Later that day, Garth sets a small, perfectly cut half-shell of fresh coconut water next to Jesse, along with a piece of fish he caught just for him.
"Here," he mumbles, not quite meeting Jesse's eyes. "It's good. Eat up."
Jesse sits cross-legged, staring at the horizon. He doesn't acknowledge the food or the water. He might as well be a statue.
"Look, I'm tryin' to be nice," Garth presses, an edge of defensiveness in his voice. "You gotta eat."
Silence.
****
The food from the day before sits untouched, already spoiling in the heat. Garth brings more. He sits down beside Jesse, sighing heavily.
"Listed, kid. I know you're hurtin'. I know what I did was... wrong. I'm sorry, alright? I said it. Now please, for the love of God, just drink some water. You're gonna die."
Jesse's gaze doesn't shift. The only movement is the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.
****
On day three, Garth starts to get desperate. He kneels in front of Jesse, his rough hands clasped together in a gesture uncannily reminiscent of prayer.
"Please, Jesse. I beg you. Look at me. Scream at me. Hit me. I don't care. Just don't let yourself die. I can't... I can't lose you tooo."
Tears well in Garth's eyes-- the first time in years. But Jesse's eyes remain dry, staring through him as if he weren't there.
****
By day four, Jesse is very weak. His skin has a greyish pallor, his lips are cracked and bleeding. Garth sits vigil beside him, his own food untouched. Garth has stopped apologizing. He realizes Jesse has chosen to commit slow-motion suicide to punish him. He just sits, waiting for the end.
****
Garth is shocked on day five when a weak whisper cuts through the afternoon silence.
"Garth."
Garth's head snaps up. Jesse is looking at him. His eyes are red-rimmed, but they are finally focused.
"Jesse?" Garth croaks, scrambling closer. "You're alive? Here, drink." He grabs the coconut shell and holds it to Jesse's lips.
Jesse takes a sip, then another. The water seems to breathe some life back into him. He looks at Garth, and for the first time, speaks with something other than empty despair.
"I forgive you."
Garth stares, his mouth open. "You... what?"
"I said I forgive you," Jesse repeats, his voice thin but clear. "I've been sitting here, talking to God. He told me to forgive you. You did what you did out of desperation. You're human. We both are."
Garth's shoulders sag with relief. Tears, unshed for days, finally break free. "Oh, thank god. Thank you, Jesse. You won't regret it. I swear."
But Jesse's eyes grow serious, a glint of something harder in them. "But Garth, listen to me. Really listen."
Garth nods, wiping his face.
"What you did... it hurt me more than anything in my life. It traumatized me. I will carry this with me forever. The memory of it will always be there, in the back of my mind."
Garth winces as if struck. "I'm sorry. You don't know how sorry..."
"Shh." Jesse holds up a weak hand. "I know you are. But that's not what I need. What I need is your promise. Promise me, on everything that's holy, that you will never do it again. That you will control yourself. Promise me, Garth."
Garth looks into the young Mormon's eyes. They are pure, trusting, and yet so vulnerable. Garth's heart cracks. He wants to mean it. He wants to be good. But deep down, in a place he hates to acknowledge, he knows the truth. The island is changing him. The desperation, the loneliness -- it's like a disease. A promise made today might be broken tomorrow.
"I promise," he whispers, the words ashes on his tongue.
Jesse smiles weakly, a true, forgiving smile. "Thank you."
He closes his eyes, exhausted, and slips into a slumber. Garth stays watch, his promise echoing in his mind, heavy as a stone, fragile as glass.
****
Months pass.
It starts small. A look that lingers just a second too long. A shift in the sand when they sit side by side, closer than necessary. Jesse, for his part, seems to be doing better. The silent, ponderous moments come less frequently now, but they still come. A shadow that flies across his face, a losing of focus, and Garth knows exactly where his mind has gone. It stings every time, a reminder of what he did.
"You alright?" Garth asks one evening, staring into the flames.
Jesse starts, as if wakening from a dream, "Yeah, I'm fine." His smile is thin, a ghost of its former self.
Garth nods, but he knows. He always knows. And with each passing shadow on Jesse's face, a small bit of Garth's soul dies. The guilt is a heavy burden. But it's not the only thing growing inside of him.
****
It's night. Jesse is asleep. Garth sits up, staring at the slumbering figure. The moonlight casts long shadows. His hands clench and unclench.
"Stop it," he whispers to himself. "You promised."
But his mind trails back. To the heat. To the way Jesse's body felt against his. The sounds he made. The release. His mouth waters.
"It was just once," a voice in his head whispers, as if there's some kind of devil on his shoulder. "He forgave you. Maybe he'd understand if it happens again. Maybe he wants it too, deep down. Look at him. He's so peaceful. He'd never even know until it's too late to stop you."
"Shut up!!!" Garth hisses, pressing his palms against his eyes. "He trusts me. He forgave me."
"Forgiveness is nice," the devil on his shoulder coos, "but fucking is nicer. You're horny. You'll always be horny. And he's right there."
****
Garth finds himself getting irritable in the coming weeks. Small things Jesse does-- the way he chews, the way he hums tuneless tunes, the way he sits too close--become grating.
"Can you quit with that constant humming?" Garth snaps one day.
Jesse looks hurt, stopping immediately. "Sorry. I didn't realize..."
"Well, now you do."
Later, Garth hates himself for it. But the resentment festers. It's Jesse's fault, really. If he had just agreed, if he had just given it up willingly that first time, they could have been regular by now. It could be something they both wanted. But no, he had to be a goody-goody, had to make Garth the bad guy.
****
That night, Garth lies awake, staring at the stars. His jaw is clenched. He can hear Jesse's soft, even breathing. So peaceful. So unaware. So selfish.
"Why should he get to rest?" Garth thinks, the thought cold and sharp. "Why should he be comfortable when I'm suffering? It's his fault. He could fix this. He just wont."
The promise feels like a joke now. A promise made under duress. A promise to a goody-goody who doesn't understand real need.
"He won't miss it," the voice returns, stronger now. "He'll get over it. He did last time. And this time, maybe he'll even like it. Maybe he'll stop playing hard to get."
Garth turns on his side, looking at Jesse's back. His hand twitches. He remembers the smell of his skin.
"Just once more," he tells himself, slowly sitting up. "I'll be gentle. I'll make it good. He won't even mind. He might even thank me."
The promise dies a slow death in the silence, replaced by something darker, something that has been growing in the shadows of his mind for months.
He slides across the sand, a predator in the night.
To Be Continued...
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