SICK HEART by Huss, JA (nice books to read TXT) 📗

far away from everything that reminds me of who I am and what I do—that it’s just too easy to forget.

But Anya isn’t me. And she has not forgotten.

Anya sits down on her mat, but she doesn’t lie back. She hugs her knees and stares off into the distance. There is a shipping lane about fifty miles south of here that I sometimes like to watch. And on the north side of the platform I can see the city lights of São Luís, the capital city of Maranhão. If I were in a pensive mood, I would imagine I can see my base camp, which also lies in that direction. But I’m not pensive tonight. I’m content.

I point to the barely visible sliver of moon out of habit, glancing over at Anya to make sure she sees this. She does, but she’s not interested. So I put my hands behind my head and look up and study the stars. I don’t know a single constellation name. When I’m out here, I often wonder what they’re really called and how to figure out which one is which. But of course, wondering things out here does me no good. There is no internet to look things up. And when I’m back at home, I don’t have time to watch the stars. No one gives a fuck what stage the moon is in. The sky is just the space above us so I have never bothered to learn the names of the things up there.

Anya sighs and lies back just as one of the birds wanders over to me and sits down next to my head, snuggles in to me and then tucks her head back under her wing and falls quickly back to sleep. I catch Anya smiling out of the corner of my eye when another one wanders up and does the same, pushing her large body against my broken ribs until I wince. Then all the adults are wandering over. They have missed me.

Anya sighs and this makes me turn my head so I can see her face over the large back of an albatross.

What does she think of all this?

Does it scare her? To be out here so alone? Among these giant birds that could, if they wanted to, rip her to pieces with their massive beaks?

Or does she like it the way I do? Does she feel free and safe?

I would ask. I want to ask, actually. But she won’t answer, so I don’t bother.

I just look at the sliver of moon and settle back into life on the Rock.

And then, before I even realize it, I’m out.

There is no hope of sleeping past sunrise on the Rock.

The gulls scream the moment the sun first peeks out over the horizon. They circle and squawk, soaring above us and diving down to poke at us, and Anya is on her feet, waving her hands in the air to ward them off.

The albatross who huddled with us all night are gone now, either tending to chicks or out looking for food. But the damn gulls—they prefer to steal their breakfast. And now that I’m back, they remember how to do that.

We pick up our mats, go back down to the training platform, and there they are, dozens of gulls waiting patiently near the door to the kitchen. I chase them off, but this is a losing battle. The albatross don’t come down here. They prefer the open air of the top platform. But gulls are a different kind of bird altogether. They don’t breed here, thank God. They would quickly take over the platform and there would be no way to get rid of them once that happened. But they are curious, and smart, and will steal anything they can carry unless you’re diligent.

I don’t need to be diligent in the morning. Because there will be no breakfast.

Anya follows me over to the container and we drop our mats inside, then I close it back up. I can hear her stomach growling and I know she is expecting food. Maybe even coffee. Which makes me internally chuckle. But bringing her to the Rock with me wasn’t in the plan and even though we have food, when we left here last year, we only rationed enough for me when I came back. So there isn’t enough food to feed two people for the length of time that we will be here.

So. One meal a day and that’s still pushing it.

I go over to the jump ropes, pick them up, and then hold one out for her.

She doesn’t take it.

I drop it at her feet and shrug. She will skip rope today. She will do a lot more than that too if she wants to eat tonight. But she can pretend she won’t for a little while, if that makes her happy.

I start skipping. My ribs are still screaming and they will continue to do that for at least a month. But it is what it is. A few broken ribs aren’t enough to interrupt my training schedule. I casually make my way down the length of the platform, then back again.

Anya has gotten herself a drink of water and she’s dragging her finger over her teeth. I stop skipping and stare at her, shaking my head a little.

She doesn’t get it. And I suddenly understand that she might have the willpower to withstand my rules and decide I need to make a point here in the interest of saving time.

So I walk over, take the cup of water out of her hand, dump it out so it splashes up her legs, drop the cup on the ground, and point to her jump rope.

Her expression never changes.

And… we’re back. Petulant Anya has decided she is too tired to jump rope, or she is too sore to jump rope, or she is too hungry to jump rope, or maybe she is just too fucking good to jump rope.

She picks up the