Authors: Lexi Duval
“
It will blow over. The world is always looking for a
great story, and this is yours, ours. Give them what they want for
now, and soon they'll leave you alone.”
He's talking from experience, so I don't question him. I
know that they're going to plaster us all over the papers, hound me
everywhere I go. It's the nature of celebrity – everyone feels they
have the right to know you, when they don't.
My life, though, will never be the same again. It may
blow over, but because it's Flint, people will always remember this.
He's a world famous billionaire, and now the survivor of a plane
crash and an extended stay on a tropical island. And I'll always be
linked to that, whether I like it or not.
I stay with Flint, in his room, lying against his chest,
for as long as I can. Outside, I know the rumors will have stared
about a romance between us. If not within the press, then certainly
among the hospital staff who pass by and see us so closely tied
together.
But Flint doesn't seem to care, even through he knows
what the press can be like. He holds my hand, and kisses me even with
a nurse present in the room, and when I'm told to leave, he tells
them that I can stay with him, in his bed.
Clearly used to giving orders, they deny this request
however, needing to follow the hospital rules. Flint doesn't make a
fuss. He just lets me go and tells me that he's OK again. But more
than that, he always asks if I'm OK.
Because he knows that, while I may not be physically
scarred, the mental scars may last a lifetime.
Chapter Three
I stay in the hospital longer than I'm due.
Flint remains under supervision by the medical staff,
but I'm fit and ready to return to the real world, physically at
least.
But I don't leave, and Flint pulls some string to ensure
that I stay with him and only leave when he does. We're both moved to
a private wing of the hospital where we can stay in the same room and
have some time alone away from prying eyes.
After several days, Flint's libido seems to be firing on
all cylinders once more, proving that he's getting back to full
health, loss of lower right leg notwithstanding.
Gently, we begin making love once more in his luxury
private room. At night he calls for complete isolation from the
hospital staff, and they grant him his wish.
With no one to worry about, and only the two of us
together once more, we fall straight back into the routine we enjoyed
on the island. He fucks me with vigor, feeling more alive than ever,
thankful for this second shot at life.
At first, I'm still struggling to catch up, still
struggling to balance my emotions. But soon, I push it all to the
back of my head and enjoy the time we have together, in this new
hospital haven of ours.
I ride him on his hospital bed, facing him and leaning
my breasts down for him to suck. Our bodies remain deeply tanned, his
face still shrouded in the beard he's yet to shave off. I imagine us
in the surf, or in our shack, or at the top of the beach under the
treeline, riding him in the soft sand with the sun on my back.
Those were the days I'll remember most fondly. Those
days when we forgot about the world and could only see each other.
When we hunted and fished together, cooking our food on the fire and
fucking under the stars.
So when I ride him in that hospital bed, kissing his
bearded face and running my fingers through his wavy hair, I close my
eyes and think of the sound of the sea. I think of the touch of sand.
I think of the cawing of birds and the clicking of insects and the
gentle rustle of palm leaves in the breeze.
And when we're done, when we've maxed out our lust, I
lie against his toned, lean body and tell him I love him. And he
tells me it back.
For a week we live like that, and by the end we're
reminiscing about our time together. We look back on both the joy and
the pain, the feeling of love that developed offset against the pain
of losing friends and colleagues, the pain of missing family, the
growing anguish at our isolation.
And as we work through the experience together we decide
what the world should know, and what it shouldn't. We know that
questions will be asked about our relationship, and we decide to tell
the full truth.
That from the disaster we saw light, and that light was
each other.
But we'll leave out any mention of sex. We'll say that
we grew as companions and, from there, a love grew against all
expectation, and we now share a bond that is unbreakable.
“
They might try to break it,” Flint tells me.
He's been playing the game long enough to know that the
press love to raise up a hero, and then drag him down again.
“
They'll bring up my past,” he adds, with a hint of
resignation.
“
I don't care about your past,” I counter.
And I know I won't, because I already know it. I knew
Flint before I ever met him on the island. I knew his public profile,
his playboy status. But none of that was real. None of that was the
man I fell in love with.
And none of it matters to me.
“
And what about you?” he asks. “Are there any
skeletons they'll drag up for you?”
“
I've already told you everything about my life.”
“
Then be prepared for
the sympathy angle,” he says. “They'll talk about how hard your
life has been, with you losing your parents, struggling to find a
place in the world, and then getting stranded on that island. That's
the slant they'll use. It's the slant they're already using.”
He looks and me, and goes on to tell me that he's read
the news, looked back on the coverage around us and the plane crash
for the last few months.
He takes me through it, shows me what he's gathered on
his iPad, and I learn what he's already told me: that I'm world
famous, I just don't realize it yet.
A couple of days later, the doctors give Flint the all
clear, and begin bringing in specialists to talk to him more about
his disability and the various types of prosthetic legs he can use.
I stay by his side during it all, and know that for a
man with the financial clout of Flint Young, even having an amputated
leg isn't going to be much of a problem. He can afford the best care
and the best treatment, and as soon as the swelling goes down he'll
be cast with something that will keep him living a regular life
without being confined to a wheelchair.
For now, though, that's what he's using to get around,
and when we finally leave the hospital together, he does so seated.
We prepare our opening statement to the press, and Flint
makes sure to do most of the talking. Press from across the globe
crowd and clamor for a good spot, desperate for a scoop.
But Flint is natural and calm, not getting flustered by
something he's so used to. By the looks of things, he seems to be
enjoying it. Better to be hounded by the press for living through a
plane crash and being stranded on a tropical island than for being a
playboy.
Once he's given his statement, the throng hammer in with
a thousand questions, many of which are aimed at me. Microphones are
thrust in my face, but Flint takes control once more.
“
We will give our full story when we're ready. For
now, we're not taking any questions.”
With that, several bodyguards guide us through the crowd
and into a waiting car, and for the first time in over 6 months I
feel the motion of a vehicle and see the streets of a city.
I look out on Sydney, and my mind turns to Benjy once
more. He'd been so excited to see the city again, but that hope,
along with all the rest, was dashed and cut short. And right then, I
resolve to be more like him. To see the world, enjoy every day I'm on
it, and make sure my life is as full as possible so that I live for
him, and for all the others who died that day.
Soon we leave the city, and arrive at a gated mansion on
its outskirts, fitted with pools and tennis courts and fast cars.
Flint looks with a moment of melancholy over the sporting facilities,
perhaps wondering if he'll ever be able to play tennis again or swim
again in the way that he used to.
But it's nothing more than a passing look, and his face
lights up with we exit the car and he looks upon his Australian home.
“
You see, nothing
like the
Playboy Mansion
,”
he says with a smile as we enter and he shows me around. The place is
large, palatial, but with a comforting and homely feel to it.
When we come to the stairs, Flint quips that we'll have
to get disability ramps installed if he stays in this wheelchair any
longer. Then he steps out of it, unfolds a futuristic pair of
clutches, and begins hoping up the stairs one by one.
And not once does he complain.
I follow, and he shows me the rest of the house, and
immediately we settle into his bed and enjoy all of the comforts of
home, and each other.
And when evening begins to fall we open up his barbecue
by the pool, cook fish like we did on the island, and sit with our
legs in the water, gazing up at the stars above.
“
There aren't as many of them here,” I muse, noting
the lower density of celestial lights. “Do you think you'd ever
want to go back?”
“
To the island?”
I nod, and he considers my question for a moment, and
then asks me it back.
“
Would you?”
I look at the sky again, and think of the perfect nights
we shared alone, away from the world.
“
I think so. If only to visit.”
“
Then so would I,” he says, and we kiss under the
starlight.
Chapter Four
Each day, the press come to the gates of the mansion
seeking more of the story. The guards keep them at bay, however, as
we decide what to do.
“
They'll all want exclusives,” Flint explains.
“Every one of them is dying to get the first interview.”
At the moment, only bits and pieces are coming out. They
know the obvious details – where we crashed, where we ended up, how
long we were on the island for. They also know that we both spend
time in hospital, and that Flint Young, world famous billionaire, is
now a cripple.
One night, we watch the news and even see that reporters
have gone to the island itself. When I see pictures of our shack, of
our fire pit, of the tree where we cut the dates into the bark, I
break down and cry.
I can't tell what it is. Emotion at escaping the place,
or a desire to go back there? Right now, my head is a bag of cats and
I don't know what's going on inside it.
Eventually, we decide to offer the story to a friend of
Flint's who he's known for some time. A chat show host with a strong
sense of integrity who will be willing to play to the script and not
probe with inappropriate questions.
That last one is important to me, because a rumor has
already leaked out about the nature of our relationship.
“
Probably someone from the hospital,” Flint says,
seemingly unconcerned.
A couple of trashy magazines who have always liked
pointing out Flint's fondness for the ladies, begin jumping on the
story. They say that, even lost on a tropical island, Flint Young is
able to find a beautiful young girl to bed.
He laughs it off, but the idea that the entire world is
talking about me and Flint makes me more that a little bit
disconcerted.
So, we prepare for the interview, with the host, Donald
Marsh, coming to the house to talk with us in private. We do a trial
run, covering the meat of it all, and I'm given some coaching as to
how to deal with the public and deliver my answers in a way that's
endearing.
“
Just be yourself,” is the main message. Apparently,
there's an innocence about me that the public are going to adore.
Still, I feel completely out of my depth in the middle
of this media storm, and my mind develops a habit of thinking of the
island more and more. Being back in the real world, surrounded by
people, is surprisingly difficult to negotiate and take on board.
I'm happy only when it's me and Flint, the two of us
alone in his mansion, hidden away from the world. From its peering
eyes and whispering voices.
It's only going to get worse
,
I tell myself, knowing that after the interview I'll be expected to
do more. That my world will become the domain of public interest.
“
You'll get used to it eventually,” Flint assures
me, and I take his word for it.
Because, really, he knows more than anyone, and I can
see by the way he's coping with it that he's a complete pro. That
nothing fazes him, and that he'll transition back into normal life
much better than I could ever hope to.
On the day of the interview, my nerves reach an all time
high. Flint's there, by my side, always reassuring, telling me to be
myself and tell my side of the story like we practiced.