When I left, Robert kissed me. It didn’t feel new anymore. It felt…not normal either. But…I close my eyes, trying to not think about it and failing.
Robert’s hand at my waist, his fingers in my hair, his lips on mine, our bodies pressed together. Fuck, I am totally going to sleep with him. Unless he gets killed first. Vibration from my bag pulls me from my thoughts.
“What the?” I ask, looking at my phone in my hand as though it may have an answer as to how a phone is also vibrating in my bag. Putting it down, I unzip the duffel and follow the sensation to a black handset with a little knobby antenna on top. A satellite phone. Robert snuck a fucking phone into my bag. The screen is illuminated with just a number, no name or image attached.
“Hello?” I answer.
“Sydney,” Robert’s voice comes over the line.
“You put a phone in my bag?” I ask.
“Dan doesn’t need to know everything we discuss, Sydney. We are husband and wife.”
“You know I’m not bringing this thing to the island with me, right? I may think the internet is a bunch of pneumatic tubes shooting information around the globe, but I also understand that phones can be tracked. Dan has drilled that into my head.”
“If I wanted to know the location of the island that badly, Syd, I wouldn’t have called you on this phone. I would have just placed a tracking device in your bag.”
“How do I know you didn’t do that?” He sighs, as if I’m tiresome. “You just expect me to trust you. Why? Why would that make sense for me?”
“Well, Sydney, it would make your life a lot easier.” His voice isn’t harsh but it’s on the road to pissed. But I’m tired and I’m hungry and I’m confused about what I feel when he kisses me. So fuck Robert Maxim and the sat phone he snuck in my bag.
“You’re an overbearing, arrogant, toxic fuck!” I yell louder than I mean to. Bill glances over his shoulder at me, his eyes kind and worried. He raises his brows, questioning if I’m okay.
I shake my head to silently communicate that I’m fine. I’m fucking fine.
Robert chuckles over the line. Chuckles. “You’re upset about what happened. Regretting how you feel for me, Sydney, is almost as much of a waste of time as not trusting me.”
My blood boils. “You don’t get to have everything you want, Robert.”
“Why not?” he asks.
“Because I won’t let you.”
“Why not?” he asks again. “Why can’t we have everything we want? What’s wrong with that?”
“I didn’t say we, Robert, I said you.”
He chuckles again and I grind my teeth. “But Sydney, we want the same things—we want each other. You want to trust me and I want you to. You want to fuck me, and I really want you to.”
“I want to burn it all down,” I say, my voice low and dangerous.
“I will pour the gasoline, my love.” I cough a laugh. “But if you want to strike that match, you’re going to have to recognize what you actually want first. What kind of a feminist denies herself what she wants? Are you afraid of being a slut?”
“No,” I say, far too quickly.
“Then you’re afraid I’ll hurt you. Which implies I have the power to do so.”
“No,” I say again, slower this time. “You can’t hurt me,” I affirm, for myself as much as for him.
There are voices in the background and Robert says something muffled. “I have to go,” he says.
“Are you going to interview the…crew mate,” I say leaving out the word captive. Bill doesn’t need to know about that—he already knows enough about my personal life, no need to fill him in on the criminal elements of said life.
“Yes,” Robert says. “Want me to call you with an update?”
Oh what a tricky question. He knows I want to know—those fuckers tried to kill me. They shot at Blue! But if I say yes, then it’s implying I care if he gets killed. Which I guess he already knows…since I admitted my feelings to him. How can I be in love with a man I don’t trust? What the fuck is this crazy emotion?
“Not on this phone,” I answer. “I’m trashing it as soon as we land.”
“As you wish, my love.”
Before I can tell him not to call me that, Robert hangs up. I roll my lips and stare down at the handset for a long moment before shoving it back in my bag.
“Everything okay?” Bill asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah,” I say again, nodding to myself. Everything is fine.
The plane drones on. I close my eyes and drift between sleep and awareness of the noise and vibrations of the small craft.
“Joy,” James’s voice reaches into my mind. The scene coalesces into his backyard in Brooklyn. The small round table holds a pitcher of margaritas—tonight’s are yellow, so probably passion fruit—and I’m in the rickety chair I sat in when we were both alive, young, and I’d never killed anyone.
“Hey,” I say, smiling. “Good to see you.”
He grins. “I made your favorite.” He gestures to a plate of appetizers and I lean forward, grabbing a pig in a blanket, my mouth watering. I pop it in my mouth—the salty hot dog and the sweet pastry dance on my tongue.
“You’re too good to me,” I say through my chewing.
“I know.” James acknowledges his own amazingness with a shrug. “You need to take better care of yourself,” he admonishes me. “I suggest you start carrying snacks.” He smiles. “You’re going to have to for the kid anyway.”
