?"
Where is my wand? I look at the bedside table automatically, because it is where I keep my wand at home, but there is nothing there but a lamp. The girl on the door marches across the room and starts going through the drawers, as if I might have hidden her wand there. But they are all empty.
"I did not bring myself here," I say, trying to stay calm. She is now searching the bed, the pillows, the covers. There is nothing. "What is happening?"
"How the hell would I know?!" She spats, straightening herself and looking down at me. I didn't remember she being that tall. But as I am barefoot, my world vision is lower. "One second we are in the court room, next thing I know, I wake up in some creepy unknown house on the beach with you!"
The courtroom. Yes. I remember the courtroom. I remember being on stand. I remember the aurors, the Minister, I remember Draco watching me from the bleachers, and yes, I remember this girl. Hermione Granger.
The scary part is to realize I don't remember anything else from that on.
"The last thing I recall is to give my testimony," I say cautiously. "I finished it, I came down the stand…"
Granger arches an eyebrow, staring at me questioningly.
"That is all," I conclude, shaking my head. "After that, everything is a blank. What do you know?"
She sighs before rubbing her eyes. There is distrust in her posture, but after looking at me up and down, I believe she decided I am not hiding a wand under this nightie. It is embarrassing to be dressed this way in front of a stranger, in a stranger place, but I wouldn't show. And Granger is in yellow pajamas, after all.
"That's pretty much as far as I got, too," She admits, before heading to the door.
"Where are you going?"
"To find out where I am. And how much more company I have."
I don't see another choice but to follow her. The house is not big; only two bedrooms, a bathroom, a small kitchen and a rather cozy living room. There is no attic, and no basement. No more company. Once the front door is open, the ocean welcomes us as a longing boyfriend. It shines under a blue sky, and the salty air hugs me all at once.
Have I missed it all this time and never realized it?
"Jesus Christ, what is this place?" The girl's shout wakes me from my torpor.
In front of us there is only the infinite sea. Nothing to the right or the left but the empty beach. Behind the small house, the sand extends for maybe a mile, before turning into a scarce forest.
I don't recognize any of it. Nothing. I have never been here before. Even this ocean is not one I know, its scent feels more like a memory than anything I have actually smelled before. It is all so foreign I am not sure why I am not more nervous than this.
The girl is.
She glares at me once more, like it is my fault that we woke up in this place, even though the truth is that I am just as lost as she is. Then she stalks to the woods, her feet digging into the sand as she moves with some effort.
For a moment, everything looks surreal. I watch this girl in yellow pajamas walking away on a beach I don't know. I am wearing a nightdress, unarmed, alone with a war hero not older than my son. My son, where is my son? I have so many questions.
I know walking into the woods is the logical thing to do, the only place we have to explore. But it seems silly to go there without at least changing first. Changing to what, though? I am not home. I don't have any clothes here.
But it is your nightdress.
It is. How can it be?
I follow Hermione Granger again. She is walking slowly and difficultly for a girl of her age, and I catch up ease enough. She only glances at me before we cross the tree line. Not much of a forest here, I see. Tall trees with huge leaves, and a battered and brown grass under our feet. I am not surprised to find nothing and no one. Not even animals. Not even the faintest buzz of life.
I cannot say I am not getting preoccupied.
The woods are half a mile at most, but the girl is panting by my side. It is a weird sound, as if she is straining now to take a step. I look at her, at her tall, slim figure. She is even a little athletic, if you pay close attention. But she is sweating and there is color in her cheeks.
I would ask what is wrong if I cared.
When we are out of the forest, we are again on a beach. I immediately know what this means; this place is an island, and not a big one. On the contraire, it is a tiny, tiny island. But there is a house in sight now. As small as the one we left, but it is a house.
"Thank God," Granger whispers by my side and tries to speed up, but at this point she is limping.
When we are fifty yards from the building, I stop. Granger keeps going. She doesn't see it yet. She doesn't realize. The girl looks back at me, raising an eyebrow. There is pain on her face. And there is curiosity. Why did I stop?
"It is the same," I say softly.
She frowns, "What?"
"The house," I explain, letting out a deep sigh. "It is the same one we left."
"What? No— It… It can't be." She stares at the back of the house again. No surprise that she cannot recognize it. When we walked out of the beach, we never looked back to see how the house looks from behind, but I see the ocean. The framework. It is the same.
I am proven right when we get there. It is not an island, after all. Or maybe it is, but we wouldn't know. We are locked in here; the end drives us again to the beginning. I suppose we could walk along the beach to see where we can get, but I am sure walking to the left will only make me come back by the right.
"I can't believe it." Granger sits laboriously on the porch, grimacing as she adjusts herself.
"You are bleeding," I say, because now I see the stain on the side of her pajama's shirt. It is deep red, almost brown.
"I know," She replies coolly. "I think we were kidnapped," She adds, staring at me like she means to read my mind and find out once for all if I am involved.
Merlin, I will need patience.
"It is the safest thing to assume, yes," I nod. "Although I cannot imagine someone who would benefit from kidnapping the both of us. Even more when Harry Potter and the Minister of Magic were in the same room."
"Maybe they were kidnapped too," She wonders. "Or… Or maybe they'll use us as baits."
I don't say there is no point using a bait that no fish in the ocean would touch. Lately, nobody wants anything to do with the Malfoys. I am not a valuable asset to a kidnapper.
"Do you remember anything about being taken?" She demands, narrowing those brown eyes.
"I have already told you I don't."
She watches me mindfully. It is clear someone brought us here and took our wands, trapping us in a place without an exit. I feel sore and feverish, and Granger is obviously wounded, but we are alive. That means they want something from us. If that is correct, they will come back to get it, whoever they are.
"All we can do is wait," The girl says after a moment and I know we just had the same train of thought. I feel resigned, but she looks angry. As angry as her pained face allows.
"Let's go inside and find a first aid kit," I suggest, opening the door.
Nobody cares for Malfoys, and yet I am locked here with this girl. However the negotiations go, I know who everybody outside will be trying to save. In the meantime, I have to save myself.
…
It is nighttime again. Nobody came. There is only the wind, the waves, and the occasional chant of a cicada. And Hermione Granger, of course. She wouldn't let me take care of her wound. She locked herself in the bathroom for half an hour, after we found bandages. I heard quiet swearing, and panting breathing; she was pale when she came out, but she was not bleeding anymore.
I made lunch, mainly because I did not know what else to do. My heart sank a little once I opened the kitchen cabinets. Part of me was afraid there was not going to be any food, but it was worst; there is food to last months.
By the look on the girl's face, she thought the same as I did. Then she began going through every inch of the house. Every door, closet, drawer, pillow, bed, crest – all of it. She found nothing and, at the same time, everything. There is everything here needed to live a comfortable life. Nothing to assure us that we are not cursed to live that comfortable life.
Maybe we are.
I have driven myself exhausted thinking about it. I cannot remember anything else. I cannot conjecture a theory that explains all the details. Why I woke up wearing my own clothes? Why there is more of them in the closet? Why am I with Hermione Granger? Why such a fancy hideout, instead of a dark basement somewhere? And why me at all? The only people that could mean me harm would want me dead, not locked up in a paradisiac island. Even if this is far from paradise.
I cannot avoid wondering if that is somehow the goal; to mentally torture me. Granger acted like I am the one unreliable, but is she acting? Is this some plot to get more information from me? I have nothing more to give. I told them everything in exchange for my family's freedom. For another chance.
If this is an attempt to make me pay or to break me, then they will be surprised. I have lived through meaningless, senseless days before. I am used to go on according to what I have, without questioning if it is fair, if it could be different. Just go ahead surviving. I am so good at it I am sure Granger will get tired first.
On the other hand, she is hurt. That she is not faking. And I am not fine either. I was feverish in the morning, but I am worst now. My cheeks are red, and I feel limp after spending most of the day on this bed. And what choice do I have? To chat with Granger? The girl I once held kidnapped in my own house. Should we share these memories? Oh, Granger, isn't it all more comfortable this time?
She must hate me, and I don't blame her. I don't care enough to blame anyone. We are alone here, and I don't feel well. The lack of my wand is like not having fingers on my hands. Everything is hard to do.
Once upon a time Granger was on my house and she wouldn't believe if I told her I still hear her screams, some nights. But tonight all I hear is the ocean.
…
"You don't have to cook," Her voice is as sharp as her sudden presence in the kitchen, the next morning.
"I do, since I have to eat."
"You don't have to cook for me," She says, watching as I put a second plate on the table.
"I am used to it." Is all the answer I give.
"Doesn't look like it," The girl eyes the little mess on the sink. Usually I would not leave it like that, but cooking without magic took twice as much time. The dishes will take me time, too, and breakfast will be cold by then.
"I am used to do it with magic." I stay calm, mostly because she sounds like she wants to push me. No, girl, you won't push me out of balance.
There is a moment of silence, before she sits down.
"How is your side?"
"Fine," The answer is brisk. She doesn't want to talk. It does not hurt my feelings. Gingerly, Granger tries the eggs. She thinks I have poisoned them? I grin. It does not hurt my feelings either. She chews and swallows, before looking up at me. "It's good. Thank you."
There are dark circles under her eyes. I woke up in the middle of the night and saw the light lit under the door to her bedroom. Maybe she was in pain, maybe she was obsessed about finding out what is going on.
"I've read all the books in that living room shelf," She says slowly, after a while. Obsessed it is. "I had already read all of them, actually, but I wanted to know if there was anything helpful somewhere."
"And there was?"
"No," She admits defeat as badly as she thanks for breakfast. "There was nothing, and I got nowhere."
"The clothes in the closet are yours?" I ask suddenly. For a moment, I think if they are not, then the person who brought us here knew me, had access to my things, but not to Granger's. We could try to narrow it down.
"Yes, they are," She answers with a sigh. "Yours too, I imagine?"
"Yes."
"The shirt I'm wearing now? I wore it the day before the trial. This place just couldn't have been prepared much sooner."
"We don't know how long we have been unconscious," I point out, and she stares at me seriously, before nodding.
"I suppose you are right. But wouldn't we feel something if we had been knocked out for days? Wouldn't be even a little hard to move?"
I don't say it has been hard for me. My heavy limbs, my sore muscles. The fever who glued me in bed most of the day and the night before. I don't say anything.
"Look," She starts, and I know what is coming before she goes on. "If you are behind this somehow, we don't have to keep it up. Just tell me what you want. We can negotiate. I will listen, I will talk to anyone I have to talk…"
"I am sure you would," I say, leveling her stare. "Are you behind this?"
"Me?" And there it is. The truth. I am good with the truth. She is too surprised with my question, almost as if I am crazy for even considering it. How come she would be involved? In kidnapping? Mental manipulation? Never!
"I guess this is a no," I go back to eating.
"Well, then it's clear we are only leverage."
"Is it, now?"
"Yes, of course. If no one comes to talk to us, question us, torture us for information… Well, then they don't want anything from us, but still here we are. They must be using us to get something from someone else."
I am sure that makes sense in her case; Harry Potter's best friend, war hero, the mighty Granger. However, there is nothing and no one to trade for me. I am not worthy anything anymore. I don't know if I ever was.
I don't say this either.
"How do you know you were not tortured?" I ask after a sip of juice. "We are both lacking memories, and you are wounded."
"Not enough," She replies simply. All of what that answer implies seem to go unnoticed. Gryffindors. I try not to roll my eyes.
"So, summarizing, your theory is that we are being held hostages."
"Yes."
"Together."
She shrugs. "I suppose the economy is too bad for renting two houses on the beach."
It costs me not to laugh. Not that this girl is funny; it is just our ridiculous situation. Of course, most of what she said makes sense. It doesn't explain everything, but it is a good answer, for now. It can calm my brain for a while. For a short while.
"You are bleeding again," I warn her once I spot the dark point growing in her white shirt.
"Bloody hell," She hisses, standing up.
This time I don't even bother. I am eating my eggs while the door to the bathroom slams shut.
…
We have been here for three days. No one came. I cook, she washes the dishes. Apart from that, we barely see each other. She spends most of the time in her bedroom, reading books she has already read. I stay on the beach, watching this strange blue ocean, as I am now.
All days are sunny, and all days I am cold. There is no ending this fever, but at least for now I have learned to go around it. Granger doesn't do much, or else she starts bleeding again. I am good with healing – there was a time in my life I thought of being a healer –, but there is not a potion in the house, and not a useful plant around. Anyway, Granger never asks for help, and I haven't offered again. She bleeds her mudblood, and it always looks a lot like mine.
I have been thinking about Draco. In case Granger is right and we are here as hostages, I hope he knows he doesn't have to sacrifice himself to get me back. That he doesn't owe me that, that I would be happy to stay here forever and pay my debt. The only real job of a mother is to teach her son to know right from wrong, and I have failed. I owe him everything for that.
"I have been thinking about it too," Granger's voice gives me a start. I did not hear her approaching, and now she is towering over my right shoulder. Have I been thinking aloud?
"What?" I ask.
"The ocean," She replies as if it is obvious. "Our only way out left."
"Oh," Is everything I manage. I haven't thought about it once.
"I guess it's worth a try."
"Will you swim to see how far you can get?" I arch an eyebrow. That is just silly. There is no land in sight, where would she ever get?
"No, of course not," She rolls her eyes at me. It would bother me more if she didn't look so childish when she does it. "We should build a canoe."
"A canoe?"
"Yes, a small boat."
"I know what a canoe is." Now I am rolling my eyes too. Merlin. "But how will you ever build one?" I am not ready to start using 'we'.
"With magic, of course." Granger looks over her shoulder to the woods behind the house. "Without a wand, I can't do anything too complex, true, but to transform a trunk in a canoe… well, maybe I can manage that much."
Magic without a wand? As a kid, I used to be able to do a lot of things with natural magic. But once I became an adult, it got much harder to concentrate my magic into a concrete spell. It is like this to most of us.
Either way, I believe she can do it. I have memories of Draco telling me how much of a know-it-all she was. And I have seen her in battle. She is a powerful, determined witch. She can probably build a bloody canoe.
"You build a boat, and then what?" I ask her, raising an eyebrow.
"We try to see if this is really an island. If there's something near that is just disguised. If we can trespass the spell limits. I know it is a long shot, but what else can we do?"
"You are too injured to row, and I cannot possibly take us very far by my own," Only the idea of doing this kind of manual labor tires me and bores me endlessly. "Unless you can move the boat with magic, too."
"Maybe I can, maybe not." She shrugs. "But I'll row, if I can't do magic. I'm not too injured."
Stupid invincible youth. I miss it.
"Tomorrow," I say. I feel too tired today. This fever wears me down.
Granger opens her mouth to protest, I feel it, but maybe she sees something on my face. Something I don't know and I don't want to be there. And then she nods.
"Tomorrow."
…
She cannot transfigure a tree into a canoe, after all. And she has been trying for over an hour now. The trunk changed color and became really smooth, is true, but it is still a tree. I am watching it in silence, because the look on the girl's face is not friendly at all.
"Why? Why isn't it working?" She mutters, closing her eyes and extending a hand once more.
"It's enough," I say when the trunk becomes blue. That is just pathetic. The girl is tiring herself out, and I am cold standing here.
"You can go inside," She tells me dismissively.
"Oh, thank you for your permission," I reply sharply. She winces.
"It was not what I meant. But you won't tell me when it's enough, and you don't have to stay here if you won't help."
She knows very well I cannot. I have tried and I cannot. Anal, arrogant girl.
"I say it is enough because you are too childish to see that for yourself. I am locked in here with a stubborn kid, and since I don't know the terms to our release, yes, I say when it is enough for you to wear yourself out."
"Your concern is moving, but don't worry, I will find a way out of this place, and you can join me when I do, since joining the team in the end is something like your specialty, correct?"
"Don't presume you know anything about me, your little—"
"What? Mudblood? Will you call me mudblood now? You know how I learned this word? From the filthy mouth of your son. What do I care if you call me that too? I have saved his blonde head before, and yours, and your husband's, and I'm about to do it again, that's how much I care for the opinion of the likes of you," She spats it all like venom. And the silliest thing is that I was not even going to say mudblood. I was going with dimwitted fool.
I end up saying nothing, because she turns again to the tree and this time there is a jolt of light coming from her hand. The next thing I know, the tree is coming down. It is much faster than I would expect, and it is coming my way. I barely have time to jump to the side, landing chest first in the grass.
"Are you bloody trying to kill me?!" I shout once I regain my breath.
When she sees I am alright, the scared look vanishes from her face and is replaced by an arrogant expression.
"It's not like we would have any witnesses," She turns back to the trunk, touches it next to the leaves and spells the thing again, this time cutting it in half. "Dead…" She whispers.
"Well, not yet, and not intending to be," I hiss, standing up. "If you think you can threat me…"
"I'm not talking about you," She cuts me off. "The tree. It's dead now, it's easier to transfigure. Living things fight you back. Objects don't. I'm so stupid for not thinking of that before!"
Yes, she is, but I suppose in the end it was a good thing, or she could have decided to transfigure our couch into this damn canoe.
I can see she is tired by the time she manages to transform half the trunk into a little rustic boat. And her attempt to float it to the water is worthless.
"Bad idea," I say when she grabs an end of the boat and starts to pull it through the grass. "Stop this nonsense."
"Will you shut up and help?"
"Just leave it, what good will do to put it on the shore today? You are too—"
"I'm not, just push it on the other end!"
I refuse to discuss with a teenager. And as I see she won't be easily dissuaded, I start pushing the thing. It is heavy and we move the canoe slowly through the grass, and even more slowly when we get to the sand. Granger is panting, grimacing, and sweating. It is not pretty to watch.
Of course it is not long before she is bleeding again. I don't say anything. I am not sure at this point if I care whether she bleeds to death. She is the one who stops, and we have barely advanced five yards. Her shirt is soaked, and when she presses her side, her fingers come up red.
"I have to…" She is pale as she starts to stagger towards the house, the canoe forgotten for now.
I follow her, because I don't think she will get there alone. Granger falters halfway, and I grab her wrist and pass her arm around my shoulders. She gets stiff, but it is obvious she has no other choice. I don't think I have either. We walk like this until we reach the porch. She weights me down, as if she is on the brink of passing out. I try to pretend I am not.
I take her to the bathroom, and ignore her solemnly when she motions for me to leave. I am tired of tiptoeing around this girl. Things will go my way now.
"Take off your shirt," I demand as she sits on the toilet.
"Just leave me."
"You are not in command, Granger, and I am tired of letting you think you are. Take off your shirt."
"You are not being nice, you know? If that's what you think. You just know I am the most valuable coin in this vault. I'm not stupid. You are not nice."
"No, I am not nice, and you are not as smart as you think you are." I take her shirt off by myself. She doesn't make it too difficult.
Merlin. The cut is worse than I thought. It is bigger, it is deeper, it is furiously red around.
"I can take care of it," Granger says through gritted teeth.
"Good work you have been doing so far," I reply sharply, getting the first aid kit. It is a sham of a kit. There is no potion or ointment to stop the bleeding or avoid an infection. All I see are bandages, some plaster and what looks like a sewing set.
"You'll have to stich me," Granger says at last, breathing through her mouth. "I tried, but I just can't do it on myself."
"What do you mean?"
"If you want to help," She takes the kit out of my hands, grabs the sewing set and rips it open. "You'll have to stich me."
"That is barbaric!"
"It is a muggle method. It'll help to close the wound." She stares at me with fierce determination. "Can you do it?"
I hesitate for a half a second. "Yes."
She bleeds through my fingers, but I manage to keep them steady.
"You're doing good," She tells me once I start, and it is the tone I strange. It is almost soothing, as if she wants to reassure me. As if she thinks I am worried. I am not. I am… not.
So maybe I am not delicate. Not as much as I could have been. Maybe I shout for her to stop whining, even though she barely makes a sound while I stitch her. Maybe I don't do my best not to live a scar. But maybe I feel like kissing the bandage after it is done to make the pain go away.
Maybe this place and this fever are driving me mad.
"Thank you," She says grudgingly once I am finished, holding my wrist. She is not bleeding anymore, but is still pale as death itself. Her eyes look bigger when I look into them. "You are burning," Granger says suddenly, the hand raising to my face without permission. It feels cold and I shiver. "You have a fever."
"It's nothing."
"You must be freezing."
"I told you it's nothing."
"You should try a cold shower."
I let out a bitter laugh. "I have been taking care of myself since before you were born."
Granger opens her mouth, and for a second I think she will quote me: Good work you have been doing so far. But she doesn't, and I walk away.
…
Granger doesn't talk about the canoe the next day, and she doesn't stay buried in her bedroom. I make lunch and she is doing the dishes, and then she simply asks:
"Why?"
It is such an open question. Why carrots for lunch, Narcissa? Why wearing a coat in the summer? Why are you staring at me? Why did you help me yesterday? Why are we here? Why are we here together? So many becauses to this why. And yet I know exactly what she is asking.
"It was not worth it," I reply after hesitating for a moment. Honestly, I could not tell you why I answered. Maybe because I am feeling so tired today, and I sense she is too. Maybe because we have been here for five days now, and the loneliness is creeping in. Maybe because part of me just wants to say it out of a court room.
"Because your son was at risk," She says, turning to face me, drying her hands on a cloth.
"Yes," There is no point denying it.
"Was it worth when it was other people's sons in the line?" She is judging me, of course, but there is also some curiosity into it. She wants to understand me, to empathize.
"Were you a naughty kid?" The question throws her out of balance. She frowns.
"What does that have to do with…?" She stops and sighs when I arch an eyebrow. "No, I was not. I behaved well."
"Me too. I obeyed my parents. Always." I don't think she will ever know what this truly means.
"Parents are supposed to tell us right from wrong," She purses her lips at me. The dimwitted fool.
"I know."
"And when they don't, we have to figure out by ourselves."
"I know."
"You know it all."
"I thought that was you."
Granger stops. Sighs. Chuckles. It sounds bitter. The first time I went to the Dark Lord I was younger than she is now. How are we supposed to know love is right and hate is wrong when you don't know love at all? I haven't had Draco yet. I did not know anything. I was a dimwitted fool. But, oh, did I pay my price.
We don't talk again for two days. I cook. She does the dishes.
Nobody comes.
…
On the eighth day, we take the bloody canoe to the water. Granger's wound looks a little better, and my fever is not the worst it has been. For a long time, Granger sits on the sand, stares at the little boat and plans.
I don't know what in the name of Merlin she plans so much. But once she decides to talk, she has a lot of tasks for us. Yes, the both of us. We cannot go anywhere in this boat without bringing water, it seems. And we should take a little food. Of course, she has to make oars. I must bring my coat and perhaps a blanket. I look cold, she thinks. We will row for an hour, then get back, if everything goes right. The next day maybe we will try going further.
I am tired and we haven't even started yet.
"Let me do it," I say, asking for the oars. It is stupid to let her row; she will only rip open the wound, and I don't feel like stitching her again.
Incredibly, she doesn't argue. I move us from the beach to high sea, but it is not long before my arms start to feel like rubber. I try to keep it up, but there is cold sweat running down my spine and between my breasts, and it is hard to breathe. I feel exhausted all the time, these days, but now I am on the brink of falling.
"It's my turn," Granger demands for the tenth time, and I don't have the strength to ignore her anymore. I cannot row, I cannot move.
"You will hurt yourself," I tell her, and we both know it is truth.
"I don't care, we have to do it sometime," She replies, and I hand her the oars. It has been eight days, after all. She is right. We have to try something or we will lose our minds.
I can see it hurts, but she doesn't stop. We advance a bit more, and Granger puts all her will on it. Then I think we reach a flow against our direction, and the girl must think the same, because she tries to row harder.
"Stop for a second, drink a little water, you will tire yourself limp," I tell her, and ignore when she glares at me.
It is obvious she is tired, though, because she retreats the oars and accepts the bottle. That is when I realize it. Because the boat never moves. Not back, not forth. It is stuck. That means, of course, that there is no flow against us.
"Granger…" I say, looking around. The beach is still around two miles away, at most. She has been rowing uselessly.
"No," She says, realizing it without needing me to say. "No!"
"There is a limit to it," I conclude, but it is just stating the obvious. "We won't go past it, as we cannot go past the woods."
"No! No, fuck, I don't believe it!" She grabs the oars again and starts slapping them furiously on the water. They make big splashes, but we don't move an inch.
"Stop this nonsense," I scold her, but there is not enough sharpness in my voice to carry the order.
"I will see what is out there! I will!"
"Stop, Granger, you're smarter than this."
"Don't tell me what to do. Maybe it's just too comfortable for you staying here, dodging the law, dodging your crappy life after your side lost the war. Maybe you like it here, don't you, away from your stupid ex-husband, your sick family, your traitor friends, who you betrayed too. You like it here, because it's easier, but I fought to have a better life and I want to be there to live it!"
If there was a target in my chest, she would have nailed a few arrows. But what does it matter? She is just a desperate girl going insane, and bloody hell, of course she is bleeding again. And it is all just sad to watch. Just too senseless and sad.
"It is enough, I don't have to hear this from you," I say coolly, but she does not stop rowing. "Maybe I am not as young as you are anymore, maybe I have already made most of my life choices, and maybe I am paying for some of them, but being here with you is not how I want to spend the rest of my crappy life. And I don't have to hear this from a fool that doesn't know when to stop!"
"I hate you!" She shouts, standing up and making the boat sway dangerously. "I don't know what evil God is playing this sick trick on me, but I don't deserve it! I don't fucking deserve it!"
I grab her wrist and pull her down before she turns the boat and drops us both. She tries to pull free, but I don't let her.
The canoe sways as we she fumbles after the oars and I try to stop this madness. I hold Granger from the back, locking her arms by her sides and pulling her to myself. She tries to wiggle off of me, but we are both too exhausted. So exhausted. I don't even know the moment she gives up. I just keep my grasp as tight as I can.
The oars are on the water now, but I don't care. I can always swim after them later. I know now they won't go far. And Granger just feels warm against me, and warmth is an expensive commodity in my world these days. She may hate me, but to that I am used. It is not reason enough to let go.
We are so tired. We lay down on that tiny stupid boat, I am still holding her. Is she crying? Yes. Yes, she is sobbing so hard she shivers in my arms. Am I crying? No. But I don't let go. It gets dark and I don't let go.
...
So, I wrote this for the best friend in the world as a birthday present, 'cause she is such a Cissamione die-hard fan, and all but very persuasive. And now she made me post it, even though I'm afraid no one but her will like (or lie that liked it, for that matter).
Anyway, it's 3 chapters short, so we're already 33% there.
See you soon ;)