Fifty Shades of COVID-19

Chapter 6

Anastasia

I'm sitting on a small couch at the front lookout point of the main deck, next to a steering wheel. Christian called this area the saloon. He told me to wait here while he speaks to the captain. He said we're headed to Bainbridge island. A short trip.

A few onlookers take pictures of Christian's yacht. I don't blame them. Cruises aren't running now, and this is the biggest vessel in the marina. The rest of the boats are sailboats.

I flip through his sailing magazines. Like I belong here. Perfect women with wind-blown hair and luxury goods fill the pages. No face masks. The advertisements must have been made before the pandemic.

"This place can't be real," I say out loud. Those techies were right. Alternative realities exist. I'm living in one. The detailed accents, the new car smell. It's nothing like real life.

Downtown last night. People screaming. The elderly shop owner man, risking COVID exposure to protect his store windows. Angry people venting their frustration. Cops shaking riot shields and deploying tear gas. The shouting chants of "I can't breathe." The reality of inequality.

A world away from this place. A luxury home floating on deep blue and choppy waters.

The yacht sways and I clench my stomach. I shouldn't be here. With him. The timing's off. I never got his opinion on the unrest. Or the pandemic. He was so serious about the virus at GEH headquarters. Now, it seems like none of it's on his mind. Maybe he's a playboy posing as a leader.

I put my legs on the couch and lie down on the throw pillows. My sneakers spread dirt on the couch. A brown mess on the perfect gray fabric. Fail.

"Damn it," I curse. No shoes on the couch. Especially not here.

I try wiping the dirt off with my hand, no luck. It looks worse now. A bigger brown splotch. This'll take soap.

The boat rocks, and it feels like we've started moving. No one's sits at the steering wheel. Does the boat run on autopilot? Don't think about it.

I head to the kitchen area and start opening cabinets, pressing various silver push buttons. This kitchen's bigger than the kitchen of the condo I share with Kate. And he's got multiple homes.

My stomach turns again, and I grip the countertop. People lost jobs because of the pandemic. This wealth seems excessive.

A chill breeze fills the air.

Christian walks in from a side door, his sleeves now rolled up. I step backwards and paste on a fake smile. He can't read my thoughts. Stop it.

He veers towards a staircase, going down a level of the yacht. The bedrooms must be down there. Not acknowledging me. Nervous energy seeps from my palms. I clasp my hands together. Get it together.

A mechanical ding echoes throughout the saloon.

"You'll notice a stabilizing effect soon," Christian says, climbing back up the staircase. "The water's rougher today. It shouldn't affect us for long."

I hum and nod my agreement. Does this run on generator power?

He exits from the door near the steering wheel before I can ask.

"Thanks for your hospitality," I mumble under my breath. He's avoiding me. But why?He's the one who invited me here.

I go back to opening cabinets.

The perfect mechanical functioning of the latches reminds me of Christian. I ask a question, he responds. I kiss him, he responds. No extra conversation. It's not enough. I deserve more.