Why did I agree to this? I should have said no. I have the power to say no. Why didn't I say no?

Ben's already in the water, shirtless, arms crossed in annoyance. "Are you just going to stand there all morning?"

I can't focus. I can't avert my eyes. I stand immobile in silent admiration for the way he's built. Ben's not loudly powerful like Erik or Kyle, he's quietly powerful like Christopher. They don't need bulging arms of visible muscle to have the strength to dominate a fight. Erik and Kyle are lions, but Christopher and Ben are equally deadly vipers.

Ben calls for me again, but I still can't focus. My mind keeps imagining the rest of the evening because I already know how the day ends. It ends with laughter that leads to kissing which leads to his deft hands stuffed down the inside of my bathing-suit.

This is miserable. Who wants to feel like this? Surly love is not worth the turmoil my poor intestines are suffering at the hands of extreme anxiety?

Ben cups a hand to his mouth and yells, "I'm not going to let you drown! Just come out here."

"I'm not worried about drowning," I mumble under my breath before charging forward into the ocean waves. At least the water is relatively warm.

Ben waits until I've waded in up to my chest before reaching for my arm to keep me from floating away. "We'll start with the basics. The most important lesson about the ocean is knowing when to swim and when to float."

I do give it my best effort.

"No," Ben corrects with an amused smirk, "you're fighting it again. Even you can't fight the ocean. If you just relax, the salt in the water makes you buoyant, and you'll float without even trying. Here, relax."

All is well until he puts his hands on my shoulders and massages. I flinch away from him, immediately aware of the hot tingling between my legs. "Sorry, I wish I could relax," I grumble. "Being able to relax would solve half my problems in this life."

"What's wrong?" he asks, but his voice is too slow for this to be happening in real time.

I turn to look at him and watch the sun rise and fall beyond the horizon in a manner of seconds. I watch the moon take its place, only to be pushed out of the sky by the sun, over and over and over until time loses all meaning and the ocean spits me out onto the sand.

My face slaps against ice, and when I grip the earth, it's not sand at all. It's snow.

Ben is gone. Endless night has fallen over the island, and the air is silent with flurries of snowflakes. A gurgling wolf snarls at me as I try to stand, but when I look up, I see only myself hunched in the moonlight, soaked in blood, both eyes nothing but hollow holes that stretch on into infinity.

I wake up screaming. All of my fingers go numb from a deathgrip on the knife Ben gave me, the blade unsheathed and ready to stab. As my eyes dart around my bedroom, I start to fully wake up and gulp air in a desperate attempt to calm down. Fenrir lifts his head in confusion, but I convince him it was nothing and to go back to sleep. Pumba remains dead to the world as he emits little oink-snores on his bed near the fireplace.

There's no way I'm falling back to sleep tonight.

Strike a match, light a candle, grab a pen, flip to a fresh page, write: I understand now why Ben has insomnia. I would too if I saw that every time I closed my eyes. How can he even stand to look at me if that's the last memory he has of my face? What if he thinks he likes me, but he's actually just trauma bonded?

Thinking about Ben only sparks my earlier arousal, and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. Just to be safe, I write the next words entirely in Italian, just in case—God forbid—this notebook gets left somewhere and a child picks it up.

I want to do unspeakable things to Benjamin Linus. Things I can't even write because to speak it into existence would make it real, and I don't want to shame my grandmother.

Actually, who cares? This is my journal.

And then my pen flies wildly as I frantically write everything I want him to do to me, followed by everything I want to do to him—90% of which is most definitely not condoned by the Catholic Church. I lean back in my chair when I'm done, sweaty and quickly filling with a weird sense of guilt.

I continue in Italian: Is this creepy? Am I being a pervert? I feel like I'm being a pervert. I wish I didn't know what will happen to me when I get pregnant. Does that make me selfish? Knowing about something I can't avoid is torture. Why is this so difficult? People find each other attractive, and then they have sex. It's not rocket science. People have been procreating since the dawn of time.

And then I hide my face in my hands because I'm pretty sure normal people don't refer to it as procreating.

In English I write: I'm wasting time. There has to be something I left behind that could be helpful. Something beyond the useless notebook full of terrifying scribbles Jacob gave me. There's no photos? No physical records of my working with the Dharma Initiative? And where the hell is Richard? It's been over a month since he first disappeared! He's the one who found my body. Maybe he saw something Ben didn't? Maybe he's the missing piece of the memory puzzle?

"Burning the midnight oil?"

"What?" I slam my notebook closed and turn in my seat to better see her. Since I no longer lock my bedroom, she's cracked the door open and peaked inside, a lantern in hand. "Hi Gail," I say, smiling. "I hope I didn't wake you."

"You did," she admits good-naturedly, "but that doesn't matter."

"What do you mean?"

"Cora, taking care of you is my job." Placing her lantern on my desk, Gail takes a seat across from me on the edge of my bed. "What was the dream about this time?"

I lie to her, just like I've been lying to her every night since I started dreaming about Ben. I know lying is a sin, but I'd rather burn for eternity in Christian Hell than admit to Gail that I can't stop dreaming about what he can do with his hands.

I'm still turned on from thinking about everything I just wrote down in my notebook, and it takes considerable energy not to resent Gail from being in here. I just want to be shamefully horny in peace. In my frustration, I blurt out, "I know this was all orchestrated. Ben and mine's marriage."

Gail doesn't seem surprised that I know. "When did he tell you?"

"I figured it out myself, actually."

Gail nods slowly, thinking about something with what looks like disgust. "When I first met him, that boy was spoiled, stubborn, and weak. In some ways, he still is. But at least now he can cook."

I watch her face flicker in and out of view in the candlelight. "Why do you talk about him like that?" Gail frowns as if she has no idea what I mean. "He always does exactly what you say, and you still treat him horribly."

"You think this was easy for me? You think it was easy to mold him into something worthy of you?"

"You're still doing it. He's not a thing, Gail. He's a human." Gails's frowning at me, so I frown right back. "You should have treated him like a human. He was a child in mourning."

"Benjamin is not the only one who has spent their life mourning you," she hisses sharply, and I immediately fall silent as she stands and lords over me. "I held Christopher in my arms as he screamed with a pain only an orphan can scream. I held your grieving child in my arms and kept myself from crying tears of my own so I could better care for him. Don't talk to me about mourning." There's more she wants to say. I can see it in her glistening eyes. Instead, she turns and heads for the door. When she reaches the handle, she stops. "Are you happy with him?"

I try to look at the situation through her eyes. Maybe she believes raising Ben was her life purpose, like how Ben genuinely believes marrying me is his life purpose? I don't want her to think she's wasted her life for nothing. And besides, my answer, for once, isn't a lie. I nod in affirmation and say, "Very happy."

Gail seems both surprised and relieved at this news as a smile pulls at her lips. "Good. You're welcome," she adds curtly and flees back into the night.

I'm not a midwife, but no amount of begging and pleading can stop the women of Hydra from dragging me to the hut where Claire is currently giving birth.

Annie is already there, doing her best to try and calm Claire down in-between her screams of raw agony. A young woman kneels beside Claire, one hand resting on her shoulder as she recites something in a low, soothing voice. It's obvious Claire's still in pain, but whatever the young woman is doing is at least calming her down enough to pay attention to Annie's birthing instructions.

I stand in the doorway, unsure of how to be helpful. I've never seen a live birth before.

"Cora?" Claire questions as soon as she sees me.

I step forward, and the young woman beside Claire shrinks away and takes my place in the doorway. Claire's hands are hot and sweaty when I take them in my own. "What do you need?"

"Make sure," Claire pants, her face red and damp. "Can you make sure he's healthy?"

I smile at the realization that she already knows it's a boy. "That's what I'm here for."

Aaron's labor is difficult, and it takes an hour or so before Annie is holding a wailing baby in her arms. She hands him to Claire, and it is as if we no longer exist. Mother and son seem to melt into one another.

Annie attends to Claire as the young woman in the doorway hurries outside to the eagerly awaiting crowd and announces it's a boy. A combination of clapping and excited sentiments in both Norse and English echo in from outside.

The women of Hydra have spent the last few weeks making Claire and Aaron gifts that they happily present to her one at a time. Newborn clothes. Teething toys. A wrap meant to secure newborns to their mother's chest. A new dress for Claire that's especially breastfeeding friendly.

They dote on her hand and foot, crowding around to gently pull off her sweaty clothes, clean her with sweet smelling oils, brush her hair, feed her food and water, give unprompted advice and unwavering congratulations. Claire doesn't seem to know what to do with all of the support and bursts into tears.

"It's her first child," Annie scolds. "Give her some peace. All of you, shoo."

Just as well. I'm expecting Ben soon anyway.

As I start to head closer to the beach, I bump into—of all people—Aiko. Todd trots beside her, tapping his bushy fox tail against her left or right side to guide her around bends in the road or especially uneven pavement. When she finally reaches me, Todd steps in front of her and snorts loudly as the signal for her to stop walking. I lean down to her level and say hello.

Aiko makes sure to keep her hands to her sides, no doubt in fear of touching me and seeing more terrifying glimpses into the future. I watch as her eyes dart around and settle on where she thinks I am. "Thank you for saving mommy."

It's so nice to hear her sweet little voice again. "She saved me first," I tell her solemnly. "I was just returning the favor. Your mom is the real hero." Aiko sways a little, almost like she's unsure what to do next. So I say the only thing I can think of to make her feel better. "Let's not have you see my future anymore, okay?"

Aiko nods with noticeable relief, and then unexpectedly flings herself forward and wraps her arms around my shoulders, pressing her warm cheek against my own.

"You frightened my favorite human," Todd snaps irritably as he starts to guide Aiko home. "Don't do it again."

"Lady Cora?"

Still smiling widely, I turn around to find the young woman who was helping Claire earlier. I'm not sure how old she is because we're the exact same height—which isn't saying much, as I'm only 4'8—and she looks too young to have had a growth spurt yet.

It's as if she doesn't know what to do with herself. She shyly fidgets her hands, deciding at last to straighten her spine and fold her hands behind her back. It seems to take all of her resolve to look me in the eyes. "Papa says I'm not allowed to call you grandma."

She has Christopher's hair—my mother's hair. It's thick and almost black, perfectly spiraling over her shoulders like the untamed mane of a Mediterranean goddess. Actually, she technically is a Mediterranean goddess.

"Freyja," I say aloud, and I'm rewarded with the most beautiful smile I've ever seen. "I'm so happy to finally meet—" She cuts me off with a powerful hug for one so small. I awkwardly pat her back until she lets go of me.

Christopher mentioned she was shy, but even I'm unprepared for just how shy my granddaughter is. I smile and ask innocent questions to try and set her at ease, but even asking the easiest of questions—like her favorite color or animal—results in a brief burst of excitement that always leaves her quiet and embarrassed afterwards.

Am I this anxious? Is this what I look like to people?

Linking my arm through hers, I pat her hand and start walking towards the beach. "How old are you?"

"Twelve," she answers quietly. "Lady Cora?"

"Just Cora," I correct with as kind a smile as I can muster. "If there's anyone on either of these islands who doesn't need to call me lady, it's you and Christopher."

Freyja's olive skin darkens with a blush. "Cora?"

"Yes?"

"May I ask a favor?"

"You can ask me anything." As we round over the sloping ridge leading to my longhouse and the path down to the beach, Freyja slows to a halt, and I follow suit. "What's wrong sweetheart?" She mumbles something down at her feet. "What was that? I can't hear you."

"Can you pick my husband for me?"

She can't even look me in the eye and tell me her favorite color. Why is she asking about marriage? In a powerful rush that seems to come out of thin air, I fill with the motherly instinct to protect her. "Well, for starters, I think you're a little too young for a husband."

I mentally note to start carrying my axe everywhere so I can brandish it at the first fully grown man who proposes to her. I don't even feel comfortable with her dating Ulf, who is at least sixteen. When you're this young, every year matters. Four years is an eternity for a twelve year old.

"There are so many suitors," she explains, darkening again with embarrassment. "I suppose I don't need you to pick one. . . just narrow down the list? It's a little overwhelming."

I'm about to start giving an impassioned lecture about how creepy it is for men to already see her as a viable option for marriage, but a familiar voice distracts me. I only catch the tail end of their fight, but Alex and Hazel are in a shouting match further down the path.

"—can't believe you actually want to date?"

"I don't know," Alex yells back at Hazel. "Maybe?"

"This. . . this ruins everything! Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"I was going to say something, but then your da—" Alex catches herself, but it's obvious what she was about to say.

"What?" Hazel snaps. "Because what? Because dad died? Oh, I am so sorry my father dying was such an inconvenience to you!"

"I didn't say that," Alex pleads, but Hazel has already stormed off.

I'm not sure if I'm supposed to pretend like I didn't hear their fight. I decide there's no point when she looks over and see's me and Freyja. "Alex?" I ask. "You okay?" She tries to wave away my concern, but I can see the raw sadness in her eyes. Still linked arm in arm with Freyja, I link my free arm through Alex's. "Come on, let's all go sit on the beach. I'm expecting your father any minute now."

Alex's mournful expression twists up into confusion. "Dad's here?"

"Not yet, but I've requested some precious cargo from the mainland and need to be there for the dropoff."

When we finally reach the beach, I wait for Alex to tell me what's wrong, but she never says anything.

"Alex? I just want you to know that I'll support you no matter what. And I know your father will, too. He loves you very much." Alex looks confused, so I continue. "If you want to date Hazel, you have my blessing."

Alex's already confused expression twists into even more confusion. "Why would I want to date Hazel?"

"Is that not what you were fighting about?"

Alex is about to tell me exactly what they were fighting about, but she changes her mind at the last minute. I sigh, surprised to find just how much it hurts my feelings that she doesn't feel comfortable sharing with me.

All three of us sit in an awkward silence on the beach, watching the ocean slosh against the shore.

A boat approaches in the distance, and I'm happy for the silence to finally end. "Oh, there he is! Wait." I release both of their arms and hold a hand up to shade my eyes. As the boat gets closer, I yell, "What are you boys doing here?"

Ulf, Andor, Rune, and Karl wave at me as they finish paddling to shore, hop out, and begin stacking firewood. "Finn's just become an older brother," Ulf answers. "We're here to help celebrate with a surprise party." Ulf suddenly notices Freyja hiding behind me. Poor thing is so shocked to see her that he pretends like he hasn't seen her, spins in a nervous semi-circle, shifting aimlessly, opting at last to wander back over to where the boys are feeding a small flame.

Ben approaches, guiding the precious cargo over to where I'm standing. The aforementioned precious cargo is bound, gagged, and obviously pissed off. All of his character development is messed up because he hasn't had a reason to bond with anyone yet. I can't help but smirk at him. Sawyer has absolutely no idea what I have in store to speed up his good-guy arc.

Ben eyes Sawyer wearily before turning to face me. "Should I even bother confirming you think this is a good idea?"

"Trust me," I say with noticeable relief. "I know how this looks. But this is the first decision I've felt completely confident in since I got here."

Sawyer hums unintelligibly through the thick fabric tied around his mouth. At my request, Ben removes the gag so I can hear what he has to say.

"So," he says, looking around with an impressed expression, "where are all the ladies, anyway?"

"You can gag him again," I tell Ben just as Peregrine runs up beside me in the sand.

"Who is this? Oh, oh!" Peregrine bounces with excitement. "You're the one who fought Magnus and almost won! Join my crew! Please?"

Sawyer hums his response, and against my better judgement, I ask Ben to remove the gag again. "Piss off, Short Round," Sawyer snaps.

I'm not expecting it, so there's no time to tell her to stop. Peregrine rears back an arm and then punches Sawyer hard in the groin.

"Peregrine!" It takes all my willpower not to laugh at the sight of Sawyer taken down by such a small child. Ben, however, has absolutely no qualms with huffing a low chuckle as Sawyer falls to his knees, wheezing in pain. "Why would you do that?"

As per usual, Peregrine looks up at me with an air of innocence. "Mom says I'm allowed to punch men in the dick if they harass me."

I'm shocked at her language, and I have to force myself to close my gaping mouth. "But. . . he didn't harass you."

"He won't join my crew!"

"Peregrine," I sigh. "That's not harassment. Harassment would be if someone was saying creepy things or trying to touch you."

"Oh, okay." Without even acknowledging Sawyer writhing around in pain, she takes off back up the hill.

"Stop," I call, curving a finger in a direct order. I wait for her to hurry back over to me before I command, "Empty your pockets."

"What?"

"Don't what me." A muffled cry for help gets louder the closer she walks. I hold out a hand, palm up. "Empty your pockets."

"I don't have anything in my pockets."

"Don't lie to me. I can hear him."

It takes a minute or so before Peregrine stops arguing, reaches into her pocket, and pulls out an angry treefrog. "FREE," the frog screams in a flurry of croaks. "FREE AT LAST! UNHAND ME, GIANT FIEND!" With a crazed gusto, the frog attempts to bite her fingers, but he has no teeth and accomplishes nothing.

"I'm not hurting him," Peregrine argues. "He's just easier to carry in my pocket."

"Well," I counter, "he doesn't like being in your pocket. Hand him over."

"Why can I understand you, giant? Can it be? Oh, heavens! What luck! I've found a lady frog at last!" The little tree frog springs through the air and lands on my face. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance. Would you be interested in bearing my children?"

"Uhhh?"

The tree frog climbs all over my face with his gooey little suction-cup hands. "What is your name, oh great and glorious queen of the frogs?"

"Cora," I say. "And I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm not a frog. I'm a human."

"I'm not picky!"

"Did I mention I'm already married?"

"Oh, cruel fate! After such a long search. . . cursed fate!" He leaps from my face to my shoulder and croaks, "You say you are human? I wish I were human like you."

"What's your name?" I listen for his answer, but his name is an unintelligible sound only a frog can make. "Hm. Would you mind if I called you by a nickname?"

Freyja lights up with excitement and eyes the frog with a childish gleam. "Are we naming that frog? Oh, can I hold him? I love frogs!" Just then, the frog takes a leap of faith and miraculously sticks to Freyja's face. She gives a squeal of delight and tenses up. "He's cold," she exclaims, giggling.

I'd have thought the innocent sound of my granddaughter giggling would bring me unbridled joy, but it just makes me selfishly sad. I don't think I've ever giggled once in my entire life.

"Such soft skin!" He proclaims with glee, climbing up the side of her cheek. "It is a treat for my froggy feet. Are you single, by any chance?"

It takes all my willpower not to roll my eyes. "He likes you, Freyja."

Freyja gently plucks the frog off her face and cradles him in her little cupped hands. "Look at him," she coos. "He's so cute!"

"Cora," he croaks, "what is this sweet angel saying? I cannot understand her!"

"She says you're cute," I tell him and instantly wish I had lied.

"Words of love? I accept!" He springs back onto Freyja's cheek. "You shall be my human. Keeper of the perfect skin, I shall stay by your side till my dying day! I hereby forsake my search for a lady frog, for I do not need one!"

I sigh, realizing that I'm the only one who understands his little speech. "I'm thinking Frogger," I offer. "Any other ideas?"

Ben hums in thought. "A little violent, don't you think?"

"How about Kermit," says Alex.

"Chrysanthemum!" Freyja looks between me, Ben, and Alex and then deflates and says, "Or Kermit. I like that one, too."

Night falls, and the boys keep the fire pit blazing as they dance and play a variety of instruments to celebrate the safe arrival of Finn's first sibling.

"You have to see her," Finn yells to anyone who will listen. "She's no bigger than a loaf of bread, but much cuter than a loaf of bread!"

I sit on a blanket next to Ben—Sawyer is seated in the sand nearby, still tied up—since it's our responsibility to chaperone the party. But my initial worries about a co-ed party is almost immediately squashed. Turns out the Bears have known Alex for years and treat her like a little sister. It takes the group quite a few tries to pry little Freyja from her grip on my arm. Alex finally convinces her to give me Kermit, and the two girls end up spinning around the fire in time to the music, lost in a cloud of delighted laughter as they shout the lyrics to a song I can't understand.

I pull out my notebook. "What can you tell me about Ulf?"

"Ulf?" Ben raises his brows in contemplation, turning to look at the giant of a teenager playing drums near the fire. "Well, he's team captain for a reason. Strong and contemplative, although surprisingly shy. Why?"

"He has a crush on Freyja, and she's asked me to dwindle down her prospective suitors. I've already crossed off anyone over the age of eighteen, but I'm still uncomfortable with—" I look up from my notebook and motion to Ulf with my pen. "—their age difference."

Ben looks confused. "Of a year?"

"What?"

"Isn't Freyja 12? Ulf just turned 13."

"Ulf is not 13," I counter with no shortage of annoyance.

"You clearly haven't met his mother yet," says Ben, chuckling lowly. "She's even taller than Kyle."

"Wait," I say, pausing to look up from my notebook again. "You're serious? He's 13? Well, in that case." I start scribbling notes in the matchmaking section.

"Here, Cora." I look over at what Ben's offering me. "I saved you the best of the batch."

Keep your cool. Only take one. And only take one bite, don't shove the whole thing in your mouth—oh, Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, this takes like magic. I close my eyes as I chew. "You make chocolate?"

"Only to celebrate births," Ben answers, smiling. "I made Finn's mother a batch, and I added a peanut butter center for Claire's."

His thoughtfulness brings a rush in my chest that makes me blush. "Thank you. That's. . . thank you." I take another bite and stifle a groan. "It's like you pumped these full of drugs." I gasp loudly and bring a hand up to my mouth.

"What?" Ben's immediately on edge. "I didn't actually add drugs, if that's what you're about to accuse me of."

"No, just. . . don't be mad." I lean in close so Sawyer can't hear and whisper, "Charlie's a heroin addict."

Ben doesn't frown, which worries me. "Why are you just now telling me this?"

"I forgot."

"You forgot that there's a heroin addict living freely in the community where I keep my daughter?"

Ben stands, but I've grabbed hold of his arm before I can stop myself. "Where are you going?"

"Home," he answers. "To deal with said drug addict. If he's not shown any noticeable signs of withdrawal, that must mean he's been stealing medicine from the infirmary."

"You don't have to leave Hydra. You can just send word to Ethan from the aviary." It takes no effort at all to loop a finger through his belt, and I accidentally yank him forcefully back down onto the blanket. Now that my powers are fully manifesting, I need to be more careful so I don't hurt people. "Sorry," I apologize at his startled expression, "but I am not chaperoning these kids on my own."

Sawyer has been silent for so long, I feel bad and pull down the fabric across his mouth when he starts humming something. "Can one of you please shut that frog up?" Sawyer complains from his seat in the sand. "He's giving me a migraine!"

"Freyja!" Kermit bellows from inside Ben's shirt pocket. "Where is my Freyja?"

I poke a finger in Ben's pocket, and the frog climbs out. "Kermit," I tell him, "I just told you a few minutes ago. She not gone, she's just too close to the fire. You don't want to dry up, right? You're safer in this pocket until she's done."

"Ah, yes. Sorry."

"Cora? Cora?" Hazel rushes down the hill, pulling a small child alongside her. I notice she's cradling something in her free hand and is speaking so quickly I cannot understand her. In her panic, she stops trying to explain and opens her hand to show me what she's holding.

At first I'm worried that she's hurt herself. Blood drips from her fingers and pools in her palm. It takes my brain a moment to realize it's not her blood. It takes me a moment to realize she's holding the severed thumb of the crying child next to her.

I'm pretty sure this is what it feels like to be a doctor. I move entirely on instinct, snatching up the child and thumb and yelling for Ben to follow me. We're going to need much better lighting than the fire-pit on the beach can provide.

"Boys," Ben shouts in a no-nonsense bark. "I need you to watch the prisoner until I return. Can I trust you to do that?"

"Aye-aye," Finn yells gleefully, saluting us, and the rest of the boys follow suit.

I don't know where Gail is, but there's no time to go looking for her or Annie.

There's so much blood. I rinse it off with some water, but it's difficult to even keep a grip on the thumb, let alone align it correctly and keep it steady. Ben is able to do it in one try, but to be fair, he's completely desensitized to this sort of thing and doesn't shake with nerves like I do.

I'm not even sure this will work. I can't grow body parts, but can I re-attach them? I hold tightly to Sigurd's hand and wait for the pain to flow from his toddler's thumb to my fully grown one. To everyone's shock, including my own, it works.

Sigurd stops crying and bends his newly attached thumb. "Thanks, lady Cora!" I'm so deep in shock I can't even stop him from scamping off before I have the chance to lecture him about the dangers of playing with sharp objects.

"I'll make sure he gets home safe," says Hazel, and then Ben and I are alone again in my bedroom.

Only a very faint flickering and wick-pop of the many candles lighting up my desk make any sound in the silence that follows Sigurd's departure. I'm seated on the floor and Ben's seated right next to me at my desk chair, since he was the one who needed the most light to ensure the thumb was perfectly realigned. Sitting at this angle, with my face so close to his lap, I feel embarrassed for being so unbelievably horny right now.

Does everyone feel like this all the time? Or is this agony exemplified by the fact that I'm supposedly the goddess of love?

Since his attention, for once, isn't on me, I take this opportunity to study him up close. His face is sharper than I remember it being in the show. In fact, his whole body is thinner than I remember it being. His ears stick out from under his neatly combed black hair. His shirt—the same color as his eyes—is a deep blue button-down tucked into pristinely ironed khaki slacks. His usual pair of dress shoes have been replaced with boots, and I silently wonder who made them for him. Attention to detail, even in his clothing. I should have expected nothing less.

"Cora," Ben asks, his voice low and melodious."Are you alright?"

"Uh, no?" I look up at him with a bewildered frown and finish wiping off my bloody fingers on my dress. "I'm happy to find out I can do it, but I wasn't expecting to have to reattach a child's severed finger tonight. And the fact that you don't seem fazed makes me worried this is a common occurrence." At this, he smiles one of his rarest smiles, the ones that relax his eyebrows and crinkle the ends of his eyes.

I need to get far away from Ben or we're all traveling back to the 70's tonight.

"Ow," I hiss as a sharp pain boils under the skin of my right thumb. "Oh, great. I forgot about the aftermath." I put pressure on it to ensure it doesn't detach itself. When I healed Liv, my body absorbed her wounds. I literally had the bullet trajectory inside my body. Does that mean my thumb is going to fall off? "Ben? Could you do me a huge favor and wrap my hand? I don't want to lose my thumb."

I don't know what's going on when he untucks his shirt, but it makes my mouth salivate. He's quick to pull out a pocketknife and cut a strip of fabric from the newly freed material. "I've wrapped more than my fair share of broken hands," he tells me as he works in record speed to loop the long strip of fabric over and around my fingers, tying off the end around my wrist.

Standing up, I turn to head for the door, and then suddenly I'm blinking awake into the blue eyes of a very distressed Ben kneeling beside me, saying something I can't hear. He sounds far away and underwater. "Cora?" His voice echoes softly, and then rushes back into focus. "Cora? Can you hear me?"

"Sorry." I groan in pain as I come back into consciousness. "Not good with blood, and I stood up too fast."

With one hand Ben pushes me back up into a sitting position, and with the other hand he cups my face and gently guides me to look at him so he can check my head for injuries. Having Ben's face in such close proximity, all of the lust I was previously feeling comes rushing back with a vengeance, and I'm powerless to stop myself from closing the distance between our mouths.

I'm the first to pull away, but that's only because I need to breathe. Neither of us moves, our eyes locked, our noses brushing lightly together as we both hesitate to lean back in the rest of the way. Something about huffing each other's air makes me more turned on than anything I've ever experienced in my entire life.

But instead of closing the gap for another kiss, Ben exhales heavily against my lips. "We have to go back and chaperone."

"Yes," I whisper, mortified. "Yes, sorry. I shouldn't have done that. I'm sorry."

"Don't be." Ben has to suppress a smile as he helps me stand. "I'm not."

We don't say anything else to each other as we return to the beach. Sawyer sits frowning intensely as the boys all makes jokes at his expense. Alex and Freyja pretend not to be amused at their antics and continue dancing around the fire.

All of the chocolates Ben gifted me remain in their box the rest of the night, uneaten. For the first time in my life, I crave something more than I crave food.

You could probably dedicate an entire room of arts and crafts with the amount of paper I waste trying to pen the perfect letter to Ben. Everything I write sounds cheesy or desperate or doesn't actually make any sense.

I settle for: I'm sorry this is so random, but I've always wanted to start a bad poetry club. Don't feel pressured to join, but if you do send anything, it needs to be truly awful. Please find my first Haiku below:

I just milked a cow,

and stopped a Pokemon fight.

World peace is boring.

Nothing comes for almost two days.

Every neuron in my body starts firing off endorphins the second I hear Loki swoop into the longhouse cawing, "Letter for Cora!"

I stare at the small pile in my lap, wide eyed and giddy at the fact that Ben wrote a whole bunch of horrible hilarious poetry, my favorite being the haiku:

Garden filled with bees,

or bee zoo enclosed by brush?

Perspective is key.

"What's got you in such a good mood?"

I stop laughing and almost crumple the letter to hide it, but I thankfully stop myself from seeming incredibly suspicious. "Nothing," I tell Pris. "Just more fanmail from the mainland."

A few days later, I get one long letter instead of smaller scraps of poetry.

I only make it two lines in before hastily folding it in half and trying my best to inconspicuously glance around to ensure nobody is close enough to read over my shoulder. Coast is clear. Painfully aware of the fact my face is red hot, I make my way to my room and double-check Gail and Pris are off doing their daily duties. Then, and only then, do I unfold and begin to read in giddy earnest.

Ben's written me a love letter.

One full page of carefully worded sentiments that make my chest swell. Without ever saying the phrase, "I love you" the letter conveys as much. It only makes me more euphoric to think that someone actually misses me. His words are smart but earnest, and kind, and very very flattering. I finish reading and immediately start over.

I understand it now. Those obnoxious scenes in movies where grown women get some sort of romantic news and suddenly devolve into a squealing teenager incapable of sitting still. I can't stop kicking my heals into the mattress as I hold the letter tight to my chest. A flood of euphoria rushes up my chest and into my head until I feel the same high I had at the wedding.

I read the letter again.

Gail unbraids my hair and brushes it out in preparation for my nightly shower. When I return from the locker room and enter the longhouse, a rush floods me with excitement at the sight of the bird flying overhead. Loki means letters from Ben.

But instead of landing on my shoulder, Loki announces, "Letter for Gail!" and flies over to her.

I'm surprised by the intensity of my disappointment as the excitement of getting another letter from Ben slowly starts to dissipate.

Gail unrolls the letter, huffs loudly into the night air, and tosses it on the table.

"What happened?" I ask, expecting her to dish out some newfound—but altogether unimportant—mainland drama.

"Oh, it's just Ethan." There's no sense of urgency in her voice when she looks over and says, "Ben's been injured. It seems he's gone and shattered his spine."