Finding Lily

11- Alex

I rested with my eyes on Luke the entire night. Watching him. Observing his breath. Seeing if he trusted me enough to fall asleep. It was my best guess that he didn't. Both of our backs were to the rocks, my knife safely tucked in his waistband, my hand poised next to a sharp rock. Occasionally, his eyes opened to meet mine and we'd engage in a staring contest until he would close his again. Morning came and neither of us had gotten one minute of sleep.

"We're not leaving for the boat until you get your strength back." Luke sat up when the sun rose. My watch read 6 am. "And that's not gonna happen if you don't sleep."

"It's not my fault you didn't pack painkillers."

"They were too hard to get."

I sat up and wiped the sand off of my shirt. My hair, shoulder length and tangled, felt like straw. I threw it up into a messy bun and looked off into the distance. It was cloudy again today, but this time, dark. A storm was coming and we had no cover. At least it would give my burning skin a break from the sun.

"How does it feel?"

It took me a minute to realize he was talking about my bullet wound. "Sore."

"I bet. At least the burning stopped."

"You been shot before?"

Luke lifted up his t-shirt, giving me an unimpaired look at his abs. It was a six-pac, tone and muscular, with dark hairs scattered around his pecks that traveled down to his belly button and beyond.

And there, on the left side of his collar bone, was the thing I should have been looking at. A small circular scar.

"How long ago?"

"Four years. Domestic disturbance." Luke pulled his shirt back down and crossed his arms. "I gotta check yours, if that's ok."

"Ok."

Luke grabbed the pack on the way over. He sat cross-legged on my right side and pulled out a bottle of vodka. After quickly splashing some on his hands, he started to remove the gauze.

When his fingers brushed against my skin, I was startled by how rough they were. They were the hands of a worker, calloused and hard, with dirt under the fingernails. Mine had looked the same way for a while.

I flinched when the last bit of medical tape had been carefully lifted, leaving the wound exposed. A neat line of black sutures had sealed the entry hole shut, and I had to assume the exit wound looked the same.

"When did you do this?" I asked.

"As soon as I got you here. You were in and out of consciousness so I wasn't sure if you'd remember."

I didn't know what to say. 'Thank you' would have probably been a good start, but saying it would be admitting that he helped me. That he saved my life. That without him, I'd still be bleeding out in the basement or dead. Instead, I looked at him, hoping he could get my gratitude from only my expression.

What I didn't expect was the intensity of it or the uneasiness that followed. From sitting so close, I got a more detailed view of his face. More importantly, his eyes. They were green with a little bit of yellow at the edges and brown close to the irises.They reminded me of trees that were on the verge of turning to their fall colors. They continued to look at me for a moment before he broke the gaze. He gathered supplies from the pack and went to work.

The nerves in my stomach hadn't gone away yet. Every time he touched me, they reignited until I was so uncomfortable I almost shot up and ran away. The only thing stopping me was the knowledge that doing so would probably make me pass out.