Shipwrecked

5-Noa

I see her, outside, sitting on a log all by herself.
It is a little bit chilly now that the sun has gone down and yet she is sitting far from the fire she had Ryann start for her earlier to cook the panther.
It is still burning, more fiercely than earlier actually. Much more wild, as it laps up into the air, falling back down. Rising and falling, rising and falling.
Brooklyn doesn't do fire. She won't even get near it enough to it to cook her game.
She has a problem. She has never talked about it before, but I've heard my fair share of rumors.
Kids at school used to pick on her all the time.
"Brooklyn's afraid of fire," one of them would say loud enough for her to hear, but not to her specifically.
The others would laugh high-pitched and cruel sounds.
"I heard she tripped and fell into the pit at the bonfire her mother's best friend threw."
"Makes sense, she is clumsy." someone else would chime in.
"Bet you that's how her face got all messed up." someone would lark.
"You three are wrong, clearly she just stuck her finger in a candle's flame and it hurt her so she cried to her mommy."
"She's a wimp."
"Yea, I bet you she just got a spark in her eye, the little wuss." a girl would add.
"No, her house caught on fire. It burned her things. She was devastated."
"She's such a spoiled brat."
The thing is nothing anyone ever said about Brooklyn was true. They just picked on her because...well I actually don't know why exactly. I assume it was because they were jealous and she was an easy target.
She never fought back.
But what I didn't understand was why they would pick on her for things that really had nothing to do with her, things that weren't even true.
She is not clumsy; in fact, she is the most surefooted person I know. Her face never was messed up. She is beautiful, always has been. She isn't a wimp, although I can see where they got that one from, considering how she never really fought back. And she most definitely is not a spoiled brat.
Why these kids insisted on making up lies about Brooklyn, I do not know.
I do not think fire ever touched Brooklyn, ever. I think it touched something she held much more dearly to her heart. Not her favorite toy. Not her collection of books, or her most comfortable sweater. I think it touched someone she cares about. I think it touched her father.
I have known Brooklyn for years. We have been best friends, her and Ry and I. Yet she won't even share with us the true story of how her father died.
They say he just disappeared one day, into the woods with a shotgun. They say he got killed in a car accident, they say so many things. But just like the source of Brooklyn's fear of fires no one knows the truth.
Only the rest of her family knows the reality of it all, and like Brooklyn, they do not care to share.
I cannot tell if anyone believes their alibi. It is very believable considering they say they don't know what happened to him. But is that really believable? Did they really never know, or were they just trying to protect the rest of us?
I think the later. I believe that Brooklyn's family was hiding something, just as Brooklyn was and still is. But what place am I in to judge? My family and I, we're no better.
I sit down next to Brooklyn, her blond curls limp from the water in the river. She and Ry went for a swim earlier today while I sat alone and cooked the meat of the dead panther. They always leave me with the dirty job.
Well I guess not, the dirty job would be cleaning the animal, cutting the animal...killing the animal.
But for me sitting alone and thinking about how wretched it is that we had to kill this beautiful beast of our island is the most gruesome part of the project.
I do better when I'm not left alone with my brain. She makes me uncomfortable.
I guess all tasks are dirty when it comes to killing.
I turn and stare at Brooklyn. She doesn't look away from the fire. It shows in her green eyes. They gleam. It's almost scary.
I wonder if this is what she has nightmares about. I have a feeling it's much more.
"I thought you might want this." I say offering her the knife she threw at me in my sleep.
Wow, that sounds really bad.
It takes her a while to turn her attention from the fire and focus on me.
It's like the flames are mesmeric to her.
"Thanks," she says taking the blade from me, not even bothering to be cautious of its sharpness. It sparks a little blood on her hand and I wince looking away. She doesn't even finch, just presses her palm against her leg.
Yep, definitely not a wimp...
I follow her eyes back to the fire.
I open my mouth to ask her something, but then decide it's a stupid question and snap my jaw shut again. Maybe it's not so dumb. I need to know. Nope it's definitely not worth the trouble. She certainly will not tell me the answer anyway.
Jesus Noa, stop being so fucking indecisive.
"Thanks for earlier." I say instead.
She nods.
"I just, I can't go through shit like that anymore." I say.
"What shit?" she asks, not taking her eyes off of the golden-orange flames.
"You know, the shit about being a coward just because I'm afraid of something."
She looks as if she might turn and glance at me, but she can't take her eyes off the fire, in fear that it might attack her.
She bites the corner of her lip.
"You know, it's not right for Ryann to push us around just because we show our fears."
She finally looks away from the fire. Brooklyn has let me get the best of her. She is off guard tonight. Normally she would be too stubborn to avert her eyes.
She narrows her eyebrows making a bizarre expression on her face. She still looks gorgeous.
"Right?" she grins at me in agreement, "It shows more bravery when you put your fears on show rather than keep them inside."
I cringe inside.
Bitch, please.
"Do you really believe that?" I automatically spit the question out of my big mouth that I can never keep shut.
She looks at me, muddled.
I notice that her eyes are heavy. Lack of sleep, she is sleep deprived, can't rest. She's too afraid to close her eyes. Afraid something will get her, something she doesn't want to be trapped in a deep sleep with. She knows it will get her eventually. She just isn't letting on.
She refuses broadcast her fear.
"Do you?" I ask more sternly this time.
She nods her head carefully.
"No you don't!" I snap impulsively.
"What the hell?" she shouts back at me. "What is wrong with you Noa? I'm simply answering your question!"
"No, you're not, you're lying. If you really believed that Brooklyn, you wouldn't be so horrified and you'd be able to sleep at night. You would tell me and Ry and we would help you. But you don't, and that's why you're a fucking zombie who can't get any sleep. That's why you're always pissed off!"
I get up to leave, my face sweltering, red and hot.
I feel her sharp fingernails dig into my wrist and I spin around to look at her.
"Don't you think I want to tell?" she whispers sternly, her face way too close to mine. Close enough I can smell her breath. Mint leaves. She's been chewing on them.
"If you did, you would have done it already." I spit.
"You don't understand."
"You're right," I say escaping her grip. "I don't."
I stomp away, running for the cabin.
I hear her heave a sigh and she calls me a bitch under her breath.
I let my temper get the best of me.
"Excuse me?" I shout.
I'm acting like Ry now.
She turns, looking at me, my cheeks turning pink with anger.
"I'm sorry," she says nippily, "I didn't know you were so offended by that title. It does fit you really well."
Okay, now she's done it. Now, I'm steaming with rage.
She quickly stands up to defend herself against my madness.
I throw a punch at her and she blocks it, dipping her head and running behind me.
She is small and fast.
I can't catch her.
I throw another punch, but miss again, hitting only the warm evening air.
I feel her hand grabbing my bare leg, and soon her filthy nails dig into my skin.
I grab a clump of her hair and use it to pull her up to her feet so we are at the same level. She may be taller than me, but I am broader, stronger.
I punch her in the eye, catching her off guard. I grab the collar of her shirt and push her closer and closer to the fire until she is practically hovering over it.
She punches me in the gut, her survival skills setting in.
I drop her and she falls inches from the flames, scurrying away from it, hugging her knees close to her as she sits in the dirt.
I think of a time when Shane, our mentor, was praising her in the training room, "Great job Brooklyn, great job," he egged her on as she fought the biggest girl in our class, a girl who was at least three times her size.
He glared at me as I sat and watched with the other losers of the fight, my bruised eye, and bloody lip.
"You could be that good Noa. If only you could learn to think." he said snidely. "You're big enough, strong enough. You could dominate."
I ignored his spiteful remark. I knew he would be making out with her in his bedroom later that evening after dinner, thinking of me and how I crushed him.
She is a good strategy maker. That's the only reason Brooklyn is a good fighter, but Shane wasn't always right. Sometimes strength beats smarts.
"What's wrong Brooklyn? I ask grabbing her again, pulling her so close our chests meet.
I drag her back towards the fire and I am about to turn her towards it and suspend her into the air, dangling her above the flames, when Ryann comes running out of the hut.
"Stop!" she shouts.
I don't let go of Brooklyn though. I look at her; she is caught off guard, so petrified, her face ashen.
I take her in her moment of weakness and punch her square in the jaw.
Her mouth starts bleeding and I think about striking her again, but she fires back at me, all of her rage forced into this one swipe of her fist against my torso.
I feel the pain dart through my ribs and I grab my side, falling to the ground.
Ryann runs over and grabs Brooklyn, who is closer to the fire than I have ever seen her. She pulls her inside leaving me alone in the darkness, the warmth from the fire behind me, burning my back.