Regan Wolfrom - Catholic Guilt and the Joy of Hating Men

Jon slowly stood up. “She’s full of shit,” he said.

Darrel reached for the pan.

I let him take it. I didn’t know what else to do.

“What did you do, Jon?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Jon said.

“Well you must have done something here. Steph’s nose is bleeding and I can almost see bits of that tiny lizard brain of yours.”

“She just lost it on me.”

“Come on. Just tell me the truth, man.”

“She blames herself… you know, for Breccan trying to off herself and everything. Steph’s losing her mind. She just flipped out on me.”

“So you were sitting around with no pants on and Steph just decided to try and kill you?”

“I don’t know why… she just went at me.”

“You know that isn’t true,” I said to Darrel. “You know I wouldn’t just attack someone with a cast iron pan.”

“I know,” Darrel said. “And now we have another problem to deal with.”

“Whatever man,” Jon said. “You want to take this bitch’s word over mine, that’s fine. Just both of you stay clear of me, alright?”

“Alright,” Darrel said.

Jon put on his pants and his raincoat and climbed back up to the cockpit.

I stumbled over to my bunk and collapsed. I didn’t bother trying to clean up my face, and to Darrel’s credit, he didn’t try to lick the blood out of my nostrils.

He sat down beside Breccan, still gripping the bloody pan.

“Things are falling apart,” he said.

“They’re long past falling apart,” I replied.

He tried to hide it, but I could tell he was crying.

WEDNESDAY - Nine Days Adrift

NO RAINagain. There’s no bright side left.

We left one of the rainiest places on earth and now it feels like we’re in a desert. It’s warmer today, so I dragged a finally-awake Breccan up for some fresh air. She was dressed in a long-sleeve shirt, which covered up her bandages nicely; I didn’t want her to think about the scars she’d be left with.

As soon as Jon saw us he looked down at his feet. I couldn’t tell if it was regret or disgust.

“You should go down to the salon,” Darrel told him.

“It’s okay,” I said. “We can all sit up here today… make the best of it.” It felt unnecessary to hate a dying man when you’re on your own deathbed.

Darrel shook his head. “I don’t think so. Jon and I will go down to the salon. You girls enjoy the weather.”

“Yeah… alright,” Jon said.

He and Darrel went down into the cabin while Breccan and I sat in the cockpit.

“I don’t know why you stopped me,” Breccan said. “I made my choice.”

“It wasn’t a good choice,” I said.

“You took it away from me. That wasn’t up to you.”

I took her hand. “There’s still hope, Breccan. Until the last minute there’s hope. You just need to hold on.”

She sighed. “I don’t want to hold on. I’m tired.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” I said. “Stick through this with me, okay?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“I’m not going to accept that.”

She turned away and stared out at the sea.

I heard Edgar caw to us. I assume it was to us, just as I assumed the raven was Edgar, because we were all there was out there to hear him.

“That crazy bird,” I said. “I think he followed us from Hotspring Island.”

“That’s stupid. No bird is going to follow a sailboat for a week and a half to the middle of nowhere.”

“I don’t know what else could be happening,” I said. “There’s no land in sight.”

“Then I guess Edgar is just as stupid as we are,” Breccan said. I think she had the slightest smile on her face, and it made me feel a little bit better.

“Are you cold?” I asked her.

“Yeah… it’s not as nice out here as it first seemed.”

“I know.”

We helped each other down the stairs to the salon, both of us leaning on the other; I wasn’t as healthy as I wanted to pretend I was, and Breccan wasn’t the total weakling she wanted to be.

We reached the cabin to find Darrel sitting at the table, flipping through the same charts I’d seen Jon playing with before.

I didn’t see Jon anywhere, though; I’d never thought of him as the type to hide under a blanket.

“Where’s Jon?” Breccan asked.

“He’s taking a nap,” Darrel said, pressing his index finger to his nose. “Don’t wake him.”

“That’s not really a big concern for me,” I said.

“I found something,” Darrel said. “You girls are going to want to kiss me.”

He reached down by his feet and I started to panic. He pulled out a box of crackers.

“You’re shitting me,” I said, breathing out heavily.

“They fell behind the drawer. They’re stale, crushed, and half gone, but they’re food.”

“We need to count them out and ration them,” I said.

Darrel grinned. “Live a little, Steph.”

Breccan didn’t pause. She rushed over to the table and started eating.

Darrel stood up and gave her room, like he was worried she’d chew his arm off.

He walked over to me like he was expecting a hug.

“She’s going to eat all of it,” I said.

“That’s fine,” he said.

He reached behind me, grabbing a roll of duct tape off the counter; I hadn’t noticed it there.

He grabbed my neck and pushed me down.

I lost my balance and fell to my knees. I tried to get up and away, but he already had his boot against my left ankle, twisting it in and against the floor.

“Breccan,” I called out. “Help me out here.”

She didn’t answer.

He forced my hands behind my back.

“Breccan!”

Still nothing. I could see her watching, her mouth stuffed full with stale crackers.

She kept chewing.

He had my wrists bound quickly, and he bound my ankles the same way. The pain in my ankle was intense, but felt more like a sprain than a break.

He then taped my wrists and ankles together, making me feel like a pig at a luau. Luckily we were fresh out of apples for my mouth, and Breccan was doing her best to eliminate the crackers.

“Are you going to do anything to help me, Breccan?” I asked.

“I can’t help you,” she said. “There’s no point.”

“No point? What is wrong with you?”

“Maybe she knows that I’m trying to save you,” Darrel said.

“Save me? From what? Blood circulation?”

“From yourself.” He walked over to the table. “All done the crackers?”

Breccan nodded.

“Go lay down in your bunk,” he said.

She didn’t say anything else; she just stood up from the dinette and walked over to her bunk.

“There’s still blood on it,” she said.

“That doesn’t matter.”

She climbed into bed.

Darrel began to wrap the duct tape around her body, strapping her to the bunk.

“Please don’t,” she said.

“I have to,” he said, like a parent explaining bedtime to a toddler.

“Okay.”

I watched him finish taping her, unsure of the point. There was no reason to restrain us; all we’d been doing was waiting to die.

“Don’t worry,” he said to me. “It’ll be okay.”

“There’s no way you can expect me to trust you,” I said.

“I don’t need you to trust me.”

He walked over to a Jon-sized lump on another bunk. He peeled back the blanket.

Jon was taped up, too, but it didn’t look like he was conscious; I wasn’t even sure he was still alive. His hair, face and neck were covered in blood. His mouth was stuffed with a rag that was held in with tape.

“Jon’s probably got six or seven litres of blood,” Darrel said. “You and I can sustain ourselves for maybe a week on that.”