Authors: Jo Watson
And it felt right.
It also didn’t feel like it was coming from an impulsive, mad place that was reeling in shock and in rebound mode, desperately seeking out a male to fill the hole. And I mean that in the purely figurative sense.
I was floating on cloud nine, nothing could touch me. I was in a Damien daze and it was so intense I barely noticed that I’d climbed a rickety string ladder up a cliff face, or had waded through waist-high water and hiked through a dense—spidery—jungle. All I was aware of was Damien, and the intense looks that were flying between us. Every now and then he would come up behind me and wrap an arm around my waist. He would hold my hand, he would stroke my back and at one stage he came up behind me and whispered. “Jesus, you are so fucking sexy it’s killing me.”
And then finally Jess announced that we’d arrived at the last hurdle. We were standing in the middle of a clearing in the jungle, and in front of us was a small crystal-clear lake. Like the others we’d seen, it was completely surrounded by high cliffs, but looking around, I saw no string ladders or steps anywhere. Jess bent down and began feeling the ground around her, until she found a rope and pulled it. A trap door of sorts opened up and I burst out laughing.
Everyone turned and looked at me.
“Seriously, are we on
Lost?
Is the island going to start spinning and going back in time, and am I going to see black smoke coming out of the jungle?” This whole thing was ridiculous: “mysterious party” was an understatement. Everyone laughed with me and agreed that it was all indeed a little like
Lost,
but hopefully without the unwatchable final season.
“Okay, so the map says we can leave all our bags and electronics here and just take our essentials.”
“Leave our phones here. Why are we doing this?”
“Well…” Jess said, looking at her phone again. “It says, ‘Swim across the lake to the white cliff directly in front of you. Look for an arrow carved into the rock, take a deep breath and you’ll find a tunnel under the rock. Make sure it’s a deep breath, because it’s quite a long tunnel. There’s an air pocket halfway where you can take another breath, and then swim the rest of the way. See you guys soon.’”
“Um…” I hated the idea of swimming under a giant rock. What if I ran out of air and started to panic?
“Don’t worry. It’s gonna be fine, hon.” Jess put her arm around me and gave it a squeeze, “Besides…” she was smiling now. “You have big, strong Damien to rescue you if anything goes wrong.” She followed this sentence with a playful
oohhh,
which made me blush like an idiot. “Think about it, if you started to drown he could give you mouth-to-mouth, maybe even slip you some tongue.” Jess then looked at us, flicking her eyes between Damien and me. “Ahhh, that would make such a cute story to tell your kids one day. ‘I met mommy when I saved her from drowning.’”
Damien lunged toward Jess. “Jess, you’re such trouble maker.”
“I know. That’s why you love me!” And then she winked at us and jumped into the water with a loud splash. I avoided all eye contact with Damien now; I was worried that if I looked at him, he’d notice that I’d been reduced to a dithering puddle of hormones. So I jumped in and followed.
We found the arrow easily and then we all counted to three, took a deep breath and submerged. The tunnel was dead ahead and not as long as I’d imagined. I soon saw the sun rippling on the surface of the water and knew that the air pocket was close. We emerged into a small space that was just big enough for the six of us. Everyone started taking their next big breaths and disappeared. I was about to do the same when I felt Damien pull me back.
“Finally, I have you alone,” he said in a gravelly voice that did nothing to hide his feelings and thoughts. He pulled me closer. We were both treading water and as we got closer, our legs bumped into each other. Damien pulled me closer still and tried to kiss me, but we soon succumbed as the effort of trying to kiss and keep our heads above water with vigorous treading became too much to do. We sank under the water together, our knees knocking and feet tangling, and attempted another kiss. It was clumsy and pointless and our mouths filled with water. We both burst out laughing, which caused our faces to disappear behind a shroud of bubbles. This was the worst failed kiss in history, and we both emerged laughing and spluttering.
“Okay, so maybe that wasn’t the best idea I’ve ever had,” he said between fits of laughter. “I don’t want to be the guy who lands up drowning you in the throes of passion. Then there’ll be no story to tell the kids.”
Kids, dot, dot, dot.
And even though I knew it was just a clever reincorporation of the joke that was being thrown around, my mind couldn’t help going there for a second.
Damien was still laughing, clearly oblivious to the fact that we now had three daughters, with blue eyes and black hair and their names all stared with a D.
“So how about we just forget that even happened and we’ll try again later?” he said, his laughter finally tapering off.
“Sure,” I said, and then I almost fainted when I heard the words come out of my mouth. “But, you have to promise to make our first
real
kiss the best one of our lives…”
Damien came closer to me and I felt his hand on my stomach. I flinched—but in a good way. His hand moved down and he hooked his finger into the top of my bikini bottoms and pulled me closer.
His pupils dilated and he gently parted his lips. “I promise.”
I believed him. If that kiss in the club was anything to go by.
When we finally resurfaced on the other side, we entered into a world that was amazing and bizarre and beautiful. We were in yet another small crystal lake, which was also enclosed with rocky cliff faces and had the same huge wraparound beaches. Beyond the beaches were giant palms filled with hammocks and strings of colored lights. Multicolored tents were erected all over the beach, which also had big, comfy-looking cushions and giant beach balls scattered on it. An enormous bar dominated the center of the beach and people were milling about; some were floating in the water on bright inflatable loungers others were sleeping in hammocks, some were playing volleyball, and a few were already dancing on the beach to music being played by a DJ.
I looked around, amazed.
“Welcome to Burning Moon, Lilly.” Damien turned to me. “I’m going to make this the best night of your life.”
I shivered at the infinite possibilities that sentence held.
Chapter Thirteen
Remember all those years ago when Tom Hanks won the Oscar for
Forrest Gump
and for the next while every Tom, Dick, Harry, and uncle’s tree squirrel’s monkey walked around saying, “Life is like a box of chocolates, you never know what you’re gonna get.”
Well, that’s ridiculous! Of course you know what you’re gonna get, just read the bloody box. Turn it over and look at the little pictures of the chocolates and their descriptions. I’m not sure where Forrest was buying his boxes, but really, it’s not that hard.
But, I finally got it. Because the chocolate I was currently unwrapping, and was about to take a bite out of, wasn’t on the box. It wasn’t on any box, anywhere. In fact, it’s a totally new flavor that hasn’t even been invented yet and will only exist in the future when we taste with our fingertips.
Because I would never—in a million years
—
have guessed that my life was “gonna get” this.
The party preparations were in full swing. More and more people were arriving and the music was getting louder and louder. The water thrashed with partygoers— swimming, floating, splashing and jumping. Dusk was creeping up and the sparkling lights in the trees had been turned on. They scattered rainbow beads of color across the white sands and cliff faces. The tiny dots of color bounced across the surface of the reflective water and it looked like everything had been coated in millions of brightly colored M&Ms.
But I still hadn’t had my alone time with Damien, because he seemed to know everyone here. We spent the whole afternoon moving from person to person. “Hello….how are you?…great…awesome…long time…glad to see you…this is Lilly…” etc. A couple of people recognized me thanks to my new-found internet fame, and they’d all thought it as just about the coolest thing they’d ever seen. Suddenly, I was the “cool chick,” the celebrity. Some guy even asked me to autograph his chest and a couple of people wanted to take photos with me. These people were so accepting; I thought about what Michael would say if he saw the picture. It would not be complimentary, and I’m sure he would have been mortified to be associated with me.
Was my relationship really as good as I thought it was?
In the light of all this acceptance, from Damien as well, my relationship started to look pretty conditional.
We went around like this for hours, and I was thrilled to see my strip-club buddies Mark and Bruno there. We got so wrapped up in girl talk that when I looked up again, Damien was gone. He was nowhere to be found. Nowhere. So I wondered around aimlessly, drank two tall, purple drinks and then went to the toilet. The bathroom was a rather jungle-like affair. It was a temporary structure comprised of reed walls built around a large palm tree. I wondered how all this stuff had arrived here. There were only two possibilities: either the guy who ran this was very rich and everything had been airlifted in, or this party was
that
mysterious and strange that everything had been beamed here through a trans-dimensional portal. Either way, it was pretty spectacular and I was in absolute awe of it all. One couldn’t help but get caught up in the energy and exhilaration of the night.
You really felt like you were a part of something. Something unique. A secret underworld that was completely separate from everything else. Here people were happy. They were free. They made their own rules and marched to the beat of their own drums. (Literally—a drumming circle had been formed out on the beach. What is it with hippies and drums?) I looked around at the people and was struck by how diverse they were: from your arty, poetry-reading, shell-earring-wearing types to your hipster Kens and Barbies, chuck in a few Rastafarians, some really cute Asian schoolgirls with pink hair, add a few emos for good measure, and then the most bizarre of all, a few people who looked like moms and dads.
I caught sight of myself in the bathroom mirror and stared back at someone who looked nothing like the Lilly I knew. I didn’t have a scrap of makeup on, for starters, which was very unusual. The sun had sprayed freckles across my nose and cheeks and my hair was messy and wavy from the humidity. The latter was the most unusual, because I’m the girl with the immaculate, pin-straight hair, never (until recently, that is) a strand out of place or a misbehaving tuft. I rand my hands through it, trying to tame the beast, but I was interrupted.
“Leave it. It looks nice like that.”
It was Damien. He was casually leaning against a palm tree waiting for me. Somewhere along the way he’d managed to change, and it was the first time I’d seen him in anything other than his uniform black. His knee-length shorts were still black, but he was wearing a ludicrous Hawaiian-style shirt with a pink hibiscus and tropical parrot print. He looked ridiculous, yet outrageously sexy and simultaneously adorable.
“Do you like my shirt?” he asked, doing a little turn.
“I love it.”
“I borrowed it from this real surfer dude, right after he showed me the scar on his leg where a shark bit him.”
“Oohhh. Hardcore.” I said, stepping closer.
“I figured that if we were going to make out, I should at least be wearing a clean shirt.”
“Make out?” I burst out laughing, “I haven’t heard anyone say that since I was twelve.” I’d never laughed with anyone as much as I did with Damien.
“So…how did you know where to find me?” I asked.
Damien winked at me. “I’ve been watching you from a distance, Lilly.”
A chill ran up my spine. “Really?”
“No, not really. But it’s easy to find a celebrity.” He laughed again, and I was pretty sure I wasn’t ever going to live down that now-infamous photo.
The laughter subsided and, once again, we found ourselves in yet another awkward moment. (God this was getting old.)
Silent.
Staring.
Looks loaded with expectancy.
We both knew what was coming next. It was just a question of time. Now it was about who was going to make the first move, and when.
You know how that moment before you kiss someone for the first time can be so terribly awkward that you actually feel sick to the stomach? Well, that’s how I felt. In the silent, expectant looks I mentally screamed at him to kiss me, willing him so I wouldn’t have to make the first move. Even though I knew he wanted to kiss me, it’s human nature to be filled with just the tiniest bit of doubt that tells you if you lean in to kiss him, he’s going to pull away. (And consequently, you will die of embarrassment.)
Then Damien walked toward me and took my hand. “Come, I want to show you something.”
“What?”
“I want to show you why it’s called Burning Moon.”
Damien pulled me across the beach, through the crowds who were dancing to the hypnotic music. I hadn’t noticed it before, but there were some steps curved up the side of one of the smaller cliffs. Damien still had me by the hand and was carefully leading me up them. We reached the top and I gasped. Out loud. I felt like we were standing on the top of the world.
The sea stretched out around us in every direction as far as the eye could see. The sun had just taken its final bow and the fat, silver moon was creeping over the horizon. I stood there in silent wonder and watched as the plump moon came into full view, but as I stared at it, I noted a subtle change in its color. The silver flushed with a subtle, warm pink.
“What’s happening?” I turned and looked at Damien. He had the same look on his face the night he’d told me about the galaxies.
“You’re about to see a lunar eclipse,” he said, still staring at the moon. “And if we’re lucky, we’ll have a blood moon tonight.” Damien turned and looked at me. “But this isn’t the best place to watch it from.” He took my hand again.