Bittersweet Solitude [open] [DONE!!!]

I jump slightly when I hear the soft voice call a greeting behind me. Hastily, I wipe at my face with my arm, clearing any tears from my cheeks before I turn to look at the boy standing behind me. What on earth is he doing on the beach at this hour? Am I supposed to talk to him? I huff frustratedly. I'm not good with people. Maybe if I give him the cold shoulder he'll go away.

"You know, usually when people go to the beach in the wee hours of the morning, it's because they want to be alone."

Owch, that was cold. And even though I usually act like this toward everyone, there's something in this boy's eyes and in the way his smile falters after my icy dismissal that makes me feel somehow guilty for snubbing him. He looks familiar. I think I must have seen him at school or around town or something. He doesn't stick out in my mind as one of the insufferable Career wannabes or arrogant town kids. He's got a sad sort of kindness around him that immediately makes my cheeks burn with shame for being so cold. And now I feel like I have to do something that I'm even worse at than talking to other humans - apologizing.

"That wasn't... I didn't mean... Look, I'm just having an off night. I shouldn't have snapped like that. I've seen you at school before. You're...

I find I can't remember his name. And now I look like I'm stupid and a jerk. Letting out another huff of air, I give up on the conversation and sit down, tucking my knees to my body, picking up a piece of driftwood and drawing absently in the sand. I don't hear any sound behind me. Maybe the boy went away after all. I've got a habit of driving people away, after all. I don't like getting close to people. The people you're close to always leave. Always. Like my mother. I scrunch my eyes shut, willing myself not to cry in case the boy is still standing there.

Ah, so he hasn't left. But if I haven't seen him at school, why is he so familiar? I bite my lip in concentration, trying to place where I've seen this boy before...

"Fledger. Fledger Rells."

Once he puts a name with his face, I remember him. I've seen him around the docks a few times, his boat usually comes in right behind mine during the summer. I've heard some of my crewmates that must know him call out to him on occasion. Well, this Fledger kid is pretty obviously not going to leave me alone, and it's been so long since I've spoken at length to another person that the conversation is almost welcome. I push myself back to my feet, flinging the stick of driftwood at a sand bar a few yards away. I can't help but smirk when I see the perfect angle it makes when it hits.

"Maybe I should have been a Career," I scoff under my breath, only half sarcastic. I'm one of the best harpooners in the whole whaling fleet, and I'm no loser when it comes to knife-throwing, which turns out to be a pretty fun way to pass the time on long ocean voyages, where throwing sharp objects at a wall is preferable entertainment to actually talking to people.. Besides, being in the Games would certainly earn a better living then fishing. And if I died, at least I wouldn't have to worry about working any more. I turn back to Fledger, doing my best to seem less hostile.

"I remember you now. Your boat docks behind mine sometimes. I'm River Destin, I work on Whaler Number Three. Nice to meet you, Fledger."

I extend my hand, not sure if he'll want to shake it after I've been such a complete witch to him, but it seems like the thing to do.

"I'm pretty much out here on a nightly basis," I admit, my hands going back to my hair, still trying to comb out the snarls made by the wind. "I don't sleep that much."

I can see Fledger's gaze fixed on the ocean behind me, and I whip my head around to see what he's looking at. I can't see anything, only that vast, terrifying expanse of deadly black water. Even though I try to restrain it, I shudder visibly, feeling sick to my stomach. I turn back around, looking at Fledger, who is definitely a preferable sight to the hungry, roaring seas. The ocean that has claimed the lives of so many people who didn't deserve to lose them. Mother...

I can't stop the flow of images in my mind. I am seven years old again, clinging desperately to a floating chunk of wood that is one of the few remnants of our capsized sailboat. The storm came on fast and strong, and the rain is coming down so hard that I can barely distinguish the grey sky from the ravenous waters that are trying their hardest to pull me under. My mother clutches my hand desperately tightly, telling me through mouthfuls of saltwater that it will be all right, that daddy will come back soon with help. But he won't be back soon enough, we both know it. And the flimsy piece of wood is doing a pathetic job of supporting our weight, it won't last much longer. It would do well to support one person, a small person. Perhaps a little girl. I see what my mother plans to do a second before she does it. I'm crying, screaming for her not to do it, but she pulls me to her quickly, kisses me on the forehead one last time, and lets go of the wood. The storm-tossed waves pull her under almost immediately, and I do not see her resurface. And I know that water, that hungry, vicious, insatiable water will come for me next.

I'm aware of myself making a small, choked, terrified noise, and I'm back on the beach with Fledger again. I shake my head trying to clear my thoughts. How long was I zoned out? Why am I shaking so badly? And what does Fledger make of all this? The poor boy's only just met me and here I am, going all post-traumatic stress on him. I bite down hard on my lip to compose myself, not caring that I am exposing the gap between my front teeth that I'm usually so careful to conceal. We never could afford for the dentist to fix it.

"I'm really sorry," I say, disgusted by how weak and unsettled my voice sounds. "I just... I don't like the ocean. It frightens me."

Yeah, now he really must think I'm a complete crazy. What kid from District 4 is afraid of the water? I sigh, heavily, bringing a few fingers up to each of my temples, rubbing small circles to try to quell the massive headache I can feel coming on. This is why I can't deal with people. I'm just not cut out for it. I have two choices right now. I can either cut my losses and walk away, or I can spill my guts to Fledger and have a bit of hope that he'll understand or even care. Ah well, he already thinks I'm nuts, why not go for the latter?

"When I was seven... we were on a sailboat, just going for a ride. It was my birthday. We brought along lunch and a cake and everything. And... there was a storm. A bad one. The wind caught the sail and capsized the boat before we could do anything. The waves tore the boat to pieces in minutes. Dad swam to get help, and there was only this little piece of wood to hold up Mother and I. It couldn't handle both of us, and we were sinking. She... she was pulled under, and I watched, too scared to do anything. And I could feel the water, I could feel it coming after me, and I knew I was next, and I would have died too, I know it, but the rescue boat showed up right before the current pulled me under. I know it's stupid, but water just makes me... uneasy. And I know the beach seems like a weird place to go for someone who's terrified of the ocean, but I feel like I'm safe as long as I'm on land. And from here, I can look out at that water and dare it to come get me, and I know it can't. It's a sick kind of empowerment..."

I look back at Fledger to gauge his reaction. "Oh God, I'm sorry, you must think I'm completely unhinged. I don't know why I said all that, I'm sorry... Ugh, this is why I don't talk to people." I kick viciously at the ground, sending a cloud of sand flying. I know that Fledger isn't going to talk to me now that I've exposed my insanity, so I storm off up the beach without another word. A part of me hopes that he'll stop me even if he does think I'm crazy.

My eyes widen involuntarily. So Fledger's lost someone too. And he understands. He gets why I come out here almost every night. He's on the same level. And in this instant, every part of my mind is screaming at me to stay with this boy, because its been so long since I've talked to someone who understands that I've almost forgotten what it feels like. Fledger's understanding and reassurance is comforting, and I realize that I've forgotten what comfort feels like as well. I usually don't trust people at all, but something about Fledger Rells has made me feel so entirely at peace that I'd be stupid to go running off again.

"I'm sorry," I say, shuffling my feet absently in the sand. "About your dad, I mean. And thanks for understanding. It's good to talk to someone who knows what its like. You're the first person I've talked to who doesn't think I'm stupid for being afraid of the ocean. I mean, I'd stop being frightened if I could, it certainly makes work difficult enough."

I look back out at the endless waters, fighting down the shiver of fear again. "I mean, when you think about it, the ocean's very deadly. It covers about seventy-five percent of the earth, you can't drink it, you've got dangerous things like riptides and tsunamis... Maybe its stupid to not be afraid of it. Because when you underestimate something, it usually comes back to bite you in the ass."

I find myself actually smiling as I turn back to look at Fledger. "But enough about me. I believe I never asked you what you were doing out here."

Go swimming? At first, the thought is so ridiculous that I almost laugh. I haven't been swimming in ten years. I'll walk around on a boat, sure, but actually submerging myself in water? There's no way. I try to remember the last time I went swimming. I used to really enjoy it, it think, before the sight of the ocean made me want to puke. But now the thought of swimming, even with Fledger there with me, is so terrifying that I momentarily forget how to breathe. What if we were to hit a riptide and I got sucked under? I'd be a goner for sure. I'm positive that after being out of the water for so long I wouldn't even know how to doggy paddle.

Why am I even considering this? I can't go swimming. I can't set foot in the ocean that will surely swallow me up if I get too near to it. I can't do it. And I won't. I'll just tell Fledger right now to forget it, that I'll stand here and watch. But for some reason, the words don't leave my mouth. I don't know why, but I can't bring myself to say no to this sweet guy that's stayed with me on the beach in the cold and let me talk out my problems, and whose life is so similar to my own. I can't tell him no, but I can't go into that water. I am at an unwinnable impasse.

If I don't go in that far... If I stay near enough to Fledger that he can grab me if something happens... No. What am I thinking? Why should I trust someone I've known for this minuscule amount of time? But why shouldn't I trust him? He has no reason to go back on his word. And while I'm standing here weighing my options, I could just grit my teeth and do it, the first step to overcoming my fear. That's it, then.

Exhaling shakily, I reach out and grip Fledger's hand firmly, shocked at how warm and steady his hand is against my cold, shaky one. I look up into his gray eyes, trying my best to look brave, even though my voice wavers when I finally force the words past my lips.

"Don't let go."

And I take my first step towards the ocean.

The water is cold, but not unpleasantly so. The sharp drop in temperature is more invigorating than discomforting. I'm fine for the first couple of steps, but once I get far enough in to feel the insistant pull of the waves around my legs, the gut-wrenching fear kicks in. I keep a death grip on Fledger's hand as he guides me until I am standing in water up to my knees. The heat and reassurance of his hand, solid in mine, is what keeps me sane, stopping me from turning tail and heading for the shore as fast as possible. Being here with Fledger doesn't erase my terror, but calms it immensely, enough to keep me here beside him. My breath comes in short, sharp little gasps, partly because of the fear and partly because the water is positively icy. It is now that I realize my eyes have been clenched shut from the time I set foot in the water. I force myself to open them, surprised by what I see.

From the beach, the ocean looks like a large, hulking monster waiting to swallow me whole. But from here, within the water, it is a thing of beauty. The moon glints off the obsidian waves, which ripple around Fledger and I like an endless bolt of bluish-black silk. I am shocked that my fear has virtually evaporated now that I'm taking in this breathtaking scene. How could anything so lovely be so deadly? My viselike hold on Fledger relaxes, and I turn to thank him, wanting to try taking a few steps on my own. But he's staring at me strangely. I'm about to ask him what's wrong when he speaks up.

"River, can I kiss you?"

"Wh-what?" His request catches me completely off guard. I've never been kissed in my life. I've always been too busy with work and taking care of Dad to worry about things like boys. And even if I had been interested in romance, I didn't think any guy would want the nutcase who's afraid of the water. But, the more I mull it over, the more I want to accept Fledger's offer. He's a nice-looking guy, but that has nothing to do with it. It's the comfort he has given me in the short time we have known each other. It's the understanding of my fear, and the desire to help me overcome it. The steady reassurance that he gave me when he held my hand and guided me into the ocean. The way my fear and doubt has evaporated in his presence. I've felt more comfortable here on this lonely beach with Fledger than I've ever felt.

"I'd like that very much," I finally say, fighting the blush that creeps up my cheeks. Deep down, I know that this goes far beyond what I like and don't like, and I think Fledger does too. Even after this small amount of time with him, I realize that I need this. I need him. Because he understands.