Supposedly, hammocks give you a stellar rest. They enclose you, offer a sweet sway, and alleviate pressure on your spine. That gentle rocking? Motion. Sickness. Sad fact: zero stars on the hammock rating from me. I prefer the broken in Keane couch. Not a fan of being closed in, especially in my current state of mind. The last thing I want is more control over me, even from an inanimate object.
Control. That warrants a big ole, derisive snort. Control that Derry stole from me. He got what he wanted. What did I get? A cold shower when he carried me back to the rock face waterfall in an attempt to lower my temperature. It wasn’t enough. My robot crawled up from the scrap pile and flipped the emergency shut-off switch. That’s not all I got. What else did I get? Oh yeah, not icing on a delicious cake. I got a vaccinated boyfriend. Why? Because it wasn’t my place to decide for him, though that in no way means I have to be happy. And I’m definitely not, in case you were wondering.
Despite Derry’s proximity, the distance is substantial. He’s idly stroking my hair while chatting travel itineraries with the group. The act is second nature to him, but the physical contact feels foreign to me. He’s a stranger. He doesn’t even smell the same. Gone are the Morning Glories and Sunshine. He doesn’t smell like anything.
No one mentions Derry’s reversion. If they know, they’re keeping their opinions to themselves. Maybe he talked them through it after carrying me unconscious back to camp. Brody knows something stinks, but he doesn’t broach the subject. He just passes more curious glances my way than he typically does, along with aiming more stink-eyes at Derry. I try to act casual since I don’t want his protective instincts to get the better of him. Unfortunately, I’m not exactly nailing the casual. What I am nailing is a Muttley impersonation. Point to me for my superior grumbling.
To make matters worse, my skin is coated in aloe. The slimy treatment helps the irritation but does nothing to improve my foul mood. I find myself getting more and more frustrated Derry coerced me like he did. He isn’t hovering more than he usually does. Still, I can’t breathe. I’m unjustifiably short with him on several occasions. It doesn’t take long for him to get the hint. He backs right off.
Brody elbows me on our way back to the boat. “Someone’s all fired up.”
Derry’s walking a few feet behind me, head hanging low like a properly chastised dog. I feel a tad guilty for how I’m acting, but I can’t seem to stow my agitation. Even my shoes are taking a beating from my heavy stepping feet.
This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“Are you upset you didn’t meet Dreyna? Is that what’s wrong? We could stay and wait for her to get back.”
Ah, Brody, there’s no peace to be made right now, Bud. “I’ve had as much of this place as I can stand.”
Dreyna didn’t show. I wanted suggestions on transferring energy to my mother in a less intrusive way. The water element allows her to filter animal essence into usable fuel for the Amazon Coterie. As far as dispersing goes, having her invaluable guidance could’ve saved this trip from being a total failure. Did I get what I wanted? Nope. Seems to be a theme.
“Tick. Tick. Tick,” Brody muses.
“Very funny.” I punch his arm, which hurts my hand more than it does his arm. In hindsight, dubious worth. I shake out my hand. Kangaroo fists, I have not.
“Weak!” His brilliantly white teeth blind me. That smile earns a glower from me. “You seriously need to dispel some of your fire fuel before the mighty volcano erupts.”
“Are you volunteering for once?” My tone is sour.
If my friends stopped trying to conserve my energy, it wouldn’t be brimming. Is my full tank the reason I need an attitude adjustment? It’s possible. When did I actively discharge the overflow? It absolutely hasn’t been in the past twenty-four hours, and Derry ensured I was left at max capacity.
Derry…I sigh. His logic is faulty. How can he believe breaking the ties will strengthen our connection? How can it help us physically be together? Being around him increases the flow, and I compensate for the excess by giving it to him. Without that symbiotic transfer, I’ll probably blow up.
“Should I be worried?”
“No,” I lie. Bright side: we reach the boat before he can guilt me into elaborating.
Our plan is to charter a flight to Buenos Aires from Manaus, where we’ll meet Matthew at the Hotel Looking Glass. His hotel. Any type of bed must be superior to an Amazon hammock, though it was nice of them to let us invade their space.
It’s barely daylight when we push off, traveling north half a day in the baking sun back to Manaus. Awkward silence wins out over casual conversation. My thoughts center on my ever-filling energy tank. Brody wants to say something but doesn’t. He just sits beside me, switch-hitting between daggers at Derry and sympathetic gazes at me. I’ll explain what happened to Derry without everyone in hearing range.
I lean over the boat’s edge, focusing my flame at my fingertips and watching the water snuff out the fire as I release it. Blowing off steam improves my mood exponentially. I don’t even shove Derry away when he sits next to me so he can watch the finger fireworks. Is that a bright side or dim side? Problematic either way.
Our stop in Manaus is a short one. I want to stay awake, to enjoy the continued view that’ll forever be ingrained as a catastrophic time-waster as far as help goes, but my travel-weary form can’t keep up with my restless mind. At some point during the flight, my body and mind both flake out on me. Good riddance to them both.