𝐅𝐢𝐥𝐭𝐡𝐲 𝐇𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

nine. | before/sixteen.

before
sixteen

I was floating.

Till I wasn't.

I was ripped from the sea floor.

My nervous system shot as my vision blurred.

"Woody! Jesus Christ, Woody!"

I'm thrown on to the wet sand as I inhale, trying to open my ocean covered eyes.

"What the hell were you thinking?!"

"Oh my God, do I need to call 911?"

It's that strange voice that finally clears things up and I turn my head, realizing what just happened.

"Get her clothes!" he barks.

Kneeling over me is Anaca, soaked with fury in his eyes. Those eyes are demanding answers as a frantic voice narrates above us.

I take another deep breath, unable to feel the cold anymore. Only that I'm on the shore with him between my legs. While I lie there in just my bra and underwear.

"What the hell were you doing?" he strains again and I hold my hand out, pushing him away.

"I was fine," I snip, trying to get up.

My blanket is held out to me and it's then I look at the hand attached to it. A French manicure and a light blue puffer jacket.

I cover myself before Anaca wrenches me up without my permission, causing my wobbly legs to almost topple over.

"Go start the car, Madison," Anaca orders, tossing keys at her.

He says something to me, but I am tranced watching her run off the beach. Her silky blonde hair blowing behind her.

"Woody."

I slowly peer over at him.

His head falls between his shoulders as he almost heaves on his breaths. So much anger circulating his body that it takes me by surprise. I've never imagined him angry, much less this angry.

"What?" I finally snap back. "What, Anaca?!"

"What... the fuck... were you doing?"

My jaw falls unhinged at his cutthroat tone. "What did it look like?" I hiss back.

"Like you were about to fucking kill yourself."

My laughter cracks through the air like thunder. "You think I was trying to kill myself?" I snort as my body begins to warm itself once more. "God, you're delusional," I mutter, turning my back on him.

"What other reason would you be in the middle of the ocean in December, Woody?" he hollers after me, his limps falling heavier in the sand as he dived inside completely dressed.

"None of your business. What are you doing out here anyway?"

I stumble to my backpack, searching for the clothes Madison tossed in the dark as she hysterically grabbed my blanket.

"Does it matter? It's a good thing I was here!" he continues to yell at me. "We have to get you warm before you catch hypothermia."

"I am fine!" I scream as I find my jeans.

His arms clamp down on my arms as he pulls me to him. "Woody."

I buck against him, but his grip is too strong. He wills me to stay put, till I look up at him.

The anger is there, but its slipping.

It's being replaced with something else.

"Woody," he says again, this time airy and in a plea. "I got to get you warm."