Hunted

Fifty-Eight: Still

Charlotte lay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the steady breathing of the other girls and the monotonous drone of the ship's engines. Hours had passed as she lay there, hoping sleep would find her, hoping she would be able to escape her guilt in dreams. Yet it was impossible. She had said what was necessary to Matt, and she was glad that she had finally found her nerve, but now more worries were beginning to plague her.

Charlotte sat up and rested her head in her hands. She knew she couldn't put it off any longer. She hardly knew what would happen tomorrow and she had no idea if they would be split up. Mostly she hoped they would allow her to remain with Ian, but being separate from James, even if she hadn't spoken to him since the island, seemed impossible.

She pushed back the covers and climbed from the bed. Charlotte hissed as her feet made contact with the metal floor, its icy cold a shock after her warm bed. She grabbed her coat from the end of her bunk, and slipped it on over her nightdress.

The sleeping quarters for the girls was just one large room, with three rows of bunk-beds. It was shrouded in darkness with only minimal light coming from the corridor at the end. She moved silently amongst the sleeping girls, easing the heavy door open as silently as she could.

The soft pat of her footsteps echoed lightly along the ground as she tiptoed along the narrow corridor, the cold light bouncing off the bare pipes and glossy paint. She slid open a door to a narrow stairwell, the light flickering on for her as she moved into the tight space. The ridged grips on the steps pressed into her feet as she crept through the sleeping ship, down to the boys' quarters on the lower deck.

Their deck was practically identical to the girls' quarters, though the engine seemed much louder in the depths of the ship. She pulled open the door to the large room where they all slept, the bunks hidden in the darkness. She was half afraid she would wake others, not wanting witnesses to what she wanted to say to James. Instead she classed on her alteration, locating James much quicker than she could have by herself. She tiptoed quickly towards him, afraid she would be caught on her midnight stroll before she finished the task at hand.

James was on the bottom bunk in the centre row. Ethan slept above him, while Carrie was snoring softly opposite him, a hulking mass beneath the bedclothes.

Charlotte knelt down beside James, her stomach in tight knots. He looked so peaceful that she almost felt reluctant to wake him, his face relaxed, his expression innocent. She knew though, that she couldn't wait much longer. She needed to say what she had come to say now before she lost her confidence.

"James?" she breathed, reaching forward and shaking his shoulder gently. His skin was hot beneath her touch, causing butterflies take flight in her stomach.

His green eyes darted open, fear and bewilderment crossing her features. "Charlotte – is everything okay? What's wrong?" he rushed, sitting up on his elbows. His panic was palpable, washing over her and making her head swim. She took a steadying breath, somehow relieved that he still worried about her.

Charlotte furrowed her brow, still holding onto his shoulder, the scar of where Elmhirst had shot him beneath her palm. "Nothing," she replied, her voice wavering slightly. "I just... needed to see you. I need to talk to you," she said, lifting her hand away and clasping her other hand neatly on her lap.

James sighed, lying back on the bed and closing his eyes, pressing his fingers against his lids. His initial panic faded, his recent attitude returning, his jaw gritted, his muscles tensing.

"You needed to talk to me now?" he repeated, exhaustion marring his question.

"Please James," Charlotte said. He looked at her again, his expression softening, though she could still see the worry in his eyes, worry at what could possibly seem so urgent all of a sudden.