Saving Alexandria [Book 3 of the Stavros Series] ✔️

5//Stranded With a Cannibal

"You're joking," I mumble, feeling my heart beating rapidly inside my chest, about to jump right out onto the dirty floor of this shack.

He moves his arms around his head so he can rest against them. "No," he shakes his head, "I wish I was princess."

"You're lying," I argue. "I cannot be stuck on an island off of Alaska!"

He shrugs his shoulders the best he can. "Well you are. It's better for you to come to terms with it now rather than later."

I sink down into the arm chair, completely forgetting about the horrible quality of it. "How could this happen," I ask myself.

Michael answers for me. "I have a theory," he states. "You're staying at the closest resort with your family, you got drunk enough to steal a boat and sail off into the ocean at night. The next morning you woke up on shore and came face to face with a bear, you screamed, which was a horrible decision by the way but luckily I was close enough to hear. So I came and rescued you and took you back here and all this time you have thought that dear old daddy is coming to take you away from the cannibalistic lumberjack."

I stare at him dumb founded, waiting for him to crack and tell me that I'm on television. He doesn't.

"How do you know all that?"

"Is there any other possible theory?"

I look down to the red flannel shirt in my hands which is a huge contrast to my three hundred dollar jeans which are torn in some places and decorated with dirt in others.

"Unless you want to sleep either naked or with dirty clothes, I would suggest you put that on," Michael says from his spot on the bed.

He looks way to comfortable on that bed for my liking while I'm sitting in hell.

"Why are you on this island anyways?" I shout, gripping the shirt in my fists. His smile fades thankfully. "Are you really the only human on this god damn island?"

"Well other than you." His eyes harden the same way my Dad's does when he's angry with me.

"Why then? Why are you the only person here?" I jump from the chair, letting my anger take over.

"First off," he lifts a finger, "don't raise your voice at me when you're in my home. Secondly, I moved here earlier this year. I was sick and tired of the city life."

"People who are sick and tired of the city life move to Ohio or Wyoming! Not off the grid in Alaska!"

Michael shoots up from the bed, his large frame imposing my own. "I said don't yell in my house or you'll be sleeping outside with the dogs," he says through clenched teeth. "And don't question my life decisions when you know nothing about me."

He turns his back on me, crawling back into bed with stiff shoulders. "Now get dressed and shut the hell up."

He lays down in bed facing away from me, the covers pulled up to his chin. It's obvious that he won't continue talking to me, not that I even want to.

I feel the tears threaten to escape, I feel the lump in the back of my aching throat. I push them all down, I push away all emotions, willing myself not to give him the satisfaction of seeing me weak.

So instead I yank off my shirt, bra, and jeans. Grudgingly, since I don't have a change in underwear I wrap the flannel around myself, buttoning it up and far as it will go to cover as much skin as possible. Luckily it falls down to my mid-thigh but it's still not long enough to grant myself comfort.

I sink back into the arm chair, trying my best to ignore the way it scratches my legs and has lumps in random places.

After a few silent moments a pillow and blanket is thrown to me from the few feet between me and Michael. Then he lifts his head to blow out the candle near his bed that has been illuminating the entire space.