Fight or Flight
the instinctive physiological response to a threatening situation, which readies one either to resist forcibly or to run away.
The day before
He's screwed.
Ian Malcolm was standing by the window shed of his cabin, looking down at the indoor plants. Though the row of succulents in their terracotta pots was beyond saving, he watered them in vain. Still hopeful that they might revive themselves. Last year, His grandchildren had flown on the island for his birthday so they could give them these. Unaware of the hint their mom was telling them not to give 'Pops' another plant for his birthday. They were already low-maintenance plants, he thought to himself. And only but require a little sun and water and yet, he still managed to kill them. Then again, he could always blame the changing weather on the island. Although, he wasn't sure anyone would believe that since he had hasten the doom of a dozen of plants already.
There was nothing to loathe about the Costa Rican weather though. No matter how unpredictable it may be. For him and his wife, Sarah, who decided to live on the island, it was pure nirvana. The sun-drenched weather would basked the peak hours of the day but would pour rain and thunder after. Some days he thought the rain would never stop, some days it would be hot as the Sahara dessert . Be that as it may, the business was still good.
They enjoyed lazy and quiet afternoon days such as this. There was something charming about... having nothing else to do. Well, besides arranging photo albums or in his case, drowning helpless house plants.
The harmonious hum of an old record was playing in the background when his phone interrupted his task.
He smiled when he saw the caller ID. "Looky here, looky here. Am I supposed to call you 'Sir' now?"
"Hell no." The person on the other line's laugh vibrated on the speaker.
"Just so. I wouldn't 'Sir' a kid who used to eat mud because he thought it was chocolate."
Another laugh echoed on the other line, "How are you, Ian?"
"Splendid. Splendid." he picked up the watering can and continued with his hopeless duty.
"Listen, I know I told you I'll be there a week ago. I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner. Something…uh came up. But I'll be there as soon as I can. I just have to check on someone."
"It's fine, it's fine. Where are you anyway? Why are you not with the lady who's scaring my staff?"
"Claire?" He asked in a surprised, gruff voice. "She's there?"
"Well, yeah. Been here for almost a week now. I still haven't seen her though. Why does your voice sound like you ate sandpaper? You're not starving, are you?"
He wasn't always around the bay when the kid was growing up but Ian knew how Grady men were- having grown up with one. He knew Grady men never lose their composure. You could never hear them raise their voice or lose their patience. It would be a rare and rather elating opportunity for him when one fell out of that pattern. So, imagine Ian's sudden delight when the kid solidified his voice over the phone. "What the hell is she doing there?!"
"Uh-oh. Is this a lover's quarrel?" He smiled at the mouthpiece.
Ian heard a shuffling in the background and the sound of something heavy dropping on the floor. "Where are you?"
"I'm calling from the hospital. They uh…just released me."
Ian paused from his errand, his tone patriarchal and sober at once. Although the boy worked for the navy, survived near-death experiences, Ian knew nothing could ever wane his worry. He had treated the boy as his own at first look at his chubby little toddler legs. "What? Why? What happened?"
"I'll tell you when I get there."
Ian knew that was the end of the conversation. "Ok but are you sure you're okay now?"
"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry. Thank you, Ian."
"I'll ready the helipad." before he added, "and I'll be making the refreshments." A hint of playful anticipation in his tone.
"God. No." Owen's tortured chuckle rang on the line.
Ian cancelled all his appointments for the next three days to spend time with his best friend's son. It was also a fitting time to welcome him as the resort's new owner. He was not present when Owen's plane landed on the hotel building's helipad that morning. For he, as he said before, was making drinks.
He wasn't a bad uncle. He was the cool one. That's what he though when he, in a very subtle manner, gave Owen the drink. The drink he's been prepping ever since this morning. Owen declined though. He said that because of his hospitalisation, he's only permitted to drink water. Ian no longer insisted. With which Owen seemed relieved, not liking the sight of the bubbling liquid at all.
After their lengthy morning chat of the past events, Ian offered him a tour on their new spa rooms- if he wasn't too tired. But Owen refused, saying he wanted to take a quick nap first. Ian then left him have his rest before calling his assistant to ask the whereabouts of a certain redhead.
She was everything they defined her to be. The woman, as described in those loud whispers, was keen, ingenious and confident in every way. From her fiery red hair up to the tip of her stiletto. Though, there was a certain uneasiness about her. He couldn't point out what it is. Until he saw it exponentially grow behind her eyes when the subject of their discussion finally presented himself.
Ian bit his straw as he looked at the two adults goggling at each other. Neither one backing down. Neither wanted to.
"Well, as entertaining as this is, watching you two gawk at each other like long, lost lovers. Do sit down children." he interrupted.
One could only count the moments Claire Dearing was dumbstruck and speechless. And this -with the humid air around them standing still, her teary eyes on his- was definitely one of them.
Claire had never felt more life-altering relief her entire life. Like the weight of the entire world had lifted from her shoulders, carrying her to a cloud of bliss and safety.
Nor blinding, teeth-gnashing, headache-inducing, hair-gripping fury.
"We're going to the clinic." She demanded, breaking eye contact and gathering her things with trembling hands. Owen replied with a clever comeback but she didn't hear him past the blare pounding in her feverish ears.
"I'm driving. Let's go." She said, earning another stubborn protest from him. She ignored him and managed a smile at Ian "It's so nice to finally meet you. I'm sorry that we have to go."
Ian beamed at her and she hoped that the nod he gave her was in understanding. "Please. Go, go. I'll see you kids later."
"Will you save my drink for me?" she asked, an honest request and saw his face light up at her appreciation.
"Oh, I will!" before he added, turning to Owen this time. "I'll come by later at your place."
"Claire-" Owen began again.
"Let's go Grady." She sneered with clenched teeth, still avoiding his eyes.
With her pulse racing like a freight train, she stomped out. As if digging her heels on the deck would help her sort out the emotions of both terror and anger. Her only focus and the only thing keeping her upright, as of the moment, was him. And how she needed him resting on a bed, safe and sound.
When she didn't hear the footsteps behind her, she stopped and turned around. Claire met his weary eyes again and for the first time in over two weeks studied his appearance.
A two-week stubble had grown back, reaching the top of his neck and once again darkening his features. He lost a little weight around his cheeks as well, accentuating his chiseled oval face. The wounds he detained, had healed and were nothing but faded scratches around his cheeks. His brunet hair had grown, the edges curling underneath his cap. She remembered how it felt as her fingers combed through it one bad night at the hospital. She took comfort that the bandage covering his forearm was new and neat. And yet, the beige polo shirt he was wearing was thin enough to confirm her suspicions of a gauze underneath. She felt her fury returned and heightened, almost blurring her vision. Her insides were shaking but she still managed to say,
"Don't make me say it twice, Mr. Grady." Keeping it polite as possible for Ian's sake.
"For heaven's sake man." Ian exclaimed with a universal 'Go' hand gesture.
Owen sighed and shuffled the hair on his nape. "See you later, Ian."
When she was sure he would follow, she turned her back again and fetch the car keys from inside her purse.
"Let me carry this for you." He jogged beside her, tapping the strap on her shoulder.
"No." She deadpanned, icy and furious still.
"Well then, let me drive. I can drive."
Ignoring him, she marched across the street to where she parked the borrowed vehicle. Keys dug on the palm of her hand, her heels kept making dull, scraping noises on the pavement. These small, tedious noises prevented her from completely losing it and breaking down. Claire felt more than heard his footfalls when he came up beside her again to open the car door.
"Here, allow me." he smiled like he did nothing wrong.
She glared at him and entered the car without another word.
They took a longer route to avoid the throng of people on the streets. She was grateful that Owen couldn't bring himself to be his usual chatty self. It gave her a fair time to recompose herself and calm her nerves.
From the corner of her eye, she could see him staring out the window. He was smiling as they passed the boulevard crowded with people. He sighed as they passed the thicket of forest trees. He liked it here, she could tell. I mean, why wouldn't he? The island shouted comfort and simplicity. Much like the ambience of that farmhouse he kept to himself deep and past the suburbs of the city. It reminded her of the morning he drove her after spending the night, which now felt like a lifetime ago.
The drive back to her stranded car was also quiet though it was nowhere near awkward. A part of her wanted to break the silence and word by word remind him that it mustn't happen again. Workmates should never sleep with each other. It was in the basic office etiquette handbook. It was inappropriate and most importantly against her better judgment. Though, a fainter and scarier part of her contradicted. But once and for all, she dismissed it upon noticing how he avoided her eyes when he dropped her off. She didn't need another affirmation that he regretted it but to admit that it didn't sting would be a lie.
"How are you?" Owen suddenly asked in the softest voice she ever heard him speak, bringing her back from her reverie.
She didn't reply and kept her focus on the road.
"Are you okay?" He initiated again in that soft voice of his.
A sudden, unfamiliar urge sprouted, burning her throat and making her eyes feel hot.
"Okay. I'll talk... So, get this." angling in his seat so he could face her. "I almost had a heart attack when I woke up." he began, chuckling.
Her calmness shattered as she brashly stepped on the break pads. She felt her chest heaved again, the small space of the car threatening to suck her remaining oxygen. "You had a heart attack?!" She shouted at him, fighting off tears.
"Figuratively! Figuratively!" He amended, throwing his palms up.
She closed her eyes and inhaled one deep breath. Offering but a moment to control her emotions.
"Claire, let me drive." He offered again. She could feel his eyes on her.
"No."
Her hands shook as she changed the gear to Drive again. If he thought him being here would dissuade her anxiety, he was wrong. They were nearing their destination when he spoke again, edging closer to the console. Closer to her.
"Claire, I'm s-"
"We're here." she cut off. The car finally screeched to a halt, spraying earth everywhere.
The clinic center stood between the car race-track and a souvenir store. Tourists swarmed the sunny sidewalk at the other side as Claire locate a shaded spot. She found the space reserved for the PWD and parked there, earning another word of protest from Owen.
She slammed the door on her way out, cutting him off again. Owen made no move not until she went to his side and opened the door for him.
"Up." She ordered, one hand on the door to support her. Eyes focusing on the driver's side.
"This is a total waste of time, Claire."
"Get out." she repeated, finally squaring her eyes with his.
"And I'm not disabled." he complained, offended.
"You will be if you didn't get out in the next minute."
He rotated on his seat and faced her again. The trace of mischievousness back again. "Aww. Your concern is so very touching Miss Dearing."
"Get out of the car Owen or I swear to God. I would drag you out myself."
He shrugged and winked at her. "I've always liked strong women."
She puffed out an impatient air.
"I've had enough of bandages and antiseptics. Besides, I'm fine. And they look worse than I do." He titled his chin on the kids with bleeding arms walking towards the door of clinic.
"You're not going anywhere unless someone checked you first." her patience already wearing thin.
"I don't need a doctor. The doctors and nurse at home wouldn't allow me to leave if they thought I wasn't-"
"Get. Out. Of. The. Fucking. Car." she said in a low voice, emphasising every word. "Now!"
"Okay! Okay! Jeez!" he stepped down and out, looking scandalised. "I'm out. Now what?"
Claire grabbed the end of his sleeve and pulled him towards the pathway. Leaving him no choice but to fall with her every step. And certainly didn't notice the goofy smile plastered on his face. Saying - without words- how much he missed her.
For an hour Claire sat at the lounge area of the clinic and stared at the door where Owen disappeared into. She left a message for Nurse Cora to get the story straight from her, but the nurse wasn't answering her phone. When the door opened, she stood from her seat. It revealed an austere middle-aged asian man dressed in a laboratory white gown, a clip board in his hand. Behind him, an annoyed-looking Owen who was now sporting a shoulder and arm sling on his left arm.
The doctor was straight-forward and didn't waste time as he explained what Owen needed. He trailed behind her, silent as a mute as she surrendered the prescription to the pharmacist. His wounds needed thorough cleaning twice a day. One in the morning and during the evening. He had to take antibiotics, pain relievers and place a hot compress on his arm. All of which he had no problem with. Until, came the issue of the medical sling brace.
He didn't protest when she asked him where he was staying and they drove in peace. Or, at least, she did. He was fussing over the sling on his arm, mumbling complaints until she had enough of it.
"Cut it out!" She reprimanded, breaking the silence and giving him another annoyed glance.
"It's irritating and it's gonna crease all my shirts." He complained, loosening the wrap on his chest a little bit.
"Since when do you care about your clothes? You wear un-ironed and dirty shirts at the office for crying out loud!"
"They're not dirty! They're off white, there's a difference. But glad to confirm, you were checking me out."
"I've seen better." She lied.
Owen didn't bother to repress his laughter this time. "Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart...Turn left here. The one with the Sangria signage, that's mine."
The cozy little cabin stood far apart the identical shacks of the village. The banana trees on either side hiding it from view. Old and rustic wooden planks made up the cabin's walls and flooring. On the small porch were two metal patio chairs and a portable fireplace between them. Round fairy lights hung from the porch's raftered ceiling. A motorcycle at the corner.
They both got out and she rounded the backseat to gather the brown bags the pharmacist gave her. Walking to his side of the car, she stood in front of him.
"Right, Owen. Listen up." he stopped fibbing with the shoulder strap for a second and looked at her.
"These are your medicines. You need to take them at a certain time. No delays, not earlier. On time. Okay?"
His eyebrows scrunched together as he read it. "What is that supposed to say?"
"Your medicine schedule, instructions how to disinfect your wounds. Here." She handed the paper to him.
"Yeah, I know that. I mean, what the heck is this handwriting?" The fold between his eyebrows deepened, his eyes skimming the sentences with difficulty.
"What are you talking about, it's completely readable."
"It looked like a herd of hens had raked their claws at it."
"Why am I not surprised." she droned, "Here." snatching the paper from him and pointing the first step of his medications.
"Clean your wounds with disinfectant. The disinfectant is the bottle with the blue label. Then apply the anti-bacterial. The anti-bacterial is the yellow one." She stepped closer to him, his neck leaning down as he read with her. "Whatever you do, do not use the tap water outside. All rooms and cabins here have filtered water. So use it."
He nodded.
"Then you need to drink your antibiotics at 7pm tonight, every night for the next five days. So, you have to eat your dinner before that time. Give me the bag, I'll show you."
"As much as I like standing under this weather, can we do this inside? I'm parched."
She followed him up the front porch steps and inside. She laid out the medicines in a neat pile on the island bar separating the kitchen from the living room. When she looked up to lecture him again, she saw him removing the sling support on his arm. The velcro making a loud, scratching sound that was enough to make her skin crawl.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
"It's itchy. And it's hot." he griped, eyeing the black arm aid with distaste.
"I don't fucking care. Put it back Owen!" She slid down the high chair and walked over the fridge where he was standing.
"I don't wanna wear the stupid sling."
"Stop being so childish. You heard the doctor, you're supposed to wear this for the next two weeks!" She grabbed the arm support lying abandoned by the microwave.
"When did he say that?" he asked, a clueless look looming over his face, making her almost want to throw the sling at it.
"You were there in the room!"
"I got distracted." he defended, his gaze darkening as it slowly panned down her figure. "When did you last ate?"
She glowered her eyes at him.
He reached over his side for the fruit stand and offered her an apple. "Here."
"Put it back or I'm gonna throw that to your face."
He chuckled and stood up straighter. "Let's eat! Come on! I saw the new Japanese restaurant. We can walk."
"No. You need to lie down and rest." She watched him in disbelief as he walked pass her and grabbed his house keys from the opposite counter.
"Hang on. Let me change my shirt, though."
"I've had enough of this!" she fetched her phone from her pocket and speed-dialling his assistant's number. That made him stop on his tracks.
"Claire?" Lowery answered in a groggy voice. "Everything all right?"
"I don't know what you guys were thinking. But buy a plane ticket for Owen back to California, right now."
"What are you talking about?" he yawned. "Owen's in California."
"What?"
"He's still at the hospital, Claire. There isn't much news. I'm sorry I didn't call you yesterday."
She stiffened, unwanted facts dawning on her. She locked eyes with Owen who was looking remorseful than a sinner on church. "He's here. Owen's fucking here."
"What! Like in Costa Rica? With you?"
"Yes." she breathed through gritted teeth and balled fists.
"Since when? What the hell, man! He's ok? He woke up? I'm gonna call Zia. She's gonna flip."
Claire's voice dropped to a menacing sound. "Lowery, book him the next available flight. Pick him up at the airport and pin his annoying ass on an IV. Make sure he rests. If you had to chain him up to his bed. Do it."
"Right, right. On it. I'll text you the details."
After she hung up the phone, "You're going home. Right now. Pack your things." Their eyes met over the threshold in a determined contest.
"Why?"
"What do you mean why?! You need proper rest! The next ferry will leave in 30 minutes. I'll ride it with you."
"I need rest? What? And you don't?"
She moved over the counter again to pack his medications, not bothering to reply.
"I'm staying here til we finish the job." he added and what felt like a slap in her face. She turned around to face him, narrowing her eyes.
"You think, I can't do it by myself?"
"On the contrary, Miss Dearing." He stood opposite her, half-sitting on the backrest of the couch. "You know, I never doubted you."
"Then what the hell is your problem? You're leaving. End of story."
"No, I am not." He shook his head, pouting his bottom lip. "Not happening."
"Oh yes, it is!"
"I'm not going anywhere. That's final." He repeated with an air of determination, crossing his arms in front of him.
"Gah! Do you find pleasure on being such a pain in the ass every single time? You ran away! What the hell are you thinking, coming here!"
"Now that you asked-"
"It's a rhetorical question!" she frowned.
"Well, you shouldn't have said that in a questioning voice." He mumbled.
"You're ridiculous! This shit is not funny anymore!"
"What are you shouting at me for? I didn't do anything!" Owen defended.
"You didn't- you didn't do anything? Are you kidding me? Are you fucking kidding me! You're here! That's what you did! When you should be staying at the hospital!"
He stared at her for what it felt like a full minute before a smile broke his face.
"Aww. You're giving me butterflies here, Claire." His palms crossed over his heart. The bandaged left wrist almost mocking her.
"You. Are such. An asshole! I don't know why I even to bothered to try!" she laughed, without a trace of humour.
"I'm fine, Claire. No big deal. Only few scratches. It'll heal. All fine. See?" he stretched and unfolded his left arm in front of her, indicating how "fine" he was. The action making her burst even more. All the fright, rage, and guilt she had been feeling came pouring out in one arduous tirade of emotions.
"You're fine? You're fine! Bullshit Owen! The last time you said that to me you ended up three weeks at the hospital. I saw you bleed to death and there was nothing else I can do. One week and you were barely alive! You had no idea what I've been... what I've been through! Do you know how... how it fucking felt! If Zara... if Zara didn't... If she didn't come on time... " she stammered, her breathing coming up short.
Her chest tightened again, blackness creeping from the corner of her eyes. With a staggering step, she fell down the barstool and held a hand on her stomach. Nausea overtaking her.
The next thing she knew, she was staring at his sobered face. His wide hazel green eyes pulling her out the abyss. He sighed. "I know how trauma works, Claire. I'm sorry that I put you through that. But you can talk to me."
"Please go... go... go home." She stuttered.
As tender as he spoke, he held her chin between his fingers, " I'm going if you're going."
She held the hand caressing her cheek and squeezed, regaining steady, gradual breaths. His free thumb, rubbing circles on her skin then her lip which then had ceased its trembling.
He looked even more exhausted. Claire decided she didnt like that look on him. Not a single bit. She wanted him teasing, flirting or angry at her. Not worried.
"Talk to me. Let me in, Claire." He continued, pushing one stray lock of hair behind her ear.
As soon as he said it, she felt, as if, the fog that had engulfed her inner consciousness cleared up. Finally offering her a glimpse of a sunshine of possibilities she evaded her entire life. It was warm, ardent and promising. For a second, she wanted to melt in the safety of his arms and tell him how much he scared her. How much he was scaring her with the intensity of his stares, the warmness of him. But all of a sudden he was too much. Too bright. Too real.
With one quivering hand, she removed his hand and averted her gaze.
"Claire-"
"I have to go." She interjected and left without another glance.
The backyard was already reverberating with life when she finally arrived.
It was unusual for Claire to arrive at the middle of the party. She drowned herself with "work" for the last few hours. And by work that meant browsing the web for a new laptop wallpaper. It was a subtle way to tire herself and avoid the party she didn't feel like participating in. But the host had called her a few times already, telling her that work will still be there tomorrow. The staff party and his self-made drinks wont.
After what probably was the fifth call, she gave in. Claire drove for 20 minutes to the outskirts of the park where the Malcolms were living.
She could hear the explosions of laughter, conversation and music from the gates. Claire adjusted the straps on her white body-con dress she packed on a whim. "Sundress-ed up, Claire. It looks like it's going to be a hot night." Ian warned. And he was right. Beads of sweat were already rolling down her back. Exhaling one deep sigh, she pushed the old wooden door.
After a week of staying on the island, one information topped all other statistics that had lodged itself to her brain. And that was that the Malcolms knew how to throw a proper party.
Strings of fairy lights and banderitas of assorted colors hovered above them. Thus, illuminating the cloudless, windless night. The dance floor at the center of the grounds glistened. Surrounding it, were four sets of long tables decorated with tropical plants and colourful vignettes. Tiny Moroccan lamps and bulbs hung above it as well, providing a more bohemian effect. A mariachi band played local songs, entertaining dancing and non-dancing guests alike. It was funny that the only area under a tent was the bar. A painted signage "Drinks on me" embellished its body, luring a handful of guests. From there emerged the flamboyant host and a woman in an off-shoulder floral maxi dress. A camera attached to her hand.
"There she is!" Ian shouted above the commotion, making some of the partygoers look in her direction. In his hand were two glasses of what looked like margaritas with slices of lime on the side.
He was wearing a short sleeve floral printed shirt and white beach shorts. A wreath of tropical flowers hung around his neck. Ian walked with the copper-haired beauty by his side. Genuine smiles on both their faces.
To her shock, when the couple approached her, the woman threw slender arms around her in a tight, bear hug.
"You must be Claire! Oh my! I heard so much about you!" The woman squealed before releasing her. "I'm Sarah."
"Honey, this is Claire Dearing, the one and only." Ian introduced between sips of his drink. "Glad you could join us Claire."
"Thank you. I'm sorry I'm late."
"Nonsense. The party's just started." Sarah dismissed, beaming at her.
"Food's over there and open bar's over there. Anyway, I gotta brag about this to Stan. So, if you could excuse me ladies." he said, raising and indicating to drinks in his hand. "See ya later honey." He added, kissing Sarah on the cheek.
"I made all the drinks so have as many as you like, eh?" Ian shouted when he was a good distance way, winking at the both of them.
"Don't drink too many though." Sarah leaned and mumbled to her. "They might seem sweet, but they could knock you for hours."
"I'll keep that in mind." Claire chuckled as they watched Ian's salt and pepper hair disappear into the crowd. Sarah took a few pictures of the crowd before turning to her again.
"How are you? I hope you're alright with the heat?" Sarah started, leading them towards a nearby table.
"I'm great. Thank you for everything Mrs. Malcolm. Everyone's been so welcoming."
"Glad you're having fun! But call me Sarah." She laughed again, placing the DSLR on the table. "Though technically, its Sarah Harding-Malcom. I didn't take Ian's last name when we got married."
Claire's curiosity peaked. "May I ask why?"
"Oh, you know..." She trailed off, stopped the passing server for two cosmopolitans. "Thanks Bert… Ian's accomplishments are his as well as my accomplishments are mine..." They both took a sip.
"I get it." Claire smiled, feeling more comfortable with the woman seated beside her.
"See? I knew we're like kindred spirits." Sarah said, squeezing her forearm in a friendly gesture. "How about you? Are you seeing someone?"
"Oh no, no. Too busy showing men how to get their jobs done." Claire smirked, feeling pride swell in her chest.
"That's my girl. Of course you are." Sarah winked at her and tipped their glasses together.
"Anyway, I was talking to Owen a while ago. He told me tomorrow's the consignment meeting? You guys must be pretty excited. Ian is."
Claire nodded.
The full transfer of property and sales would happen tomorrow.
Claire narrated the events of this morning and filled her in, minus some parts.
Today was the last meeting and she couldn't be more pleased with the decisions. Although, she felt a pang of worry when Owen didn't show up. Lowery called her, apologizing that Owen cancelled his flight- which she already suspected. She knew she was wishing for the moon when she told him to go home, anyway. But still. He needs to rest and a proper hospital. Whatever. Don't waste another breath, Claire.
For the first 30 minutes, she had to remind herself of Owen's lack of punctuality. After the first hour, she was ready to swallow her pride and ask his whereabouts when he entered the room with Ian. She released one tensed breath. The room stood to their attention but his eyes immediately flew to hers. Ian introduced him to the group who came up to him to shake his hand. He wore the sling brace he hated so much. True enough, it wrinkled the dress shirt he was wearing. He sat across her. Ian sat between them, at the center of the table.
At some point during the meeting, he leaned forward and passed her notes, "Hey?" Before another one after a minute "I'm sorry for yesterday." She glanced at Ian who was repressing a smile. His long and ring-ed fingers curled around his lips.
She ignored his notes and paid attention on the presentation. As she was writing down the names of the current investors, another scratch of paper found its way to her. . "Lunch?" She looked up at Owen who quickly turned his head towards the screen, smirking for all he's worth. Claire flipped the post-it and wrote, "NO! Focus! You little dipshit." And glowered at him for good measure.
She stole another peek at Ian again, who was nodding at something the presenter said. She slipped the note but a breeze must have blown it because Ian pealed with laughter. In his hand was the piece of paper. He passed it to Owen who didn't look the slightest bit concerned. Whereas her cheeks redden with humiliation. When the meeting ended, she was the first to excuse herself out. Claire's been avoiding him since yesterday's outburst. She couldn't remember the last time she overreacted. That always seem to happen with him. She frowned at the thought. Grateful that the island was big enough for them not to cross paths.
"What? You're leaving?" Sarah lamented when she finished.
"I am. My bags all packed."
"You couldn't stay for the weekend? Ian's birthday is coming up."
"I wish I could." Sarah's face expressed her disappointment that Claire felt bad. So she added, "But I'll see what I can do."
"Please? I'm sure Owen wouldn't mind. We want you here. Speaking of whom, he told me you grew up in Wisconsin?"
"Madison. My mom and sister still live there." she replied, nursing the drink Sarah gave her. Claire wouldn't to gulp it all at once, no matter the temptation. The last time she got drunk out of her senses still fresh in her mind.
"Yeah? I used to teach Paleontology at UW for a couple of years. 1995."
"Really? My mom taught History there in the 1990s." Claire announced.
"Small world."
The two women discussed about Madison, the island and Sarah's photography career. Claire couldn't help but be in awe of the woman in front of her. Sarah was the epitome of an independent woman who terribly was reminding her of her mom.
Around them, the party continued deeper into the night and livelier than ever.
Sarah was showing her the pictures she took that evening when Ian appeared. His feet dancing by their side. He was wearing a gaucho straw sombrero with red poms he filched from one of the players. A maraca raised in one hand, the other on his stomach. His hip swaying in tune with the upbeat music. Claire and Sarah held on to each other as they doubled over with mirth. The crowd around them hooted as well, even more so when Ian extended a hand for Sarah to take.
Claire watched the couple took the centre stage. Others joined in as well. Their feet making knocking sounds against the makeshift floor. The people who were standing by the sidelines clapped over them. Claire found herself laughing and cheering too as Ian dipped Sarah. He then covered their heads with the straw hat before he kissed her.
She took another sip before she continued browsing the camera pictures. Owen appeared in the later frames. He was wearing a blue button-up shirt, the sleeves rolled up and buttoned to his bicep and khaki cargo pants. An identical necklace of flowers also hung around his neck. There were several pictures of the trio. A particular shot made her smile. He had his arms around Sarah and he was kissing her cheek while Ian beamed at the camera. They looked like a family.
"You know, if you're gonna stare at my picture, better look at the real thing." She heard a distinct voice joked behind her.
"Were you spying on me?" she accused brazenly, watching Owen laughed and occupy Sarah's seat.
"No. I just got off the phone with Zia."
Claire straightened up, "And?"
"They caught Antonio transferring illegal money from headquarters to a private account. They got him just in time. He's waiting trial along with Nedry. Zia said it'll be quick."
"For real?"
He nodded, grinning at her.
"That'a good news. We can replace him with someone better. Morris would be perfect." The cogs in her overworked brain turning. "What do you think?"
"All settled then." he approved.
"Great. I'll arrange it first thing on Monday."
A minute of silence ensued before Owen clapped a hand on the table and stood up. " Now, come on. That dress is being wasted sitting down."
Claire almost spilt her drink. "You think you're so smooth, don't you?"
"Believe me Miss Dearing. You're quite the challenge."
"Does that make me special?" She criticized though amused.
"Not at all." The corners of his lips tugged upwards, his hand opening for her. "Let's see you can last five minutes in those ridiculous shoes."
Maybe it was the ambiance of the night. Or the whisper of the summer wind against them. The pleasant acoustic melody of the guitars. Or the display of camaraderie that made her accept his hand.
He placed a bandaged hand at the middle of her back. The other holding her hand. He stepped closer while Claire hesitated. He let out a short, low laugh that she felt vibrated through her.
"You can relax. I won't bite unless provoked, you know."
"I'm not." she scowled, earning another laugh from him.
"I'm not gonna say anything more, in case, I ruined this." He said, smugness and mischief in his tone.
"That's very considerate of you." She said, sarcastically.
"Well, what can I say?"
The music slowed as they shifted from foot to foot. The lights above them incomparable to the spark behind his eyes.
"Stay for a few days." He muttered.
"Are you still aware that we're running companies?" She retorted, emphasizing the "S". The mountain of paperworks' gonna be horrendous now that's Antonio's taken care of. She could imagine it.
"You need a break. We both do."
"I was not the one who's been unconscious for weeks. You do. You stay." She replied. The dark circles around his eyes and the roughness of his voice now absent. His skin glowing with a healthy, bronze tan. His scruff trimmed and maintained. Although, he looked well-rested now, he still needed to recover. And this looked like the place that could help him.
He scoffed. "I'm your boss. I'm telling you to stay."
She craned her neck up at him. "Wow. You're playing the boss card?"
"I guess." he smiled sheepishly, squinting his eyes. "Did it work?"
"Not a bit, no." wrinkling her nose.
Owen chuckled and rested his cheek against her temple. He was so close, she could feel his breath on her ear. She found herself leaning in more, allowing him to lead her through the song.
"This was a good idea. Wasn't it?" He continued in a low voice.
"What is?"
"This. The park."
"Are you having second thoughts?"
He chuckled again before he pulled away and twirled her. "No. But I don't wanna come across as impulsive. The prodigal son who likes spending daddy's money. Tell me what you really think. I know you won't bullshit me."
His face was serious, so unlike of him that she couldn't help but smile. "You did good. One of your many impulsive decisions that I approved of."
He didn't say anything but stared at her.
"He would have been proud of you, you know. Alan always spoke highly of you. I can never get him to shut up. Your impulsiveness, recklessness, not to mention your lack of time management had its merits after all." With that, Owen threw his head back and laughed.
"And you are sensible, hardcore and controlling. I say, we make a pretty good team, Miss Dearing."
It was a while after she spoke. Her body thrumming with nervous energy from their distance. Or lack of.
"I guess we do." She whispered, staring up to his sincere eyes, hypnotized.
"You know what still bothers me though?" Owen snickered, pushing her away so they stand side by side.
"What?" Her left arm extended.
"That my dad never told me about you." He tugger her back.
There was something funny about the innocent betrayal on his face when he said it that she laughed out loud.
"Not once. What the hell is that about?" He blamed but couldn't hide the amusement in his voice.
"It is a mystery." She said when she collected herself. The smile planted on her lips.
With one hand still on her body, Owen reached for the necklace around his neck and plucked a flower from it. He tucked it behind her ear.
"Yeah, It is." His gaze fell down. She gulped, biting her tongue as she fought the urge not to lick her dry lips. He leaned in. The tip of his nose tracing the line of hers. His warm breath sending shockwaves to every nerve of her body. She could hear the rapid heartbeat which mirrored her own.
He sighed and moved his head to resume their previous position. To her disappointment.
"Don't worry about my arm. I'm gonna wear that sling you love so much tomorrow." He taunted, disgust in his voice.
She rolled her eyes. "Don't get me started, Grady. Why didn't you wear it today?"
"And lose the chance to dance with you? No way!"
"Well. If you did, I could lead you." She gibed, biting her lips to keep the grin from tearing her face.
He groaned. "Why are you always trying to emasculate me?"
She didn't know how much time passed. Too occupied by how he was rubbing soothing circles on her back. The rise and fall of his chest, in sync with hers. How sturdy and warm he was against the softness of her body. A perfect contrast, she could admit.
"I never thanked you." He muttered, out of the blue.
"For what?"
"For your work. For my dad. For everything. He halted his steps, making her stop as well. "Thank you, Claire."
"No need to thank me. I was just doing my job." She pulled away and looked at him.
"Were you?" the smile and twinkle in his eyes could give the stars a run for their own money. "Were you just doing your job?"
"What made you say that?"
"You tell me."
It was as if she left her body. His eyes locked on hers. It was as if everything became hazy when he brought their right hands and he briefly touched warm lips on her knuckles. He then rested it on his chest. Claire felt like gravity pulled her in. Did he knew?
The hand holding her back pulled her closer, one leg now between his. He slid his bandaged hand up her cheek. It was rough against her burning skin. Claire felt a squirming sensation in her stomach. The last thing she saw was Owen staring at her lips. She closed her eyes in anticipation.
Until, she felt something wet drop on her forehead.
She hasn't open her eyes yet when the sky poured bucketloads of water. No warning whatsoever. The shrieks and the fading out trumpet noises brought her back. Owen cursed behind his laugh and intertwined their hands. Tugging them both to safety from the harsh, abrupt rain.
The rain had come and gone for the last thirty minutes. Sarah, Ian and Owen handed out towels and coffees for everybody. Everybody laughed it off, as if it was always expected. When the rain subsided, Claire volunteered to drive the staff who can't travel back to the village via foot or motorcycles.
It was nearing midnight when she parked the car by the hotel parking lot, across the staff village.
"Thanks again, Claire! Goodnight Claire! See you guys tomorrow!" They shouted back at her. Claire waved back at them.
"They like you." Owen pointed out from behind her.
"That's because I offered them a ride."
"Stop discrediting yourself too much. Come on, I'll walk you to the lobby." Owen put his hands inside his pockets.
The lobby was deserted, as suspected at this hour. The fixtures dimmed and only the faint pitter latter of the rain outside broke the silence. The kid behind the reception desk, stood up clumsily from his sleep to greet them.
"Don't let the bed bugs— or the mosquitoes bite, Claire." Owen quipped.
She entered the elevator, pressed the button of her floor. "See you tomorrow, Grady."
"I'm counting on it." He smiled, pouring all the warmth of the sun on it.
The elevators closed in on her and then she was alone. Claire stared at the lit elevator button, aware of the empty feeling in her bones.
The lights in hallway were also dimmed that she had to went under a wall lamp to find her key card. Her phone dropped from her rummage and she cursed. When she bent to pick it up, something fell from her hair. The reddish-orange plumeria Owen gave her never looked more beautiful than that moment. She smiled as she twirled it in her fingers.
Then, something clicked in her. Her face contorted to a realisation. Her insides fluttered with a tingling feeling, her heart picking up a pace. Claire felt light-headed and she knew it had nothing to do with the drink she didn't even finish. She sprinted towards the elevator and pressed the elevator buttons, down.
"Hurry up!" She exasperated as if pressing the buttons harder would quicken the lift.
The elevator pinged and she almost tripped getting in. This might have been the longest elevator ride of her entire life. She didn't want to think. Didn't want her rational side to remind her that this was gonna be a bad idea again. She bounced on her heels. The floor was now on the 8th… 7th… 6th… Claire was never used to letting her feelings rule her head. She's always been level headed. The walls she built had kept away any emotional entanglement she thought was a waste of time and effort. Right now though, she could feel a section of it crumble at the thought of strong arms and hazel green eyes.
The doors haven't completely opened when she stumbled out into the empty lobby. Except the bellboy who was now snoozing on the desk.
She saw his figure running back towards the staff village. His thrown up hands shielding his head from the rain. Claire felt that sinking feeling again. Without thinking, she ran towards the revolving doors. The rain had picked up again, sending warm slashes across her skin. Her line of sight blurred from the torrent of water and low lights.
She called out, "Owen!" A helpless cry against the racket of rainfall. She seemed to have lost her ability to think. All her inhibitions evaporated with the rain. She took off her heels, ready to sprung.
When a muffled voice cried from behind her.
"What the hell are you doing there? It's raining!"
On instinct, she turned her head and there he was looking all confused and annoyed. Claire didn't know but she let out a choking gasp. She pushed the doors and hurried to him, wobbling knees and all.
"What's wrong?" Owen was walking towards her. "Claire? Claire? Claire, are you hur-oomph!"
She didn't let him finish when she slammed her body against his and kissed him. Like how she always wanted to.
He wavered for the first few seconds before he groaned and gathered her in his arms. He lifted her a few inches off the floor. She parted his lips. His tongue, as sharp as their arguments, welcomed hers. Her adrenaline on high and expressed in the torrid gesture. Their bodies so close it didn't leave enough distance to touch each other. She could feel every delicious inch of him, her fingers aching to feel whatever part of his body. He must have read her mind because he set her down and pushed her towards a wall? a column? She didn't know. But the hand behind her head did soften the blow. Their hands, everywhere all at once, reacquainting themselves. He pushed into her further. The hardness of his body making her bold and irrational, like she thought it would. Claire more than welcomed its weakness. She bit his lip when he pulled away.
She heard the words he was saying but all she could think was how she needed him. How she needed to lose herself to him, feel him and know he's here, he's okay and not a figment of her imagination.
"Are you sure?" he leaned his forehead against hers. The world finally coming into focus.
She nodded.
With her eyes on his chin and all the courage she ever had, she mumbled. "Stay with me, tonight."
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
Ohhhh! *fans over self*
This chapter has a lot of talking. I'm sorry I don't know what came over me but I did like writing Ian Malcolm bits. I've read a lot about PTSDs, anxiety and panic attacks. This chapter deals with Claire's which for me has to be out there first before anything else. Stay with me. I'm gonna make it worth it... I hope. :)
For me, love takes a lot of convincing especially for the people who's been traumatised with the wrong kinds of love. Keep in mind that Claire never had someone to look up to in terms of successful relationships. And by talking to Jane and Sarah, who have had successful love stories of their own, it made her want to, at least give it a try.
Thank you for reading and your comments, corrections are always welcome and appreciated. Chapter 11 is underway.