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

She smiles, but doesn’t look at me. I get to my feet. “Anya. What are you doing?”

She points to the sea, then looks me in the eyes. And in that moment, I know exactly what she’s going to do.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait.” I step in front of her. “Why?”

She doesn’t answer me. Just puts her hand out, palm up.

I look over at the edge. The steel beam is in the way. But it’s a short leap over. Nothing insurmountable. I’ve jumped off this platform enough times to know that, at least.

Then I look back at Anya, take her hand, and the next thing I know, we’re running.

And then… we’re flying.

Falling. Plunging. Deep and quick—and then slow as the ocean suffocates us.

I push pause on life and just… open my eyes.

And she is all I see.

One beautiful blonde girl. Her perfect skin marred now with the scars of her fights. Her eyes open as well. And even though this water is not the kind you find near the shore—it’s not the kind that glows turquoise in the sun, it’s mostly dark green, cloudy and more like a lake today—even so, the blue of her eyes is so striking, I forget that I need to breathe.

Her hair floats around her face like she is a creature of this sea. A dark, dangerous creature of this sea that makes you want to give up everything and take your chances trying to tame her.

My sick heart changes in this moment. It doesn’t quite mend. But the hole that once held the missing piece might… shrink a little.

Then we are rising again, our bodies naturally buoyant, seeking the air we need to live.

And when we crash through the surface together, I realize we’re still holding hands.

She laughs. A real laugh. Even better than that first one I heard back on the ship before fight night.

She drops my hand and I almost reach for her again, missing her grip immediately, desperately wanting to hold on to her.

She wipes her eyes, still smiling, still laughing, spinning around as we tread the choppy water of a tantrum-throwing sea. Then she turns back to me, her face suddenly serious, and she says, “Don’t ask me again. Don’t ever ask me again.”

I’m so stunned by her words—and so enthralled with her sweetness of her voice—I don’t say anything back. I just float in front of her. Afraid I’ll spook her and the magic of this moment will disappear.

“This is what I sound like.” She stares into my eyes, so serious. “But it’s the last time I’m going to talk to you. Don’t ever. Ask me again.”

Then she turns in the water and casually swims towards the underbelly of the rig, rising and falling on the large rolling waves like she really is a creature of the sea. Heading for the rusty ladder and leaving me behind.

I shake myself out of the stupor she put me in, then swim after her, overtaking her easily and then finally cutting off her retreat. “No. No, no, no, no, no.”

She says a lot of things back to me in the language of her silence. She speaks to me in a language I’m fully fluent in by now, and that’s fine. Because all I want is her attention.

I grab her face. Both of my palms flat against her cheeks. And then I lean in and kiss her.

Our lips touch and she tastes like an unsettled ocean of regret. Our lower bodies drift closer, our feet making small currents, treading water to keep us afloat.

She opens her mouth first and this causes a rush of satisfaction inside me. Our tongues tangle together, doing a little dance only they understand. It’s not a light kiss, but it’s not a heavy one either. Her lips are soft and mold against mine in just the right way. I grab her around the waist and pull her right up next to me, pressing us together, trying to make us one as we continue the kiss.

She reaches up and threads her fingers into my wet hair. And then she pulls back and shakes her head no.

“Why?” I whisper.

She doesn’t answer. Just turns, reaching for the ladder.

“Hold on. Hold the fuck on. This is not how this night ends.”

She turns in the water, eyes flashing. “Why? Because you didn’t get sex?”

“What? No. What the hell, Anya? That’s not fair and you know it. I don’t care about sex.”

“You seem to want to have it with me. Even though I know you’re not supposed to be doing that. Maart told me. He told me I was fucking shit up and that was one of the examples.”

“When did he say—you know what? Fuck Maart. This has nothing to do with Maart. This is about me and you. And the fact that after three months of complete silence, you just spoke to me. And that’s it? ‘Don’t ask me again?’ That’s all you have to say?”

She shrugs her shoulders, her face blank. Emotionless. It’s an expression I recognize. We all get it at times when we shut down. That’s what she’s doing. Shutting down so she can get past this conversation and not have to deal with something messy. “That’s really all there is to say.”

I stare at her for a moment. “What are you doing?”

She points her finger towards the sky. “Trying to go up there.”

“That’s where you’re going. No. I want to know what you’re doing. Why are you suddenly angry? Because I got you to speak?”

“I chose to speak. And now I’m choosing not to do it anymore.”

“So you’re what, failing at that on purpose? Because you’re still talking, Anya. And fuck that, anyway. No. I have questions for you.”

“No one gives a fuck about your questions, Sick Heart.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “Don’t do that.”

“Don’t do what?”

“Call me that name.”

“Isn’t that your name?”

“What the fuck is your problem? I didn’t do anything. I didn’t force you to talk to me. You chose to do that. So if you’re mad