Yes, the camel ride was uncomfortable. The large creature didn't walk – it kind of swayed and lurched and bashed about on large, clumsy legs. Yes, it was smelly. The creature smelt like a Labrador that had gone for a swim in the dam and then rolled in duck shit. Yes, there were flies buzzing incessantly about its head, and every now and then, a long, sticky string of drool would come running out of its mouth and splatter on the sand below.
So it should have been the most unpleasant twenty minutes of Marcus's life. But it wasn't – it might have actually been the best. Sitting on the back of the camel, with Stormy perched in front of him, he got to wrap his arms around her and hold onto her, guilt-free and uninterrupted. He got to rest his head on her shoulder, in the crook of her neck, and feel her soft skin against the side of his face. Every now and then, she would turn around and look at him, laughing and smiling like this was the best thing she'd ever done in her entire life.
For those twenty minutes, he imagined that they were together. That she was his. And he allowed himself to wonder what it would be like, to have her on his arm and call her his. He felt a swelling of pride in his chest. He didn't care where she'd been, what she had or didn't have, how many idioms and words she got mixed up and what degrees or diplomas she didn't have. (Although he was slightly, secretly thankful that she'd lost her suitcase and he sort of hoped that she wouldn't find it again, if that sunflower dress was anything to go by! But, if she did find it, he'd be okay with that, too.) He'd be honored to have her, even in that pom-pom scarf! None of that mattered to him. Because she was probably the best person he'd ever met.
But when the ride was over and they started walking back to their rooms, the happy fantasy bubble was burst wide open, and Marcus started thinking about the things he didn't want to – like her six-week rule. She didn't do long-term; Marcus did. He also started wondering if perhaps he was more into her than she was into him. Marcus felt giddy, almost drunk on her, and he wondered: did she feel the same way? Another rational thought also burst through the thick Stormy haze: they had only met a couple of days ago. Was it utterly insane to be feeling this for someone so soon? Then again, Damien had told him that he'd fallen in love with Lilly at first sight (and that's saying something, given what she'd looked like at the time. He'd seen that picture of her, disheveled and pajama-clad, her make-up smeared across her face and her hair the size of a bush – in fact, the whole world had seen that picture, thanks to the internet. But that's a story for another time).
"That was amazing," Stormy finally said as they arrived back at their rooms.
"It was," he agreed. But he wasn't referring to the fact that they had ridden on a camel.
"Such gentle animals. Great energy! I really felt a connection to him." And he knew she was being totally serious.
Marcus fiddled with the keys in his hand, once again wracking his brain for something to say to her, so that this wouldn't be the end. "Um... we should have dinner later," he suggested, almost jumping for joy when that thought entered his scrambled brain.
"I'm starved," Stormy said, rubbing her stomach.
"So... Shall we meet outside in an hour? I have to wash the camel off me." He'd caught a whiff of himself a minute ago and had almost passed out. Stormy smiled at him and nodded, turned the key in her lock, and went inside.
***
Stormy closed the door behind her and threw herself face first onto the bed. She grabbed a pillow squished her face into it as hard as she could, and screamed. She screamed as loudly as she possibly could. And when that wasn't sufficient, she kicked her legs and bashed her fists into the mattress.
Her heart was racing. Her stomach was churning and her legs where shaking. She felt mad and drunk and high and hot and cold all at the same time. She'd never felt this way before about anyone. Her face flushed bright red at the thought of him. Of him.
She buried her face in her hands and kicked her legs a few more times against the bed. She felt like she was going to physically burst if she didn't do something – kiss him, hold him, throw him against a wall – anything just to be close to him. But she'd made that promise to him... No more sex.
But you know what they say about promises: they're meant to be broken. And she was pretty sure he wanted to break it, too. She could feel him fighting it as much as she was. She flung herself back onto the bed and lay sprawled out, looking up at the ceiling with the biggest smile on her face. The way he'd been all macho and protective by taking off his shirt and wrapping it around her... She felt the red heat burning in her cheeks again. The way he had held her on the camel and smiled at her. The way he'd held her hand in the sea...
She kicked her legs a few more times and then squealed. Out loud. An actual, embarrassing, girly squeal. This is what madness must look and feel like, she thought. Because right now, she felt like she might actually be able to float, to fly, to skip meters off the ground. To run through a field of flowers without her feet touching the ground, to slide down a rainbow and land on soft pink cotton candy. To dance with wild abandon and scream at the top of her lungs.
She'd been in love before; in fact, she was always in love – in a way. She loved dating and getting to know a person. She enjoyed different experiences and learning new things from all the men she dated. She loved those first six weeks...
But she'd never felt this before. This was so much bigger. It was a completely new feeling. Actually, it wasn't even a feeling really, because surely emotions were not meant to feel physically tingly, hot, cold and shivery?
She lay in a kind of anesthetized bliss for a moment or two before her rational brain finally caught up to her crazy beating heart. There were obviously a few major issues to take into consideration. Marcus was unlike any guy she'd ever dated before. He was a real man. A real person with a mortgage and bills, who went to work in a suit and tie and probably hosted dinner parties with three sets of knives and forks next to the plate. He probably discussed business-y legal things with fellow legal businessmen while playing golf and smoking pipes. The wives probably stayed in the kitchen making potato salad for the barbeque, talking about where John Jr was going to go to school, while the men tossed big steaks around on the fire and tossed around even bigger legal words. He was a proper adult. A grown-up.
And she was not. She was none of those things. She would never be the kind of woman he could take to functions and out to meet his friends, like he had said back at the hotel. They were just from completely different worlds. What would she say to any of those people? To those pearl necklace, mayonnaise mixing, pastel cardigan-wearing wives who had names like Sandy, Mandy and Brandy? She'd probably just land up saying the wrong thing and totally embarrass Marcus.
And this was only issue number one. Issue number two was even greater: she just didn't do long-term relationships, and Marcus was the kind of guy who did. He was husband material. Her heart fluttered when she suddenly imagined him running around in his perfectly-mowed back garden with his kids and dog in tow.
She knew all too well that relationships did not work; they all ended badly. In ugly, bitter hatred and contempt. Loathing, disgust and resentment so terrible you could feel it. Four (sort-of) step-mothers, a few too many foster homes and a couple of court cases involving her dad and some or other disgruntled ex, not to mention the screaming, throwing of empty Jack Daniels bottles and even the odd punch, was all the proof she needed. Relationships did not work.
Lilly had once confronted her on the issue, and asked Stormy if she thought that she and Damien would get divorced and end up hating each other one day. She hadn't been able to answer that, because a part of her wanted to believe in "The One" and real, chocolaty-box love. And of course she wanted that more than anything for Lilly; but she just didn't see herself like that. Maybe Lilly and Damien would make it and live happily ever after. Maybe... she really hoped so.
The giddy, squishy feelings disappeared and she was filled with sudden anxiety. Stormy was usually a go-by-her-gut kind of girl – she always listened to her inner voice. But right now, it was speaking ancient Greek.
She reached for her pack of tattered Tarot cards and started spreading them on the bed. The cards never lied.
She took a deep breath and asked, "What should I do about Marcus?"
She reached out and turned one over.
Death.
The Death card stared her in the face and she inhaled sharply. Most people didn't realize that this card had nothing to do with death, but it was still the most powerful card in the whole pack, and she knew what it meant. And suddenly, it was striking a very deep chord in her...
Death: When the Death card appears, big changes are heading your way. Usually this change refers to something in your lifestyle: an old attitude or perspective is no longer useful and you have to let go of it. Often what you need to "let go of" is some sort of self-limiting belief or attitude. Sometimes you cannot see how your attitudes are hurting you, and when that is true, the Death card is your wake-up call. Even though one door may have closed, another is opening. Will you have the courage to step through?
***There was something in the air that night. Something that seemed to set it on fire and make it buzz and hum with possibilities and new beginnings. With chances ripe to be taken, promises to be made and new stories to be written.
The mysterious, strange and wondrous forces-that-be had gone to great lengths to get them to this exact place in time. Everything was converging on this moment.
Now.
Here.
Tonight.
As Marcus and Stormy sat opposite each other at the table, not touching their food but rather shuffling it around their plates, Fate was watching them... And waiting. But no one spoke.
Silence.
They both knew what was at stake, though. They knew that they were faced with a life-changing decision. It was laid out in front of them, like their untouched seared salmon.
A choice.
Take it or leave it.
Grab it.
Red pill, or blue pill?
Step through the door – which door, left or right?
But the silence continued. Words unspoken that needed to be said, and thoughts that needed to be heard, hung heavily between them – but neither seemed willing to take the plunge first.
Perhaps they needed a little bit more encouragement...?
Maybe they needed one last little push?
If Fate could conjure up freak storms and orchestrate power failures at just the right time, in just the right place; cause a lift to break down and luggage to vanish; provide only one small room in a motel, stop planes from taking off, and give them an old car that was bound to break down; all of this to bring them here, to one of the most beautiful places in the world – She could certainly give them one last little shove...