The new bride pat Renée's arm reassuringly after mistaking the reason for the flustered reaction.
"Hey, it's fine. Don't worry. Though I guess someone who writes about teens finding magical doors to other realities and the troubles they go through might imagine worse scenarios than being trapped on a well stocked resort island."
Bringing up her popular work, Renée managed a weak smile. Then she averted her eyes in a way that had nothing to do with storm concerns. The bride's eyes narrowed.
"Wait. That's not your 'everything is terrible' face. That's your 'I *did* something' face."
For someone that was never her dorm mate, Leana had always been spot on with certain behaviors. Especially if it involved gossip about a good time. She would often ask about her friend's night with her girlfriend with an ease similar to if they were talking about the weather.
She leaned closer, that intrusive journalist mode fully engaged.
"What did you do? When did you do it? My source didn't mention-"
"Your expensive source was probably busy with actual work last night."
The annoyed words slipped out before Renée could stop them. Being spied on wasn't something she appreciated. She immediately regretted *everything* as Leana's eyes lit up like she'd just discovered the plot for the writer's new book in a trash can.
[I still can't believe she posted that short story to her blog behind my back.]
"Oh my god~"
Unfortunately, she couldn't think of anything worse than durian to send to her when they got to the mainland. It was the one thing she knew the woman hated. Even if it would not be the cheapest prank. The bride's voice dropped to an excited whisper.
"Did you and her have-"
"No! I mean... not exactly..."
She interrupted quickly with a hiss, but still couldn't help but half tell the truth. Something did happen and almost happened. Renée had an experience that told her it would only be worse if something got back to her old friend later. The woman's grin widened.
[I should have stayed in my room.]
"Not exactly? Well, well… if we're sharing not-exactly stories, let me tell you about my night. Marcus and I found this amazing little hidden cove and then we-"
"Please don't."
Renée pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes.
"I write Young Adult fiction. Keep it PG-13 today, not NC-17."
"Says the woman who just… did something that my source missed telling me about?"
The journalist was viciously sweet as she made it clear her teeth were fully sunk into this tale. If she wasn't provided her morsel, then other people would be forced to feed her.
"I might have... gone into her room."
"AND?!"
"And left. Very quickly."
Renée stared at her hands as she worried with her fingers. The tips of the digits were itchy with more circulation than normal thrumming through her. Talking about what had been done only made her think about what would have happened.
"After... after kissing her."
Leana's squeal of delight was thankfully masked by the day manager tapping the mic and calling for attention again. But the look she shot Renée promised this conversation wasn't over. The one 'warned' hadn't expected any different.
[At least now, she won't go bother… someone else.]
"We're implementing some temporary room reassignments to ensure everyone's safety."
The woman began to inform everyone. She had a clipboard in hand that she held up. A sign up sheet of some sort, the writer guessed.
"The east wing will need to be evacuated until structural engineers can assess the extent of the damage. Obviously, that's not going to happen until after-"
Renée's attention drifted from the dull explanations. She watched Ayla's hand move across a legal pad, taking notes of it all as if this were a deposition. The controlled movement of her fingers on the pen was exactly the same as six years ago.
[Some things don't change because people worked hard to make them that way.]
The writer wasn't thinking of simple writing habits, but her own tactics of hiding her mental states. Still, they were all effectively trapped here - a thought that should have terrified her more than it did. Instead, she felt an unsettling layer of relief over the anxiety.
It meant more time… more chances to say what she needed to try saying before they split apart again. As well as more opportunities to flee temporarily and get that cowardice out of her system. While still being stuck close enough to make new decisions.
The meeting concluded with practical details about future meal schedules and other emergency 'survival' procedures. Which mostly amounted to business as usual, despite being unable to leave the island. The ferry usually made minimal trips despite only being an hour away from Puerto Rico.
When told supplies would last a week easily, people began to drift toward the breakfast buffet that had been set up along one wall. Renée stayed in her seat, watching Ayla gather her notepad and pen to put it inside her briefcase. There were so many people and so many reactions to the news the writer could be studying.
[I can't bring myself to care.]
When the woman turned, her amber eyes met the green-hazel briefly across the room. Something electric passed between them through the distance. Some echo of last night's desperation that begged them to close the space.
Then Ayla looked away first… and Renée felt the loss of the moment like a physical thing.
[No, I deserve that.]
She waited until Ayla had left the room before standing and heading to the buffet. The food looked good, but her stomach churned at the thought of eating. Old habits whispered with new reasons as the heavy stone feeling revealed itself. She knew she should have taken medication, but had felt rushed to come out of the room.
"Did you see the lightning strike this morning? The whole dock just lit up."
"I was a bit… busy."
Marcus replied with an awkward exasperation. They would have been leaving for their honeymoon tour this morning, originally. But more than that, no matter how good friends they were… he really didn't want to talk about his excitable wife and their bedroom escapades this early in the morning.
[I guess opposites do attract.]
Renée grabbed a piece of toast she knew she wouldn't eat and fled before the bride could corner her and threaten her with tales about their sexual adventures... in order to press for more information about what happened between her and Ayla.
Because nothing happened, really. A mistake of a kiss was not a big deal, she was sure. It seemed clear that was how the lawyer was taking it.
Her room key felt heavy in her pocket as she walked the long way back. The envelope waited for her, exactly where she'd left it. She'd half expected it to have somehow escaped. To have found its way to Ayla's door on its own.
To have spilled its impossible truth into the world while she wasn't watching it vigilantly.
"But this life has no magical realism, just realism."
The writer mumbled as she closed the door behind her.