Page 7 of Wallflower

I roll my eyes. I’d love it if my sister didn’t talk about her chest so much, but she claims they’re her best asset.

Chucking the pillow back to the head of the bed, I plop down next to her, rolling up in the matching white comforter and letting all the germs from my body transfer onto the blanket. She chuckles, wiggling like a worm on the sheets before rising from the mattress. “I’m going to shower, be out…eventually.” Chelsea darts across the room as I attempt to untangle myself from the blanket wrap. A door slams, the sound of the engaging lock a soundtrack to my struggle. “You ass! I need a shower more than you do!”

“You snooze, you lose!” she yells, though it’s muffled behind the door, and beneath the sound of running water echoing in the empty tub.

I grumble in annoyance, rolling from side to side, trying to unwind myself from the heavy comforter. My arms pop free, and I push myself out of the fabric sarcophagus. Crossing the room, I kneel before my luggage bag, unzipping it and searching for the secret zipper hidden beneath the flap at the internal seam. Hyperaware of the sound of my sister’s shower, I pull the pack of cigarettes and lighter from the self-made compartment, and silently sneak across the room to the balcony door. The frame screeches when I slide it open, and I hope to fuck Chelsea doesn’t hear it.

Holding my breath, I wait. But the shower keeps running and I’m free—slipping out to the fresh, salty ocean air and plunking my ass down on a lounge chair to my right. Out of the immediate site of anyone in the room, I put a smoke to my lips and spark thetip. It catches. The cherry burning bright as the toxic smoke fills my lungs, snuffing out that refreshing breeze from seconds ago.

With every puff the stress caused by this trip starts to slowly drip away, sliding off my chest like cold molasses—dark and viscous, leaving a lingering residue similar to the tar coating my lungs. Sneaking these death sticks onto the boat was nerve-wracking since no one knows about my vice.

My mind inevitably flits back to Sam, skin immediately warming, lady bits tingling at the memory. To think I was going to brush him off when he first shot that crooked grin my way. I can’t believe the thought even crossed my mind.

The cigarette burns away as I wonder where he’s from. I didn’t detect an accent. He clearly lives on the ship during its course, but where does he go in his downtime? Does he have a home? A warm bed to snuggle down in? Should I be picturing myself there with him, tightly wrapped in his arms? Absolutely not. But I do it anyway. Even if he lives in hotels in the docking cities, I feel like I’d be okay with that.

I know I’m getting ahead of myself, but it’s his fault for being so damn alluring. Slowly, I find myself warming to the thought of ship living. Not only is it a beautiful way to spend my time, but it’s a first class ticket out of the reach of my family. It’s not like I have college to get back to, just a menial job in a factory that anyone with a high school education could do.

My sister has to go back, her medical degree demands it. But that doesn’t mean I’d never see her again. I’m sure there’s an off-season where I could meet up with her. She will undoubtedly deserve a vacation after overloading her brain with all that knowledge.

Think of the devil, and she will appear. The softened sound of the bathroom door creaking open barely makes it outside, and I panic, internally hating myself as I flick the butt into the ocean.I shove the cigarette pack down the front of my shorts, and stick the lighter in the stupidly small side pocket.

Really, who are these pockets for? They serve no purpose except to piss me off with not being deep enough to hold anything of value.

I tug my shirt down, covering the silver tip still protruding at the top of the pocket as the deck door slides open.

Wrapped in a fluffy white towel, my sister steps out onto the balcony, the familiar vanilla and citrus scent she uses mingling with the briny air. Her golden hair is coiled tightly on the top of her head like a crown to get gorgeous waves when it dries. Chelsea breathes deep, sucking in the air, and heavily exhaling a sound of satisfaction. Her happiness in being here makes me smile. She deserves the getaway more than anyone, and I am glad I get to experience it with her. Everyone else in this family can fuck off.

“Brave of you to bring your smokes on the trip,” she says, eyes closed, face tilted toward the setting sun, soaking up the last bits of its warmth. “I left mine locked in my safe at school.”

My jaw damn near drops. She not only knows I smoke, but she does too? I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s just as stressed as me, probably more so, although for different reasons. No point in denying it, she’d know I was lying about it anyway. “Want one?” I ask.

“Gods yes,” she replies, opening her eyes and turning to me. She watches as I pull them from the crotch of my shorts, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Actually…maybe not.”

“Oh, shut up. They weren’t in my underwear.”My very cum-covered underwear.I remove a smoke from the pack, passing it to her along with the lighter that essentially falls out of the miniature pocket the second I lift my shirt.

Chelsea lights it up, sucking back the chemicals, and expelling them with a heavenly sigh. The tension unwinds fromher tight muscles, and she moves to sit in the other chair, tossing the lighter back to me.

I let her enjoy the moment, laying my head back against the pillow sewn into the fabric cushion. Aside from the grime on my skin, I’m relaxed for the first time on this trip. Though it’s short lived when Chelsea opens her mouth to speak again.

“Still nervous about the cruise?”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Between being stuck here with super bitch and the two fuck sticks, and your ridiculous conspiracy believing ass, I’m surprised you didn’t jump and swim for shore already.”

“I’ve considered it.” I chuckle. “And for the millionth time, Chels,” I narrow my gaze at her, “it’s not a fucking conspiracy. Ships have been disappearing in this area for years.”

“And they almost always reappear,” she counters.

“With missing passengers, and the remaining ones telling crazy stories,” I snap, growing annoyed with my sister bringing up something I’d finally managed to push out of my brain with thoughts of Sam. “What about the ones that drift in with no passengers at all? Hmmm?”

Chelsea rolls her eyes dramatically, not bothering to answer. I know what her response would be anyway. It’s the same one she’s given every time we’ve argued logic versus the unexplainable. She preaches survival instinct and self preservation. That many in a life or death situation will risk going to look for help instead of staying put and hoping to be found. The resulting factor being they’ll either succumb to the elements, predators, or…cannibalism.

An unwelcome shiver skitters through me at the thought. I know in some instances she could be right. But the evidence is usually there to prove those things. It’s the incidents without any trace, or none that makes sense, that I’m talking about.

Chelsea’s heard me spout this shit since early adolescence. I was sucked in by tales of missing campers, then it blew up from there, bordering on obsession. I dove head first into the mysterious stories of our world.

“What about the planes and ships that are never found?” I ask.