A swimsuit. I stared down at it with a blank look. It was light blue. One piece. Simple enough, but it showed too much--I clenched my jaw and began stripping. I didn't wear anything less than long sleeves and pants. Hadn't for a long time. Too hard to explain the bruises and scars. No one ever believed me anyway. Now I would get the same looks and whispers from people who thought they knew me. How would I explain the scars?
I swore and stepped into the swimsuit. Putting it on made me feel. . .naked. Like I waited for a grope or a touch. The fabric against my skin made me nauseous, like a million hands--I shoved it aside and stepped into a pair of black shorts. I knew the recoil and revulsion would be back. It was only a matter of time.
I grabbed my sunglasses and towel and stepped onto the beach. Marshal had stripped off his shirt and changed into a pair of black shorts with a wide yellow stripe around one leg. He was built a lot different than my dad. Somewhat naturally darkened skin. More athletic and less. . .massive--I pushed away the imagery. It only brought memories of his crushing weight--I pushed it away harder, my stomach lurching.
Marshal tossed another pebble into the ocean before looking toward the transport. He smiled and lifted a hand to wave, but then his face went blank and his arm dropped to his side.
I looked away and continued forward, fighting back the shame and the rage and humiliation. When I finally stood across from him, I threw the towel onto one of the beach chairs and slipped into my sunglasses before meeting his gaze--I blinked. He. . .smiled?
"What?"
Speaking in a 'lower volume' had become easier since the 90 minute jaunt in the cave, especially when speaking loud there had hurt because of the reverb. But I still preferred the one-word phrases.
His ears pinked as he looked away. "Nothing."
"Blake," I pressed, and even with saying it all through the cave adventure, it still sounded odd.
He laughed. "Nothing. You just look good in blue."
I leaned slightly back, totally and completely floored. Then I lowered my focus to my bare arms. Scars. I touched one to make sure the pale gash was there. Yes. Scars. Doesn't he see them? I lifted my gaze, but he fiddled with the buttons on the camera.
I opened my mouth to comment when he lifted the camera and smiled wide.
"Say 'Green'." He took the picture--I barely had time to close my mouth--and then previewed it. "Damn." Marshal looked up. "I don't think this camera has taken one bad picture of you. Me? Different story."
I arched an eyebrow, something I did a lot when listening to Marshal.
His expression suddenly grew serious. "You ready?"
I pressed my lips together and slightly nodded. We had taken two or three pictures in the cave by way of 'rehearsal' that had consisted of Marshal's arm around my shoulders, or standing behind me with his hands on my arms, and one of us in the same position as the latter with my hands covering his. In retrospect, the smile had been easier than the bodily contact.
After each picture Marshal immediately gave me space. Going so far as to turn off his flashlight so I couldn't see him. Whether this helped or not I didn't know, but. . .now we had to do more of the same.
"Alright. Let's get this done." He motioned to the beach chair. "Why don't you have a seat while I fart and frolic and make an ass out of myself, you taking pictures of course."
I slightly nodded and turned to sit in the beach chair. When I looked up, Marshal was in the process of taking another picture.
I frowned and stuck out a hand. "Stop."
Click. "Perfect." He grinned and handed me the camera. "Hey. Don't give me that look. We need to have some not-so-happy pictures or we don't look genuine." He backed off toward the water, hands raised. "Swear."
I scoffed and then pointed at the ocean. "Go."
Marshal saluted. "But you still don't rank me." And then turned to high‑tail it into the water. He sounded a strangled shout. "Damn! This's cold!"
I lifted the camera and took pictures of his less-than-graceful retreat from the water. His teeth chattered as he bounded forward with his arms around his chest, sopping wet black hair in his eyes. "Wuss."
Marshal stopped and stared at me, mouth gaping as his lips slowly turned blue. I took another picture. Then he smirked and put his fists on his hips. "I could throw you in, you know. Then you could tell me again how much of a wuss I am."
I lifted my gaze and lowered the camera as I regarded him with a slightly narrowed gaze.
"Don't think I'll do it?" he asked, and he took a single step forward.
I arched an eyebrow.
"Not impressed, huh?" Marshal stepped closer and then passed the chair to go behind. I adjusted my position to watch. "How about I show you?" He lifted the beach chair--with me in it.
My eyebrow twitched higher. I didn't doubt that he would throw me in. I suppose I only wanted to see how. Point taken and proved. Quite impressive, too.
"Still not impressed? All right." He headed toward the water, chair in hands.
I turned back around, not noticing the slight smile on my face as I quickly gathered the camera and adjusted the settings for a close shot. Then I held it out at arm’s length, feigned what I guessed was a frightened expression, and took the picture.
"Quick thinking, but having the camera is not going to save you. It's waterproof."
A fact I already knew. I tucked the camera into a pouch built into the side of the chair, sealed it shut, and then gripped the arms of the chair as Marshal stepped into the ocean. The water lapped at my toes. It was cold, but I had experienced worse-- the chair stopped. The smirk vanished as I adjusted my position to look behind. My gaze met Marshal's silver one.
"Aw come on," he complained. "You're supposed to kick, squeal, or something."
"Why?"
"Because. That's the whole reason we do crap like this. The girl pleads, we show mercy, and then they think we're heroes."
I blinked at him. Then I scoffed, but it sounded more like a snigger. I couldn't help it. His explanation sounded utterly ridiculous.
Marshal frowned. "And now she's laughing at me. Great. Not only does she think I won't do this--" He heaved the chair forward, launching me into the water while holding onto the chair frame. I used the momentum to adjust my entry. When I surfaced a moment later, Marshal had positioned himself in the chair, in the water, and crossed his arms.
I wiped the wetness from my face as I slowly stood in the waist-deep water. "See?"
Marshal scoffed. "No shriek. No squeal. And you even did a more graceful entry than me. Damn." Then he uncrossed his arms and said "Gotcha!" as he snapped a picture.
I arched an eyebrow and forced a calm "Very mature."
He previewed the picture and released a quick breath. "Geez. You still look good. I think this camera is rigged."
My cheeks burned, so I turned away and stepped out of my now-wet shorts. I tossed them over my shoulder at him, hearing the splut as they landed on his head, and dove into the water.
'Damned ugly freak--' 'Geez. You still look good.' 'You just look good in blue.' 'silver-haired fox' 'the white of your eye's cool. . . .' I pushed all the voices away as I dove deeper, trying to escape something I didn't understand. But escape had never been an option for me. Not since escaping my dad. So I stroked for shore, trying to keep the thought of walking out strictly distant. When I made my way out, Marshal had re-setup the chairs and now read a book. It looked to be a 'who's who' of photography.
I balled my hands into fists as I continued forward. Still feeling naked and vulnerable. I nearly swore. But Marshal didn't look up. He continued to read and jot notes in the corners and margins. I reached my chair and took up the large pale blue towel to wrap it around me. Then Marshal lifted his gaze.
"Okay," he admitted with a smirk, "so I'm a wuss."
I returned his smirk but didn't look at him.
He stood. "Well, I guess we're off to Deling City then."
This time I met his gaze. "Why?" I knew we still needed
those. . .other photos.
Marshal gathered the chairs and folded them up. "We've got plenty of pictures from here. Considering your persona's shyness. . . ." He glanced my direction. "We've got enough, Ahndra. Don't sweat it."
I stared after him as he lugged the chairs onto the transport. Then I wordlessly followed.
"In Deling we'll be staying the night at my supposed apartment," he continued. "We'll have dinner at a restaurant there and then leave tomorrow morning for Winhill on a privately chartered schooner." Marshal gestured to me. "I'll go on deck. You get changed."
And he went on deck as I continued to stare after him.