Island | H.S.

Chapter 5

Isla and Harry huddle in the standby bunker they made the first year they experienced pirate season. Scared and in the fetal position, they hide close to one another in the hut tucked deeper into the island, their usual home closed and empty on the water's edge. They plan to remain stowed away for the next week, living off the supply of water and food they've saved, and only hunting at night under the cover of darkness in case an enemy ship came close enough to see them.

Sounds of blasting canons, miles away on the ocean, can be heard from their interim home. Flashes of fire in the distance peek through the small cracks between the wood slats of their shelter, ghost-like fog hiding the details of the sea's many massacres.

They're adults now, experienced enough to know they must take shelter. But pirate season had its way of reverting them back to the age of when they first met on the Gallant.

Isla yanks a piece of fish off her plate and slowly places it on her tongue, chewing it slowly and deliberately, as though the enemies could hear her chew. She always thought her clicking jaw would be the death of her.

"You okay, Harry? You've hardly touched your plate." She looks over to find Harry with beads of sweat gathering on his brow.

"My stomach doesn't feel good." He crosses his arms and pushes his plate away with his foot. "I think I'd throw it up if I tried. Can't waste it."

Saying Isla and Harry are merely nervous wouldn't do the severity of their emotions any justice. Anxiety, panic and terror fill the small, 10-foot by 10-foot space. Just as quickly as Captain Jones' ship was attacked, they fear at any moment they'll be spotted.

A loud cannon shot thunders far away but still close enough to where Isla and Harry feel the ground shake. Harry quickly places his hands over his ears, accidentally flipping his plate of food. Fish and coconut fly through the air and Bennett scrambles to eat the scraps on the floor.

"Damn!" Harry yells, angry with himself for ruining perfectly good resources. He rocks his body back and forth in attempt to calm himself. "It's worse than it was last time, isn't it?"

"Shhhh. We're okay." She moves closer to him and wraps her arms around, bringing him into a deep, comforting embrace. He can feel the rhythm of her pounding heart push against the skin of his arm. Although collected on the surface, beneath her calm exterior rages a storm of worry as warlike as the raging waters at shore.

Harry buries his head in her mass of golden locks, resting his ear against her chest. He listens to her blood pump rapidly through her body. The beat is constant. His own, personal metronome, there to help distract him from the randomness of the blasting weapons afar.

"What if they come on the island this time? What if they take Bennett? Or hurt you, Isla?" He sniffles, wiping his teary eye on the thin fabric of her makeshift dress.

"Isla, huh? I think that's the first time since we were young that you didn't call me Sharkbait." She nervously giggles, hoping her joke will help break the building tension. But it doesn't. She continues to cradle Harry's shaking bones. "Think of the crow's nest on the Gallant. Remember that? You told me you used to sneak up to the top at night and look up at the stars."

"B-b-but," he says through his sobbing, wiping away another gaggle of tears collecting on his high cheekbone on her loose-fitting top. "You can't see the stars in here though."

"Just close your eyes and picture it." She snugs him in closer and begins singing their favorite lullaby. "Twinkle, twinkle, little star. How I wonder what you are. Up above the world so high."

"Like a diamond in the sky." He looks up at her blissful face. The ebb and flow of his muscles' tremors begin to subside. Her spirit is like a cold, freshly peeled orange on a hot summer day. Refreshing, sweet and addictive.

As she continues to sing, he looks back down. The deep neckline of her top opens with every rock forward. His virgin eyes can't help but stare for a moment. Immediately feeling guilty, he closes his eyes tight, nuzzling against her.

The rough stubble on his face scratches her soft skin. She closes her eyes, too, barely whispering the song. Her voice trails off as she loses herself in the sensation against her bosom. Bringing her hand up to the back of his head, she weaves her fingers into his long hair to signal him to open his eyes again. He obliged her silent request.

The pandemonium outside the walls of their hut begins to melt away. He looks up, his eyes meeting her's. He gently rests his hand on the bare section of her chest and waits, asking, albeit begging, for permission to continue to go on, yet unsure of what he's requesting.

She covers his grasp with the center of her palm and leads his touch to the inside of her top. Worry is pushed to the back of his head, deep behind feelings of lust and want. Granting him more access, Isla slips the small strap of her dress off her shoulder, the top falling slowly to her waist.

He sits up, keeping his hand in place, poised to take in the vision of the angel in front of him. Each of his vertebrae sits perfectly atop the one below, his perfect posture showcasing the immense amount of nerves taking over his core. He's happily oblivious to the sound of a cannon's fire outside.

He moves his free hand to the other exposed, untouched breast and Isla's face flushes to a deep crimson so bright it can be seen in the dark of the early evening. A road of goosebumps leads the way to the tips of her nipples. Much like her freckled skin, they stand erect, awaiting his trace. He uses the tips of his thumbs to softly stimulate each one. She digs her nails into his inner thigh, prompting him to go on.

Closing her eyes, she feels Harry lean in closer, his hands massaging and roaming, but never too far away from his new favorite place. Normally talkative and a self-proclaimed narrator for any and all moments, Isla remains silent this particular moment, processing the jolts of lightning shooting from Harry's fingertips.

"I want to kiss you now," Harry breathes into her mouth. "May I?" The small amount of etiquette training he received as a boy pokes through. Isla rapidly nods, eager for her first kiss, and Harry leans in. The distance between them is only inches but the time it takes for his lips to finally meet hers seems to take hours. Their cold lips touch. Harry's movements are slow at first, his hands playing, his lips firmly pushes against hers. This was the fantasy he'd imagined many times when he'd sneak off to his room with the excuse of "feeding Bennett." They breathe rapidly out of their noses, afraid to separate and end the illusion of them being stuck on the island by choice.

Harry takes the plunge and pulls away to confess his sinful thoughts and test his limits. "Isla... I don't know what to do but I don't want to stop."

"Then don't stop, Harry."