Island of Men

Chapter 5- "Luke's left eyebrow"

This wasn't exactly the situation Emma wanted to be in.  

Actually, to be completely and disgustingly honest- this was exactly the situation that Emma wanted to be in.  For months, heck, for years, Emma had dreamed of intimate exchanges between herself and Luke.  Nothing skanky, just the sort of things that fill crinkled romance novels, (which always seem to be the flimsiest paperback) and the sort of movies that you watch when you realize that you have no life.  

She had dreamed of those impossible exchanges- the kind where you accidentally faint into your secret lover's arms, or save them from a terrible car accident and wake up to find them leaning over you in the hospital. 

In fact, that was all she ever wanted.  Every day, every hour, she had spent obsessing over how much she just wanted to talk with Luke, how she just wanted to sit by him.  

Of course, that wasn't all she wanted.  She wanted Luke to want those things too.  As the smart bearded ones say, "men want to want and women want to be wanted."   She spent countless hours in school looking at him; looking at the way he rolled up his sleeves, how his hair changed every morning, how he reacted to being teased, who he loved, how he loved, and countless other things.  

She thought maybe if she looked hard enough, that he would want to look too.  That he would care as she did.  And this was her chance.  Her perfect opportunity to woo Luke, to live in the present rather than the future.  

But as Emma sat next to the frustratingly empty fire-pit,  all she felt was empty.  Maybe talking would help.  

"So, how are you doing Luke?"  

"Pretty decently.  I think that if we could get water, and a fire started, we will be perfectly set for the next couple of weeks.  I'm thinking through the possible design for a shelter.  I'm thinking..."  

Emma stopped listening.  

There's this strange convention in most human languages.  I'm not quite sure how to describe it.  But it goes along pretty simple guidelines:  when someone asks a question, you ask it back.   It may sound tacky, but Emma always believed that this formality implied that you too, were interested in the other person's thoughts.  It was at this exact moment that Emma realized that Luke had never been clued into this convention.  Luke was the sort of fellow who had no need for asking questions of the other party, for he had enough words to hold up both sides.  Watching him speak, Emma was rather reminded of a pleasant kind of word vomit.  

Snap.  Emma realized that she hadn't been listening for a long time now.  Probably smart to nod and change the subject.  

"So... how about we start this fire?"  Emma proposed, hoping that he hadn't realized that her entire outlook on his personality had shifted while he had been so kindly monopolizing the conversation.  

"Ah.  Good thing I am a boy scout.  It's a shame that we don't have any matches, or flint, or even a magnifying glass.  It seems that we may be stuck to using the wood on wood method."  He ran his large hands- far too large now, Emma realized- through his ever wafty hair, and began rubbing two sticks together.  

Emma knew it wasn't going to work.  

- a good half an hour later-

It didn't work.  Emma was tired of sitting around and rubbing sticks together, and she was especially tired of looking at Luke.  His left eyebrow was incredibly bushy, and it was getting on her nerves.  It was then, that she had an idea. 

"Hey Luke, could I borrow your pocket knife?"  

He looked up from his pointless sticking, his irritatingly blue eyes looking straight into hers.  

"I don't know?  Are you going to cut yourself?"  Emma fought the urge to punch him in his much too wide Polish nose.  

"I don't know?  Are you going to die alone because of your inability to say anything nice?"  

An awkward silence ensued.  Emma didn't normally say things like that, but to be honest, it felt as refreshing as a new pack of spearmint gum.  

"Just do it, you son of a quiche."  This was time for serious language.  He reluctantly handed over his red swiss army knife, turning grumpily back to his sticks.  What a tush.  

Emma used the end of the knife to slowly unscrew the small bolts on the bottom of her iPhone.  Once unscrewed, she threw away the small bolts.  Definitely, won't need those anymore. She pried open her iPhone... and smiled.  

She may have started on a long hike to hell by provoking Luke, but now she definitely had the upper hand.  

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Dedicated to Ashburn1198, whom I completely lied to. 

Remember when I said that I would for sure update last week?  Well, I lied.  Take that.  

To be honest, I've felt guilty for the past week.  I knew I had to make it up to you.  I guess I'm going to purgatory for five more years.  I'm so sorry.

See what you've done to me. 

So take that all you Luke and Emma shippers.  

Shanks a vermillion if you read this. Comment and tell me your thoughts on Luke's left eyebrows.  

Emily.