Page 18 of Uncharted Desires

Crawling over to West’s injured foot, she gasped at the angry red wound. After tending to it, she knew they needed lemon balm or chaparral to properly clean it out and stave off infection. She wasted no time in cutting off the bottom of her pants and rushing over to the nearby stream to rinse it off. Time was ticking.

Kneeling beside West’s foot, she desperately hoped he would stay passed out for this procedure. Inhaling deeply, she readied herself for the gruesome task of cutting off the pieces of dead skin from around the wound that had been killed by the venom.

Kat’s stomach churned as she surveyed the red, angry skin. She steadied her hand and cut away the damaged flesh. Though West groaned in pain, he was still. Concentrating on the task at hand, Kat soon finished her work and applied her antivenom poultice, quickly tying her pants tightly around his foot.

She set his head in her lap and forced the coconut milk down his throat. He coughed and sputtered most of it out, but she managed to coax him into swallowing a decent amount.

Satisfied that she had done as much as she could for him, Kat set his head down on her balled-up hoodie, and laid her head on his chest, closing her eyes as she listened to the slow, steady rhythm of his breathing.

Hours later she awoke to the moon in the sky, the sun long gone, and the growl of her stomach.

She checked West’s pulse, which was steady, but she was still apprehensive about trying to move him. On one hand, they needed shelter. On the other, if she moved him too early it could injure him further. She let the gentle rise and fall of his chest calm her nerves as she listened to the many sounds of the rainforest at night.

Birds chirped loudly, and land animals rustled the trees. Kat closed her eyes hoping to tune out the noises that left her feeling exposed. Were there bobcats or other large mammals on this island? Would she be eaten? Her thoughts strayed to the worst-case scenarios before she could tamp them down. This was why she needed West. He kept things light and fun.

Her stomach growled at her again, shaking her from thoughts of her demise at the claws of a tiger. It had been well over twenty-four hours since she’d eaten anything, and her gaze settled on the overripe papaya she had fought a macaque for, unsure if she should eat it.

She didn’t have the first clue how to start a fire. She didn’t even know how to fish, or cook one for that matter, so the gross looking fruit was her only option. She may have understood the healing aspect of nature, but when it came to the hunting and gathering part, she was a failure. The spirits, if they were out there, were simultaneously applauding and booing her as an Indigenous woman.

If West would just wake up, he could cook. Kat shouldn’t even remember that about him, but she did. She knew so much more about him than she should, more than he ever cared to know about her.

Earlier, when he had put his hands on her arms and gazed into her eyes as if he was going to say something utterly romantic, Kat had been thoroughly disappointed when he’d simply promised to get them off the island.

She was so stupid to think he would ever have any romantic feelings for a woman like her. She had already been down this road and been summarily rejected. He dated sophisticated women, or he liked crazy, dramatic ones. She knew exactly what he saw when he looked at her. Average height, average brown eyes, average brown hair, a too-big butt, and thick thighs. Sure, she had nice breasts, but considering all the models he dated didn’t have a chest to speak of, that likely wasn’t something he found attractive.

She groaned, the noise probably alerting some predator to her location. “Why do I even care?” She dropped her head in her hands, knowing she shouldn’t entertain any feelings for West.

He was far too attractive to ignore—his arrestingly handsome features made it difficult to look away. But it wasn’t just his looks that made her heart flutter; they shared a common love of music.

The first album they’d worked on together had been truly collaborative. He had let her into the process, and working with him had been amazing. He played every instrument on his albums, and Kat, Lydia, and Cher had worked with him to create the harmonies. He even asked their opinions on lyrics.

Then feelings had gotten involved, and a wall had come up between them. But that hadn’t stopped Kat from watching him create beautiful music, leaving her to daydream about what those talented fingers would feel like on her skin. The dexterity in each digit was enough to make any woman go mad.

She would watch in awe as he played his guitar. His head gently lolling backward, his eyes closed, his hair falling over his forehead. Every line of music played with complete abandon, and she knew that was exactly what he would look like in the throes of passion. Music was his great love, and she doubted any of the women he’d been with ever came close. Thousands of people each night saw more of him than those women ever did, and he probably didn’t even realize it.

Kat had lost that in herself. She hadn’t written a single note in years. She sat down at the piano plenty and played other people’s music and sang other people’s lyrics, but never her own. At this point, she wasn’t even sure she could. Her creative drive had diminished or gone missing. It didn’t seem to matter how much yoga, meditation, or grounding practice she did, she wasn’t at one with anything. She was adrift in the universe, and now she was literally and not only figuratively lost.

Kat didn’t like being alone with her thoughts like this. On tour they were never alone, always together doing something to keep the boredom at bay. She was going to miss everyone so much. A lone tear rolled down her cheek, and she realized that was the first tear she’d allowed herself since West had upended her life, deciding that he was done with music and with her. And then she thought about their current situation, and the tears started to flow so fast she couldn’t stop them.

She was going to die alone. Whether on this island or back in Iowa where her family lived, it didn’t matter, both were equally depressing. She had no future, no love prospects, no career, her life was a failure. Her fifteen-year high school reunion was already in the works, and she was absolutely not going to that. Her ex-best friend Peggy, with her four children and dentist husband in the ‘burbs of Des Moines, was living a much better life than she was at the moment.

Not that Kat wanted a husband or kids right now. She loved her life: she traveled the world and met amazing people; she only wished she had been ready for the ending.

She felt betrayed by her mind and her own internal clock. Why did society make her feel like she was past her prime to start over?

Her stomach growled at her again, and she picked up the overripe papaya, the yellow skin now turning brown in places. It was soft to the touch and she was scared to open it, but she had to eat something. Using the knife, Kat cut into it easily, the fruit soft and squishy. As the papaya fell open, she tried not to gag at the putrid smell that emanated from it.

Taking the knife, she cut out a few pieces of fleshy fruit that seemed okay and swallowed, choking as she forced them down with some coconut milk. Her eyes watered, and she pushed away the urge to vomit the disgusting rotting fruit back up. Inhaling deep gulps of air, she repeated the process until most of the offending fruit had been eaten.

She might die from that rotten piece of fruit, or she might die of starvation, or she might die from lack of shelter, but one thing was for sure: at this rate she and West were both going to die within the night.

She moved West’s head onto her lap, keeping her warm. His breathing was still an even pace, so maybe the snakebite wasn’t going to be the death of him. She was going to wait another hour to change the poultice, and then she would try to sleep again. Maybe West would wake up in the morning and they could find better shelter. It wasn’t like either of them had anywhere to be. Kat wondered if the rest of the group was searching for them, or if they had flown back to America by now. Then a thought occurred to her. Had they told her mother?

Seven

As the moon rose for her third night on the island, Kat's survival skills were improving. She had built a shelter using branches and fallen trees, providing some protection from the elements for herself and West. The dense tree canopy above had also helped keep them dry during the heavy rain that poured down earlier.

Despite her resourcefulness, Kat was still struggling to find food. All she had managed to eat so far was a mushy papaya and a brown banana, which she found unappetizing due to its overripe state. But with her source of fresh water and access to coconuts, she was determined to make do until they could be rescued.