the pain of feeling—

A long pause. Okay, so she just has to say — something, right? Curiosity burns harder than the sun. Julie is underneath the shade of palms. He is not. Lets the sun beat down on him, half-dressed and somehow regal in spite of it. He seems to come by during the day more often than not. Nights are reserved, she thinks, for her. Which she hates. And wants to learn about. So she thinks and thinks. Settles on something. Tears come to her before her resolve does. Says finally, looking at the waves: "I think. Um." Blinking, she sniffs, looks even further away. Wow, this sucks, huh? "My mom — helped, uh, put me on that. Boat?"

He's seen her hunger, the kind that has nothing to do with the food he cut into small bites and lifted to her mouth when she was still too weak to serve herself. He knows his best recourse is to feed her just enough of himself to keep her hungry — if he ever wants to leave this accursed island.

But it gnaws at him, too. How long has it been since he's had anyone to speak to but her?

Odysseus keeps his arms loosely folded across his broad chest, a stance that doesn't soften with her tears, but he watches her with a great deal of care. Not to let the curiosity get the best of him.

Why is the obvious question, so it isn't the one he asks.

—Well, that never works, anyway. She doesn't think she ever learned anything of Géraud. Not anything of use about him, all their time together. All those years. Her heart pings at the reminder. Maybe that's her curse, more than anything that could ever come from the sea: the unknowable distance between her and anything she loves.