The Island Curse

Miscommunication

My lungs seized up as water filled them, and the sea glass, so enchanting from my perch above, bruised my back as I slammed into the ocean floor. The water wasn't deep here, but I'd fallen far, and the waves were rough, pulling my shocked form towards the stone. Pain slashed across my cheek and down my neck as I tumbled into a wall, a cloud of red billowing around me.  Up became down and left became right as I flailed, kicking through the cold.

    I needed air. The urge to breathe deep possessed me like a demon, and just as I started to inhale, Kieran's sturdy hands heaved me above the ocean's surface. I let him drag me as I coughed up every bit of the salty solution I'd swallowed, and all the while, rage built in my belly.

    "Isla," he dropped me on the sand, the grains still holding onto a small vestige of daytime warmth and imparting it to my frozen skin.

When I didn't respond, he bent over to administer CPR, but I wasn't silent because I couldn't breathe. I was imagining creative ways to kill him. I waited until the last possible second and rolled away, popping up and pressing my hand to the top of his head. The sight of him face planted in the wet sand almost gave me enough joy to ease the burning on my face.

"I'd say yer fine, then." He rocked back to his knees and spit out a mouthful of sand, irritation clear in his expression, until he studied me closer. He grasped my chin and touched the scrapes gently. "Yer poor face."

Adrenaline wearing off, I jerked away and wrapped my arms around my waist. "What the hell were you thinking? Why were you in such a hurry to get down?"

"I was trying to help you," he implored, snagging his sweater from where I'd tossed it and offering it to me.

"You grabbed my hand while I was clearly trying to look at something else."

"Nonverbals really aren't my thing."

Teeth gritted, half from anger and half to stop them from clacking together, I spit out, "Turn around."

"Why?"

"Because I'd like to take my sweater off and put yours on. Why can't you just do what you're asked?"

Mouth working, he turned on his heel. I pried the wet top from my body and shrugged into the cardigan. Pins and needles erupted along my skin as blood started to flow again. Buttoning it was difficult, my fingers stiff and almost useless.

"You done?"

"No," I snapped, tongue jutting out and pressing on my top lip as I concentrated. The small, wooden clasp refused to cooperate.

"Can I help?"

"No!" I looked down in horror, my breasts visible through the wet lace of my bra. He'd get a free peep show if he turned around.

"Isla, I will be a gentleman."

"Cause that's worked out real well for me today," I said, pushing the button through the loop successfully. That was one down. Five minutes later, I'd managed one more, and I started to cry.  "Fine, but keep your eyes averted. I'll move your hands to the clasps."

"Done," he said, looking to the sky as he walked over. He stuck out his hands and waited.

Trembling, in ways that had little to do with how cold I was, I guided his hands to the middle clasp. His deft fingers made quick work of it, and he let his hands hover in the air, waiting for me. I nudged his hands higher, sucking in a deep breath as his fingers brushed against my skin.

When he finished that one, I felt covered up enough. "You can look now. There's just the top one left."

He lowered his gaze and reached for the button at the collar, lingering on this one as he studied me beneath his thick lashes. "Better?"