Chapter Sixteen

I've decided to keep a diary. Yeah, it's lame, and I have nothing interesting to write about, but I know for a fact that about half the people on this island keep one.

Day 22

I've been miserable for the past few days, Sawyer and Kate seem to be around eachother a lot. Something's going on between them, Maybe. Oh God, I'd better not let anyone find this notebook. Anyway, today I feel a little better. Kate and Charlie got into a little spat with Sawyer, which ended in Kate leaving his tent all disgusted-looking. Dunno what that means, but it's better than them shooting constant glances at eachother and Sawyer not once looking my way. Writing a diary is boring, I'm out. For now. Going to go find yet another mango.

It's night-time now. And Claire's back. She came stumbling back to us through the jungle, alone and with no memory of her time away. No, not just that, no memory of anything after the crash. The last thing she remembers is getting on the plane. No memory of anything but her old life in Sydney and her imminent baby. (Oh, yeah, the baby's fine)

No memory of Charlie. This makes me so sad I just want to slap her or pour cold water on her or something, maybe shake her and tell her, "This is Charlie! It's fine if you don't remember the rest of us, but this is Charlie! He's dedicated himself to trying to make you happy. He's spent every moment since your disappearance thinking about you, I know it! He hasn't been eating or sleeping, he's hardly spoken to anyone, because he's madly in love with you, Claire. Can't you see that this is Charlie?"

Of course, I won't. I won't slap her or shake her or even splash cold water on her, because she scares me so very much. She's a mess, she's been God-knows-where for over a week, and there's still the small matter of her pregnancy. You just don't slap a pregnant abduction-victim.

Really, her pregnancy scares the crap out of me in and of itself. Well, not her pregnancy, just the idea.

I'd put a lot of thought into it and worried my ass off, before I got onto the plane. But it's been over three weeks since Jared, and even if . . . even if something had taken root in me, the plane crash would surely have shaken it away, right? Anyway, my period isn't due for a couple more days. I hadn't even thought about it while Claire was gone, but her protruding tummy brought old worries to the surface. Dumb worries, unfounded worries. Anyway, didn't pregnancy mean morning sickness pretty early on? I felt fine.

Silly paranoia, of course. What matters is that Claire is back, and she is going to have her baby in the relative safety of the caves, with Doctor Jack there to bring the little bundle of really bad luck (getting born on a deserted island? I have a feeling this kid's life will be off to not the best start) into the world. I'm exhausted, going to sleep.

Day 25

Today I found out exactly how long we've been on the island (yeah, I went back and labelled the last entry, it was blank before). Twenty-five days. I don't know who's been keeping track, but that's definitely how long we've been here. My last period had ended six days before I got on that plane. They're usually like clockwork. But I've been eating way differently from normal, right? And I sort of survived a plane crash, trauma could upset my regular cycle, surely. It's sure to come very soon.

Day 27

Today I woke up starving and ate a mango and cold cooked boar. Not nearly enough, I knew I'd be hungry again in ten minutes, but I didn't feel like foraging. I picked up a book and started reading.

Now I'm realizing that I'm not hungry, as I expected. Not hungry at all. Actually, I feel pretty gross.

I just spent fifteen more minutes reading, but this nausea isn't going away. Maybe I can bring myself to ask Sawyer if he has any Pepto-Bismol in his stash of goods. Probably does, but that'd be too embarrassing. I'll just ride it out. Diary-writing isn't helping matters, I'm going to try to go back to sleep. It's only like seven or eight in the morning.

I didn't get to sleep, I had to leave the tent and go throw up into the tide. It didn't help, I feel gross. Kate eyed me sympathetically, I told her I must've eaten some bad fish.

The problem isn't fish.

You know what? Fuck this. I'm done with the diary thing.