The Boy, Part 2: Island

(Continued from The Boy, Part 1: Water's Edge)

The warm water rushed over me, comforting. The boy's hands held mine. I felt secure.

"The island is beautiful," he continued. "Tranquil in places. Exquisite and dark."

"Is there danger?"

"Only the illusion of danger. Nothing can harm you there." He lifted my hands from the water, kissing them softly and leaving shining droplets on his lips. "Come with me. I know you'll love it."

I went willingly, longing for the island's beauty. The promise of excitement without danger. I wanted to go where he went, to feel what he felt, and I even urged him faster along. I could no longer feel anything beneath my feet, but with his hands holding mine it didn't matter. 

His grip loosened. Suddenly the water grew cold. The waves no longer gentle. I reached for him but he swam a few feet away.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing. I like to swim alone sometimes."

I nodded. "Okay." But his answer felt wrong. I swam alongside him but struggled to keep up. I felt the slow stupidity of my efforts and was sure he did too. "Don't leave me behind," I called out for the dozenth time.

"I'm not," he snapped, and the frustration in his voice emptied me.

"You feel far away," I said.

"I told you, I'm right here with you."

I reached for him and he recoiled.

"You're not swimming," I said.

His voice lacked warmth. He didn't meet my eyes. "I'm not going to keep swimming."

My chest hollowed. "But, what about the island?"

"I don't want to find it anymore."

The waves swelled high, pushing us further apart. "I'm afraid," I called.

I waited for him to tell me I had nothing to fear.

But he remained silent.

I treaded water. He swam in a different direction from where we'd come or where we were going. He swam to another shore. I tried to follow but he ducked below the water and out of sight. He was gone for so long I thought he might have drowned. But he emerged at the water's edge looking stronger than ever. 

He was fine.

He was fine without me. And I was alone.

I tried to swim on my own too.

But I had let myself get too far from the shore.

I began to flail, but he no longer cared. I called out, but he no longer listened. I refused to slip beneath the surface, but the pain of the frigid water filled every part of me. He had left me.

I made it shore, but not the way he had. Not strong, but beaten. Battered. Having fought for every inch as I swam to the sand I should never have left. I sat, huddled and soaked, trembling and broken. But the sun would dry me. Time would heal me. And now I knew better. I would never enter into that water again. The island wasn't meant for me, if it was even there at all.