Eight years pass.
Garth sits on a rock, whittling a piece of driftwood into the shape of a seagull. He looks up as "Samantha" approaches, her hair longer now, her movements graceful and assured. She's wearing a skirt made from threadbare fabric, saved and repurposed over the years.
"What are you making?" she asks, her voice soft.
"A little gift for you," Garth says, smiling. "To put on our shelf."
"Samantha" sits down beside him, leaning her head on his shoulder. She watches his hands work, the skilled movements that years of practice have perfected.
"It's beautiful," she says.
"Not as beautiful as you."
She smiles, a genuine, warm smile. In her mind, the truth is a distant memory, like a movie she saw a long time ago. She was Jesse once. Now, she is Samantha. The fighting had become exhausting, then pointless. Somewhere along the way, surrender transformed into acceptance, and acceptance into something unexpected: love.
****
They walk along the shore, hand in hand. The sun sets the sky on fire. Samantha stops to pick up a pretty shell, turning it over in her hands.
"Look," she says, holding it up. "It's perfect."
Garth takes it, examines it, then gently twists it into her hair. "There. Now you look like a queen."
She blushes, a young girl's gesture. "You're silly."
"You're my silly," he says, pulling her close for a kiss. It's gentle, loving. Something they've done a thousand times.
****
In their hut, by the light of a small fire, they make love. She's not sure whether he just pretends he can't see her penis, or whether he's actually deluded himself into truly believing she's a woman. It's slow, tender, full of years of familiarity. Garth knows exactly how to touch her, where she likes to be kissed. Samantha arches into him, her hands in his hair, her moans soft and content.
"I love you, Garth," she whispers against his lips.
"I love you too, Sam. Always have. Always will."
After, they lie spooned together, her back against his chest. He strokes her hair, humming a tuneless tune.
"Garth?" she says, her voice half-asleep.
"Yeah, honey?"
"Thank you. For never giving up on me."
He holds her tighter. "Never gonna happen, Sam. You're my world."
****
The next morning, Samantha wakes early and sits at the entrance of the hut, watching the sunrise. She looks at her hands-- rough, calloused, strong. They are a man's hands. She knows this. She knows she was born Jesse.
"Good morning, beautiful."
Garth's voice behind her. She turns and smiles. He looks at her with such adoration, such pure, unfiltered love.
"Good morning, husband," she says.
In her mind, she has a memory: a young man, named Jesse, who prayed to God every night. It feels like a past life. She is Samantha now. She is loved. She is happy.
"What do you want for breakfast?" Garth asks stretching.
"Surprise me."
He laughs, kisses her on the nose, and heads off to check his fishing lines. Samantha watches him go, a smile on her lips. This is her life. This is her love.
****
(A huge vessel looms over the island, a steel monster from a world they'd forgotten. Samantha-- no, Jesse-- stares at it, his hand tightly gripping Garth's.)
"C'mon, Jesse! They're sending a small boat!"
Garth's voice. So casual. So... normal.
Jesse blinks, his mind reeling. "What did you call me?"
Garth looks at him, his face a carefully constructed blank. "Jesse. You're Jesse, right? That's what you told the rescuers."
It's true. When the ship appeared, when they asked names, Jesse had gleefully shouted that he was Jesse. The name Samantha had died on his lips.
****
They are given clothes, food, medical attention. Separate cabins. For the first time in years, they are not touching.
That night, Jesse finds Garth on deck, staring at the stars. He's different. The husband, the lover-- it's like that man never existed.
"Garth." Jesse's voice is quiet, shaking.
Garth turns. "Hey, kid. You okay?"
Kid. Not 'honey.' Not 'Sam.' Jesse feels like he's been punched in the gut.
"Are you really going to act like it never happened?" he asks, his voice cracking. "Eight years, Garth. We were married. You loved me. I loved you. We made love every night. How can you just--"
"Stop." Garth's voice is sharp, cutting through the night. He looks around, making sure they're alone. "You can't talk about that. Not here. Not ever."
"What? Why not?" Tears are streaking down Jesse's face. "It happened! It was real! You loved me!"
Garth's eyes flicker with something-- pain, guilt, love-- before going cold. "Of course I loved you. I still love you." His voice drops to a whisper. "But that was on the island. This is the real world. In the real world, what I did... it's called rape. It's called kidnapping. It's called being a monster."
"But it wasn't like that at the end," Jesse protests. "We loved each other. We were happy."
"We were insane," Garth corrects him, his voice bitter. "I was insane. I broke you. And then I made you into someone else so I could feel okay about it."
"It doesn't feel that way," Jesse whispers. "It feels like we had something real."
"We did," Garth says. "On the island. But the island is gone now. We can't take it wish us."
He steps closer, his hand gently cupping Jesse's face. "I will always love you, Jesse. Every single day of my life, I will love you. But this--" he gestures between them, "--this has to end here. We have to go back to our real lives. You, being Jesse. Me, being Garth. Not husband and wife. Just... two men who survived a plane crash."
"And what about what we feel?" Jesse asks, his voice breaking.
"We feel it," Garth says. "But we bury it. We have to. For your sake. For mine. For everyone else's."
Jesse shakes his head, tears falling freely. "I don't know if I can."
"You can," Garth says, pressing his lips to Jesse's forehead in a gesture that's both a kiss and a goodbye. "You're stronger than you know. You survived me. You can survive anything."
He pulls away, his own eyes brimming. "Go back to your cabin, Jesse. Get some rest. Tomorrow, we start our new lives."
****
The next morning, they sit across from each other at breakfast. Garth looks up and gives Jesse a small, encouraging smile. "Mornin', Jesse. Sleep okay?"
Jesse nods, his face carefully neutral. "Yeah. You?"
"Like a rock." He takes a sip of coffee. "So, what's the first thing you're gonna do when we get back?"
It's so normal. So painfully normal. Jesse plays along, because he doesn't know what else to do.
"Eat a cheeseburger," he says.
Garth laughs. "Amen to that."
They sit in silence, the weight of eight years hanging between them, unspoken, unacknowledged. A love story that never happened, a marriage that never existed, buried beneath the waves of a long-forgotten island.
****
"You've been through a very traumatic ordeal, Jesse," Bishop Morton says, his voice honeyed from years of counseling. "What you did on that island... you did what you had to, to survive. The Lord understands. I understand."
Jesse stares at his hands. The skin is rough, sun-baked, not the hands of a young man who used to play the piano. "You don't understand," he says quietly. "I didn't come here for forgiveness."
"Then why did you come?"
Jesse looks up, his eyes shining with unshed tears. "Because I love him. I still love him. And my therapist keeps telling me to move on, to put it behind me, that it was just Stockholm Syndrome and trauma. And my parents don't know anything about any of it. How could I tell them? We were married, Bishop. I can't tell them that! We made a life together. I woke up every morning knowing I was loved. We made love every night. Eight years of beautiful memories. And now it's just... gone. He went back to his wife like those years never even happened."
Bishop Morton's face shifts, the kindness replaced by something more calculated. "Jesse. That man raped you. That's not love. That's violence. That's taking away your agency. Whatever you think happened after that, doesn't erase how it started."
"So what am I supposed to do? Pretend it never happened? Pretend I don't dream about him every night?"
"You need to continue seeing me, and continue seeing your therapist," Bishop Morton says, leaning forward. "You need to unpack this. And you need to stay away from Garth. He's married. He has a life. You can't go back to what you had."
"I know," Jesse whispers. "I know. But it doesn't stop me from wanting it."
****
(One night, Garth pulls into the driveway, the long day at the garage still clinging to his shirt in the form of grease stains. He shuts off the ignition and stares at the front door. Something is off.)
He walks in, his boots heavy on the hardwood.
"Bev, I'm home."
"In here, hon."
His wife's voice comes from the living room. He rounds the corner, and his heart stops.
Jesse is sitting on the sofa, a cup of coffee in his hand. He looks... good. Healthy. He's grown his hair out a bit, and there's a thin scar on his cheek that he got on the island. But the smile on his face is the same smile.
"Hey, Garth," Jesse says, his voice light, almost cheerful. "Your wife was just telling me about her garden. It's really lovely."
Garth's mouth goes dry. He looks at his wife, who is standing by the window, looking at him with mild confusion.
"You never told me you and Jesse kept in touch," she says. "I was so surprised to see him at the door. He's such a nice young man."
"We need to talk," Garth says, his voice strained. He glares at Jesse. "Alone. Now."
"Garth, what's gotten into you?" his wife asks, but he's already grabbing Jesse by the arm and pulling him up.
"It's okay," Jesse says to her over his shoulder. "Just some survivor stuff. We haven't talked in a while."
****
Garth drags Jesse to the next room, slams the door, and turns on Jesse, his face red with rage.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" he asks. "Coming to my house? Talking to my wife? Are you insane?"
Jesse leans against the wall, his posture calm, almost relaxed. "I just wanted to see you, Garth. It's been months. You won't answer my calls. You won't return my messages. You think you can just pretend I don't exist?"
"That's exactly what I'm trying to do," Garth snarls. "You need to leave. Now. And don't you ever come back here."
"Or what?" Jesse's eyes are steady, a small smile playing at the corner of his lips. "You gonna hurt me? Like in the old days?"
Garth flinches. "Don't. Just... go."
"You can't hide from your past forever, Garth," Jesse says, his voice hardening. "You think you can just go back to your little suburban life like nothing happened? Like you didn't hold me every night? Like you didn't tell me you loved me?"
"Shut up!" Garth's voice rises, and he slams his hand against the wall beside Jesse's head. "You wanna destroy everything? I have a life here. A wife. A job. You think I'm gonna let you take that away from me?"
"I don't wanna take anything away," Jesse says, his voice suddenly soft. "I just want you. I still love you, Garth. I don't know how to stop."
Garth's breathing is ragged. He stares at Jesse, and for a brief moment, there is something fragile in his eyes. But he quickly shuts it down.
"I don't care what you want," he says, his voice cold. "You walk away now, and you don't ever come back. I'll hurt you, Jesse. Swear to God, I will. I've done it before."
Jesse's smile fades, and in its place, something sad appears. "Yeah," he says quietly. "You did."
He pushes off the wall and heads for the door. "But it doesn't change how I feel. See you around, Garth."
****
(Garth is under the hood of a truck, his hands black with grease. It's quiet in the garage-- just the sound of a radio playing country music softly. Then, footsteps.)
Garth looks up. Jesse is standing in the bay door, the midday sun light haloing his figure. He looks like a ghost. A pretty ghost.
"You wouldn't answer your phone," Jesse says, stepping inside. "So it comes to this."
Garth slowly stands up, wiping his hands on a rag. "Jesse, please. You can't keep doing this. You can't just show up wherever I am."
"Why not?" Jesse's voice is calm, almost pleasant. "I just want to talk."
"We have nothing to talk about."
"That's where you're wrong," Jesse says, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I've been thinking. About what comes next. For me. For us."
"There is no 'us.'"
"There was," Jesse says. "And people should know about it."
Garth stiffens. "What are you talking about?"
Jesse smiles-- that same sad, knowing smile. "I'm going to write a memoir. Everything. How we met. How you raped me. How you turned me into 'Samantha'. How we fell in love. All of it. Every detail."
"You're bluffing."
"I'm not," Jesse's voice is firm. "I've already written the first few chapters. It's... therapeutic. And people will love it. A story of survival. A story of love. A story of transformation."
Garth's heart is pounding. "You can't. I'll lose everything. My wife. My job. My reputation.
"I guess then you'll know how I feel," Jesse says, his voice suddenly sharp.
(Garth snaps. He crosses the garage in three long strides and gets in Jesse's face.)
"Listen to me, you little prick," he hisses. "You think I loved you on that island? I never loved you. I just wanted to pound an ass, and yours was the only one around. Sure, I told you I loved you. I told you a lot of things. But it was all lies. Just a way to keep you docile. That's all."
(The words hang in the air. Jesse's face, so self-possessed a moment ago, crumbles.)
"You're lying," Jesse whispers.
"Am I?" Garth steadies his gaze, keeps his voice flat. "I used you, Jesse. You were just a hole to stick my dick in. Nothing more. The rest was just to get you to stop fighting."
(Jesse takes a step back, his eyes filling with tears. His hand shakes as he raises it to his mouth.)
"You're lying," he says again, but this time it's a question. A plea.
"Am I?" Garth shrugs, forcing himself to look cold. "Believe whatever helps you sleep at night."
(That's what breaks him. Jesse's face collapses, and he starts sobbing--loud, ugly, heartbroken sobs.)
"How could you?" he cries, backing away. "How could you say that?"
"Because it's the truth," Garth lies, the words sticking in his throat like glass. "I needed to fuck and the only way to get you to stop crying was by saying I loved you."
(Jesse turns and runs. He trips over a toolbox, stumbles, but keeps going. He's sobbing so hard he can barely see.)
"Goodbye, Jesse," Garth whispers.
(Garth follows Jesse, unseen by Jesse, wanting to see Jesse one last time. Garth's facade cracks as he watches Jesse jump into his car. Garth stands in the parking lot, watching taillights disappear, the sound of sobbing still echoing in his ears.)
****
The next day, Garth is back home.
(The ringing of the doorbell is sharp, insistent. Garth puts down his beer and looks at his wife. She shrugs.)
"I'll get it."
(He opens the door. An elderly couple stands there--her face swollen, his set like stone. The woman is holding a thick stack of paper.)
"Mrs. Harris? Mr. Harris?" Garth's voice is uncertain. "What's wrong?"
(The woman slaps him. Hard. The sound echoes through the foyer.)
"You killed him!" she screams. "You fucking killed our son!"
(Garth's wife appears in the hallway, her hand to her mouth. "Garth? What is she talking about?")
****
(Inside. Garth sits on the sofa, his face pale. The Harrises stand over him. The wife stands ashamed, the memoir now in her hands, her eyes wide as she reads.)
"You raped him," the father says, his voice shaking with rage. "You took him, held him down, and twisted his mind until he didn't know who he was anymore."
"I never--" Garth starts.
"Don't!" the mother hisses. "It's all here. In his own words. Everything. How you made him call himself 'Samantha.' How you told him he was your wife. How you said you loved him."
Garth's wife speaks for the first time. "Garth. Is this true?"
"It wasn't like that," Garth says, but his voice is thin. "It start that way, but it changed. We... We were stranded on an island. We had nothing but each other. We loved each other. He loved me. I never meant to hurt him."
"Yet you did," the father says. "And then you broke his heart all over again when you told him it was all a lie. That's what did it. That's why he put a bullet in his own head."
(The room spins. Garth feels like he's been stabbed.)
"No. He wouldn't..." He trails off.
"He wrote you a letter," the mother says, pulling a folded piece of paper from her pocket. She throws it at him. "It was stapled to the manuscript."
(Garth's hands tremble as he opens it. His wife stares over his shoulder. The note is brief, written in shaky, spasmodic handwriting.)
Garth--
You've killed me twice now. The first time was on the island when you raped me. My innocence died on that day, and so did my future. And now you've killed me by revealing that you never even loved me, that I was just a hole to you. You were the only thing that made the island bearable. You were the only thing that made life worth living. I hope the memoir helps people understand. You don't deserve it, but I still love you, Garth. I wish you loved me back.
--Jesse
(Garth reads it twice. He's horrified and speechless.)
"I need you to leave," his wife says quietly. "I need you to get out of this house, Garth."
He nods.
(The Harrises stare at him with hatred. Garth slowly stands, his knees weak.)
"I loved him," he says, but nobody is listening anymore.
(He walks out into the cold air, the door slamming behind him. Through the window, he can see his wife handing the memoir back to Jesse's mother. The two women, strangers just moments ago, are now united in grief.)
(Garth gets in his truck and just sits there. His hands are on the steering wheel. He reads the letter again. And again. And again.
'I wish you had just loved me back.'
"I did," he whispers to the windshield. "I did, Jesse. I really loved you. And you died thinking that I didn't. I'll never get over that."
****
(The cemetery is quiet, blanketed in the first snow of winter. Garth stands alone in front of a simple gravestone. The name 'JESSE HARRIS' is engraved in it. No quotes. No prayers. Just the name, and the years.)
****
Garth kneels down in the snow, not caring that his knees are getting wet. His shoulders shake. It's the first time he's made it here.
"Hey, Jesse."
(His voice is raspy. He looks older now-- the months since everything came apart have worn him down. The guilt is a heavy blanket.)
"I'm sorry it took me so long."
(He pauses, his breath misting in the cold.)
"I lost everything. My wife. My house. My job. People look at me on the street like I'm a monster. And maybe I am. But losing all that... it's not what hurts the most."
(He looks at the gravestone, his eyes red.)
"What hurts the most is knowing that you died thinking I never loved you. You wrote it in that letter. 'I wish you had just loved me back.' But I did, Jesse. For all the wrong I did, that wasn't one of them."
(Tears fall from his cheeks, melting small patches of snow.)
"I loved you. Not the way I should have. Not the way you deserved. But I loved you. In my own warped, broken way. You weren't just someone for me to use. You were my everything. And when we came back, I was too cowardly to admit it. I was too scared of losing the life I had before the plane crash. So I built a wall. And then, when you pushed, I said those terrible things. I lied. Because I was scared of how much I needed you."
(He reaches out and touches the headstone.)
"I'm sorry, Jesse. I'm so sorry. For everything. For the way it started. For not protecting you. For the way it ended. For making you feel like you weren't loved. Because you were. You were loved so much. And I will carry that with me for the rest of my life."
(He settles back on his heels, not knowing what else to say. The snow falls softly, covering his shoulders.)
"I hope you can hear me, Jesse," he says finally. "I hope, wherever you are, you know now. That I loved you. That I always will. And that I'm so, so sorry."
(He stands up, wipes his face, and turns to leave. At the entrance of the cemetery, he pauses and looks back one last time.)
"Goodbye, Jesse. I love you."
(The snow falls, covering his footsteps as he walks away. The gravestone faces the blank, white sky. Silence.)
THE END
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