Mistaken Identity

Deluge

   The sweltering scorch of the king of the sky induced hot sweat from Keira's supple skin, dampening her cotton white shirt. Rosy cheeks and salmon-pink lips glowing with youth, Keira's languid grace across the wooden deck drew both lionizing and envious glances her way.

   She strode gracefully to a shaded, vacant table atop the gently sailing yacht underneath the harsh, blue sky - a place that Keira had deemed most impeccable to avoid the bronze-dying of the ever-searing heat. And, most imperatively, to avoid the penetrating looks that pierced into her like stalk-borers.

She had never been a 'people person', nor would she ever be so presumptuous as to find addressing strangers to be a delightful pastime.

   Heaving a light sigh, her steel-blue eyes glossed over the deck from the shady little corner she had secluded herself within. Glinting drenched abs and horridly exposing string bikinis over at the pool several hundred meters away, and astute, frigid, business-oriented, Adam-worthy silence over near the hall. Both atmospheres repelled each other like water and oil and, ironically, Keira sat in the middle of it all.

   The woman's lips twitched infinitesimally. She scowled bitterly to herself, recalling her nightmarish days spent wrapped around her boss', Adam's, lanky finger and at the beck and call of the querulous perfectionist's family. 

   Her time as Adam Crowe's exclusive-donkey-cum-personal-assistant-cum-deputy-cum-dogsbody had left her teetering and whirling madly with Ariadne back in Purgatory, questioning if the world was ever going to consist of less duplicitous and obnoxious men. (Ariadne's source of torment being, indeed, the Greek hero Theseus who abandoned her without a second glance.) 

Yes. 'Men'. 

   Those two-faced, lecherous scum were what prompted her to climb atop a ship and set sail for God-knows-where. You know, for some 'alone time'; away from bothersome events such as her ex's betrothal in five weeks, and a nightmare's descent upon the country at any moment, to name but only a few of her worries. But maybe, just maybe, she was intentionally being a thorn in the flesh? Maybe she had other reasons for running out of the mainland? Maybe she wasn't, as she claimed, that perturbed by Adam Crowe's maniacal temper?

Her lips creased with annoyance, leaving the questions unanswered. 

And unanswered they would remain, she believed.

   Her fair, platinum-blonde hair swayed from her shoulders as she leant into the chair. Her fatigued nerves relaxed. The cool sea breeze caressed her skin lovingly as would a parent caress the cheeks of their child, and exhilarated hollers rang shrilly into her ears from the natatorium.

   The sensation of crisp, cool air amassing in her lungs caused a smile to taint her red lips because the young lady was tired of the dense smog of the city. But she was tired of a lot of things, besides pollution and politics that is. Most of these things, however, she preferred to leave unmentioned. 

   Suddenly, Keira fathomed footsteps - unfamiliar ones - approaching from the hall. She frowned, irately, but did not lift a finger. Her eyes were closed tightly but the gears in her mind were turning. She felt a calm presence gaze down at her, analyzing and scrutinizing as though etching her every detail into memory. Then... She waited. Keira waited for the person - whoever they were - to do something else, possibly something incriminating, so that she could scream blue murder in her assailant's face and the entire ship would be called to attention. Anyways, that was the scenario she had envisaged. But nothing happened.

   The stranger simply stared, fixedly, at her relaxed, 'sleeping' figure before their presence apparently dissipated. In other words, they had left.

   Keira's eyes inched upwards, opening bemusedly and assessing her quiet surroundings. No 'person' to be seen or to be heard of, was in the vicinity. She was baffled but it was not something especially unusual for her who had lived a life that was every bit unusual. Since she was but a mere toddler, Keira recollects, she had sensed a phlegmatic gaze discerning her every action, as though she was an entertainer and they were the nosy audience. And this continued until adulthood. How persistent they were. In fact, were they even human? She had no clue. However, now, it seemed that gaze had materialized?