Half Hero ⚡️ {Superhero Adventure Scifi}

Chapter 20: Boat Folk

After hustling my buns off, I made it to Ballard right before nightfall, which actually worked in my favor. Doubt was churning in my tummy. When I was plotting my route out of the country, my plan felt like a sanctimonious form of retribution. The more I thought about my plan, the less awesome (and feasible) it seemed. 

Sure, I'd never piloted so much as a dinghy on my own, and technically it would be grand theft of a vessel, but my ex-boyfriend was a two-faced shit gibbon who deserved a little comeuppance. 

Liam burned out early under the pressure of his shiny job title and in the wake of his collapsing star, he convinced me that we should backpack the world together. I already had an inkling that he was talking to his ex-girlfriend, Kia (yes, like the cars), but Liam swore that the trip would be a way to start fresh and fully commit to one another. Turns out, only one of us having a hard time with commitment.

His parents, on the other hand, were very nice people that welcomed me into their family with open arms. Which is why I was starting to feel a skosh bad about my decision to steal their prized boat.

Liam used to take me out bar hopping in this part of town all the time with his zany crew of frat boys. We'd usually end up taking a cab to the neighboring marinas afterward to sleep on his parent's boat to avoid driving drunk.

The harbor I was looking for was the first of many dotting the picturesque oceanfront. Using the sparse tree cover from a local park I found the chain-link fence I needed to climb. With a truculent thump, my bottom hit the damp leaves on the other side and I slunk toward the dock, staying away from the spotlights illuminating the shabby wooden shingles covering a clubhouse on the shore.

Trailing the concrete path up to the wharf, I found a locked gate barring me from going any further. Had it been later in the evening, I could probably climb it, but it was dinnertime and people were still milling around the grassy lawns in dark slickers. True North Westerner's don't notice the rain, especially the boat folk.

That's when I spotted a young woman coming up the gangplank from the bobbing docks below. Our eyes met briefly and I tried to offer a slight smile so she didn't think I was some vagabond about to break in (which, I totally was.)

She was stunning, with wide green eyes and lustrous brown locks that flowed over her shoulders. The woman returned a placid wave and pushed through the gate to set foot on land, unaffected by my company.

Her full-length coral jersey dress fluttered in the light breeze, showing off her pert breasts and tiny waist. She reached into the leather satchel casually slung over her arm to pull out a pack of cigarettes. The dusky beauty's lack of jacket made me want to shiver for her, and confoundingly her hair managed to keep its gentle curl despite the freezing rain. Daintily, she kissed the pack to pluck a cig between her bow-shaped lips, then, turned to me.

"Would you like?" She asked in a cloying accent that could melt a man's knees.

"Thank you," I accepted the token, fumbling to extract one by the filter.

She held up a plain plastic lighter, silently offering a light. After a few tries foiled by precipitation, the tip began to glow red and I took a pretend drag off the noxious stick. I've done a lot of illicit drugs in my day, but nicotine wasn't my bag. However, if this woman thought I belonged here, she might let me into the gate.

"Ugh, this rain," she huffed her chest, playacting her frustration. "I cannot stand it!"

"I always kind of liked it," I shrugged indifferently. "Have we met? I feel like I haven't seen you around here before."

It was difficult to hold a mouthful of the acrid smoke and I was fighting the urge to spit the damn tar-stick out. The foul odor of heated cat pee and singed chemicals was sinking into the fibers of my clothes and tainting my hair.

"Oh! I'm Bianca," she purred in her lyrical tongue. "I am here with my boyfriend. On his big boat. Just for tonight."

"That's nice, I'm, Misha," I smiled wide at the woman's pleasant roll of her R's, silently thanking my friend for the temporary use of her name. "I work here."

"Oh yes?" She eyed me up and down quickly then grinned. "You like boats?"

"Sure," I replied, reaching for something to say. "Boats are dope."

"My boyfriend says that," she mused, wrinkling up her button nose and expelling a lungful of smoke. "Dope, it's funny."

"Where are you from?" I asked casually.

"Seville, Spain," she answered with a twinge of longing. "We don't have this weather."

She faffed her delicate hand about to indicate the glowering cumulous spitting continuous droplets.

"You get used to it," I chuckled, trying to take a fake drag. "Whether you want to or not."

"We're moving to Portugal," she volunteered hopefully, expelling smoke through her dainty nostrils. "We love Portugal."

"Who doesn't?" I cracked, inwardly rolling my eyes at her charmed life.

She stubbed out the remainder of her cigarette on the ground. I followed suit but chose the ashtray less than a foot from us.

"Here, let me get that for you," I mumbled, leaning down to pick up her discarded trash, which was bobbing in a shallow puddle.

"Obrigado," she remarked before turning away to head back for the docks, right past the no-smoking sign posted at the gate.

Ghosting behind Bianca's exquisite form, I stuck my fingers in the lock to stop it from latching and watched her saunter away. Her clean white sneakers padded against the heavy metal gangplank at an easy pace.

When she was at an acceptable distance, I slipped through the gate. The docks were dipping and swaying with the rhythm of the ocean, making it a wobbly transition. Planting my feet slowly and deliberately, I plodded along the slick wooden planks towards my getaway vessel like a determined sumo wrestler.

It wasn't until I made it to the fourth pontoon that I realized Bianca and I were headed for the same boat.