How To Lose Weight And Survive The Apocalypse

Chapter 28

"Get what?"

Bailey's voice was low and unlike anything I'd ever heard from them before, the tone of a person whose soul had been sucked out of their eyeballs. "I don't care if we make it."

"Yes, you do," I said, surprised to feel annoyance flood the places in my heart where seconds before had been only empathy. "Don't say that."

"I don't have any reason left to live."

"Bailey, stop it. You have us, you have a life waiting for you, and you still have Nev, she still loves you, she just needs some time-"

Bailey bolted upright in bed, their hair wild, their eyes pools of ashen fury. "Don't say that she loves me. That's bullshit. There's no way you love someone and do what she did to me."

"She did it for you."

"She should have talked to me!" Bailey's voice burst out in a bellow of pain and anger. "That's how it's meant to work in a couple! Instead, she treated me like a child, keeping secrets from me for my supposed benefit. She confided in an eight-year-old about our relationship, and not me. That isn't love. I could never trust her again – which means everything we had is gone, over, done!"

They threw themselves back to the bed, dragging the covers to hide themselves and their ocean of pain. "Oh, Bailey," I murmured, "I'm sorry. I didn't understand."

Bailey spoke, low and hollow. "If I go above deck, I'll throw myself overboard. Leave me alone."

I padded out of Bailey's room and into my own, almost unaware of the tears of desperation that poured from my eyes, as if Bailey's desolate mood was contagious and I'd been infected by it. Sleep was a long time coming, and I lay in the dark in despair that even if we made it to the shore, Bailey's spirit had been lost somewhere over the Tasman.

The third thing I discovered about sailing: after three days on board, it was impossible not to loathe absolutely everything around me. I hated the way everything constantly swayed, the moisture in every item of clothing, the cramped quarters - including the tiny toilets that were like a combination of a plane bathroom and a coffin.

Mostly, with a pure and true hate, I loathed the sailing itself. Day three and everything sucked: the constant orders, the wind that whipped at my hair and caused my eyes to bleed tears, the slippery deck, the physical exhaustion. I was starting to feel as though Bailey's idea of tossing themselves overboard had some merit. Surely, swimming to Tassie had to be easier than this nonsense.

Around midday, Rueben yelled at me to "Duck!" for the third time in three minutes. As my aching thighs bitched loudly from performing yet another low squat, my glutes cramped and I fell backwards onto the hard deck. My teeth clanked together biting the sides of my tongue, and pain shot up my spine. I did not act with maturity or composure, needing this indignity pinned on someone that wasn't me. "Ow! Are you freaking kidding me?"

"What?" said Rueben, squinting to the port side (which I'd finally learned was to the left) and completely ignoring my situation.

"Could you go more than three seconds without needing to throw a boom at me? Or are you doing it for sport?" I clambered to my feet, simultaneously exhausted and energised with frustration.

Rueben said, "This is what sailing is, Karla. If you don't like it, feel free to swim."

His harsh tone, which had been pretty much constant for the last three days, finally grated away the last of my patience. Hotly, I stomped over to him. "Okay, what the hell is your problem?"

"I don't have a problem. I'm the captain and I'm doing what I have to do to keep everyone on this boat alive."

"Bull." I closed the gap between us and snatched off his reflective sunglasses. "You've been a complete arse since... I don't know, at least since the night before we left Melbourne."