Man of the World --- Written by Camacho
Chapter I – Back to the Cave
Disclaimer: I own nothing but Adeline.
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Oh, let's get back to the cave
No one ever told us we had time to waste
Oh, let's get back to the cave
For a little while, for a little while
Life on the outside, life on the edge
Pushin' all the buttons of love
Drivin' in the wedge
Somebody's takin' from you time and time and time again
Can't believe it's not the way you want it to be
Oh, let's get back to the cave
No one ever told us we had time to waste
Oh, let's get back to the cave
For a little while, for a little while
Somebody lookin' for you
Somewhere you've seen a face
Somehow it leaves you feelin' lost and out of place
Too many wasted nights
And way too many darker days
There's nothin' left to make you burn
And nothin' left to make you wanna stay
I'm lookin' deep inside you, down where you were before
And when I find you, I'll be wild and knockin' down your door
I'll drag you screamin' from this endless and angry scene
You can believe it's just the way you want it to be
Oh, let's get back to the cave
No one ever told us we had time to waste
Oh, let's get back to the cave
For a little while, oh, yeah, for a little while
Oh, let's get back to the cave
For a little while, oh, yeah
Oh, let's get back to the cave
For a little while
Lita Ford – "Back to the Cave"
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I could feel the hellish rays of the sun stroking my battered back, the deep gash on my right shoulder stopping me from rolling over. It was almost torture to even move because my once lithe body hurt so bad. Even the most brutal of soccer games was nothing compared to the agony my body was feeling as it laid on the beach.
"Jake?" My eyes were wide with fear when I realized my little brother was no longer next to me. I slowly forced myself off the ground, cringing with every move.
"Jake!" The raw sound of my voice came as no surprise, but the cold barrel of a gun as it was pressed against the small of my back did.
"Who are you?" Where was that accent from? It was Middle Eastern, of that I was certain. Iraq, perhaps?
"Please… I'm just looking for my brother." The calming quality of my own voice worked as a relaxant to my adrenaline-filled body.
"Who are you?" he repeated, digging the barrel of the gun deeper into my back. I had to bite my lip to keep from crying out.
"My name is Adeline Richards."
"Where are you from?"
"San Pedro, California."
"How did you get here?"
"I was taking my little brother fishing when this huge storm came. Our boat drifted out to the middle of nowhere and then… somebody attacked us." I furrowed my brow in concentration. "A group of older guys…"
I felt the pressure of the gun disappear as the man said, "Follow me."
"Sir, I…"
"Follow me," he commanded with more force. Sensing that I had nowhere else to go, I let him lead me through the forest, barely even noticing when the barbs of exotic plants tore at the flesh of my bare legs. Feeling self-conscious about my beach apparel, I crossed my arms on top of my bikini-clad chest, thankful that I decided to throw on a pair of denim shorts over my bottom half.
"Where are we going?" I finally asked my new companion.
"Back to the camp," he said shortly. "Perhaps Sawyer has seen your brother."
"How many people are at this camp?"
"You will see."
I raised my eyebrows in annoyance, deciding not to ask any more questions. He didn't exactly seem like Tour Guide Barbie. He acted more like GI Joe, judging from the handgun he clasped so close to him and the glint of metal coming from the waistband of his pants. Great, he's got more weapons. That's just super, I thought to myself.
"This is the camp," he announced, barging through a few bushes.
My eyes took in the sight before me: the young couple gathered around a laughing baby, a heavy set man chatting with a man who looked to be twice his age… and then there was the man on the rock. His appearance entranced me: shaggy brown hair and a scraggly, unkempt beard. He seemed to be the most well-adjusted to island life, judging from his aura of relaxation as he munched on a mango. He intrigued me, to say the least.
"Who's that?" I asked.
"That does not matter. You need to talk with Jack. He will decide what we should do with you."
"What you should do with me? Because I'm the biggest threat you have on this deserted island," I added sarcastically, flailing my arms about wildly.
Grabbing my arms tightly, the Iraqi said through clenched teeth, "I cannot trust you just yet. Jack will know what to do."
"You can trust me!" I noticed the eyes of several people focusing on our conversation. The eyes of the man on the rock were watching us nonchalantly.
"I do not know this for sure!"
"I just got to this island! I am in pain and all I want to do is find my little brother!"
He took a deep breath. "I do not want to hurt you, Adeline. Just cooperate with me."
I glared at the man and followed him down to a dark-haired man, who sat on the shore with a blonde woman. They seemed to know each other well enough, judging by the woman's hand resting casually on the man's forearm.
"Jack."
The man turned around, his dark eyes narrowing in on me. "Who are you?"
"She was on the beach, about half an hour away," the Iraqi answered before I had a chance to even open my mouth.
"What's your name?"
"Is this another interrogation?" I asked with only a hint of a smile.
The new man – Jack – was silent for a moment before his grizzled face broke into a grin. "I'm afraid it is. Have a seat." He became aware of the nasty sight on my back, softly running calloused fingers over the wounds. "We can take care of that."
"It's fine." I paused. "I don't even notice it anymore."
Nodding, he turned to my captor and said, "I can handle this, Sayid. Thanks."
As Sayid's footsteps crept away, my own gaze crept to the man on the rock. He had finished the snack and was now hitting golf balls into the ocean's greedy water. His stance was nearly perfect… shoulders squared… but his feet were a little too far apart.
"So, what's your name?" Jack asked, interrupting my scrutinizing thoughts.
"Adeline Richards."
"Adeline… I'm Jack and this is Juliet."
I waved to the woman next to Jack and stopped myself from making an overused Shakespeare comment.
"Where are you from?"
"San Pedro, California. I was taking my little brother fishing, a storm hit, we got attacked by 40-year-old men, and now I'm here."
Jack laughed. "How old are you?"
"18." I pointed to my newfound fascination and asked, "Who's he?"
"That's Desmond."
"Does he always look so lonely?"
"Yep. He's been on this island for a while. Longer than any of…" He stopped short, suddenly studying me. "You've never seen Adeline, have you, Juliet?"
"No." The woman's voice was enchanting.
"Promise?"
"I promise."
"Okay." He returned his attention to me. "He's been here longer than any of us, stuck in isolation."
"Is he nice?"
"Extremely," Juliet remarked.
"His stance has just gone all out of whack," I commented, watching as he sliced one into the woods. "He had a nice stance earlier. Do I have your permission to help the 'extremely' nice man play golf, Mr. Jack?"
"Go for it."
I rose to my feet and dusted off the backs of my legs. "Two questions… where can I get a decent top, and where can I find a guy named Sawyer?"
"Claire, the young lady with the baby, might be able to give you a top and Sawyer is… well, hell if I know where he is." I detected a strong hostile tone when Jack spoke of this Sawyer fellow.
"All right. Thanks."
With a small smile to the nice couple, I began to make my way over to Desmond. I don't know what was so fascinating about him. He just gave off this enigmatic glow; much like one yearns to know if there's a life after death, I long to discover this mystery of Desmond. And as the gentle breeze of the island whispered its promises in my ear, I sat on a rock next to the man's feet, watching as another golf ball was lost at sea.
"Your feet… they're too far apart," I commented.
"Yeah? Are you a golfer?" His Scottish accent made my heart skip a beat. I have a thing for guys with accents.
"Used to be."
"What made you quit?"
I hesitated, not wanting to tell him that the death of my father made me stop playing the game I loved the most. "Oh, I just got bored."
"With golf? I don't blame ya," he added with a smirk. "However, on this island… golf seems to be the only pastime. Now, my stance…"
"Here." I pushed myself off the rock and knelt in front of him. Blushing furiously, I remarked, "Sorry if this is a bit awkward. Um… just bring your feet a little closer. Shoulder-width apart."
"Like this?"
"No, like this… may I?" With his nod of approval, I took hold of his feet and slowly brought them closer together. As I was getting up, I could hear the roaring of a wave hurtling towards the shore. A mantra of "Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit" began coursing its way through my mind. Those words, however, were streaming from Desmond's lips. Now, instead of doing the smart thing (running from the wave), we stumbled off the rock and onto the sand, knowing that the impact wouldn't be quite as harsh on the soft sands of the shore. Desmond had an excited gleam in his eye as he watched the wave descend upon us.
"Oh shite," he breathed with a smile on his face. I watched the water come rushing towards us with uncertainty and fear. Run, run! Run fast! I kept telling myself, but my feet remained stationary. I glanced at Desmond, who obviously could sense (or hear) my rapid heartbeat.
"C'mere!" he yelled over the roar. I stepped closer and he took me in his arms, turning me around and shielding me from the crash of the wave. As the water rushed over us, Desmond's hands gripped tightly to my bare waist, his palm pressed flat against my stomach, holding me close to his chest.
As the water resided, I began to relax against my savior.
"You okay?" Desmond asked, still clutching me close to him.
"Yeah. A little wet, but I'm fine. You?"
"Just dandy." He pushed me away and I noticed the blood on his chest as he stared at the tents near the woods.
"You're bleeding," I pointed out.
"No, you are."
I rolled my eyes in annoyance. "Damn. I thought it was all bled out."
"Jack can help you out." His gaze wandered to the blonde in the tent. Claire, I think, was her name. "What's your name?"
"Adeline."
"I'm Desmond." His eyes returned to me. "Go get Jack to fix that up for ya. I've got… I've got to talk to Claire."
I watched as he sauntered up the shore, his sapping clothes sticking to his body. Well, what have I figured out about the Scottish mystery? He's a hero. Protecting a girl he doesn't even know from the crash of a wild wave.
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AN: Well, it's not a lot. Just the intro chapter. You know what would be awesome? If y'all told me what you thought about it. Just a little feedback. Next chapter should be up soon, I promise.