I howl with laughter when he plops down next to me, then I scream when the movement causes a small bit of water to splash onto my arm.

“It’s just water, Alyssa.”

I sit up and the slight rocking of the boat combined with the alcohol sloshing inside my belly are making me queasy. Not one to admit defeat, I grab the two wooden oars lying under my right foot and hand one to Nick.

“Sit up and row,” I order him.

He raises his eyebrows at my bossiness, but he can’t hide his smile as he sits up across from me so we’re knee-to-knee. Then we row. I grip the handle of the oar in both hands and push it forward. It dips into the ocean and I pull the handle backward to propel the boat through the water. It feels good to do something physical, considering all I’ve done since I arrived on the island five days ago is walk the streets.

About ten minutes later, I begin to feel the burn in my arms and, looking up, I notice we’re quite a ways from the docks. The harbor lights twinkle in the distance and the moonlight paints the surface of the water a sparkling silver.

“Wow… Why has it taken you eight years to come back here? It’s beautiful.”

Nick takes the oar from my hand and, for a moment, I have a weird feeling he’s going to throw them into the ocean, along with me. Instead, he sets both oars back on the floor of the rowboat. Then he grabs my hands as he scoots forward a little so one of his knees is between my thighs.

“Beauty appreciates beauty.” He reaches up and softly runs his fingers through my white streak of hair, sending a chill through me. “My mother taught me that only beautiful people are able to see the beauty in the world.” He delicately traces his fingertips over my cheekbone and down to my jawline. “All this is wonderful, but your true beauty lies inside here.” He brings his hand to rest on my chest. “That is what makes you able to appreciate the beauty this island has to offer.” He leans forward and lays a soft kiss on the corner of my mouth. “And why this island has so much to offer you.”

His other hand lands on my thigh as he kisses me. And, though his insight on beauty reminds me of Daimon, he doesn’t seem to measure up otherwise. I begin comparing the movement and pressure of his lips and tongue to that of Daimon.

Daimon wouldn’t swirl his tongue like that. Daimon wouldn’t open his mouth that wide.

So stupid. Of course, Daimon wouldn’t do any of those things, because he’s dead.

Nick moans into my mouth as his hand pushes up the skirt of my dress.

I lay my hand over his and pull my head back to stop him. “I think I should go home.”

“So soon?”

“Yes.”

He sits back and I can’t tell if he’s disappointed or angry. “As you wish.”

He insists on working both oars on the way back, but the movement of the boat begins to make me queasy again. The moment the boat arrives at the dock, I let a stream of vomit loose into the ocean.

“Sorry, fishies,” I groan, swiping my hand across my mouth.

As soon as Nick helps me out of the boat and onto the dock, I vomit again on his Real Madrid T-shirt.

“Sorry!” I shriek.

He smiles as he shushes me. “We have to keep it down. There are people who live on these sailboats. And don’t worry about the shirt.”

I agree to spend the night in Nick’s bed after he explains to me that I can die if I choke on my vomit in my sleep. I don’t remember much of the walk up to his house other than my vomiting in front of the guard station and onto the stairs leading up to our street. All I know is that, once I’m lying in Nick’s bed, and he spoons me, I forget all about Daimon’s kiss.

Chapter Four

I open my eyes and the sunlight streaming through the window is shining right in my face. A sharp pain pulsates behind my right eye and I hold my hand up to block the light.

“You’re awake.”

I’m suddenly aware of something heavy draped across my belly. Looking down, I see it’s Nick’s arm. I turn sideways and he’s lying on his belly, his cheek nestled against the pillow, wearing a devilish grin.

A burning sensation builds inside my belly. At first I mistake it for butterflies, but as soon as he moves his arm, I realize I’m going to be sick.

“Where’s your bathroom?” I shout my plea as I jump out of bed. “Which way?”

“In the corridor. First door on the left.”

I race out of the bedroom and into the tiny bathroom with the gray walls and marble floors. Slamming the door behind me, I kneel in front of the toilet and gag mercilessly. But nothing comes up, save for a mouthful of bitter, stinging bile.

I rinse my mouth and wipe the tears produced by the effort of my dry heaves. I’m never drinking again. Why would anyone willingly put themselves through that? Humans are strange mammals.

I take a deep breath and I can smell the coffee in the bathroom. Nick must be up. Coming out of the bathroom, I put on a big smile when I find Nick standing next to the kitchen counter, pouring some coffee into a green mug.

“Sit down. I’ll make you my hangover cure.”

“I should probably get going.”

He brings me the green mug of coffee and puts his hand on the small of my back to guide me toward the kitchen table. “You need to eat something. I promise. This will kill your hangover.”

Kill my hangover, I think to myself as I take a seat. Interesting choice of words.

“I’m really not hungry. You don’t have to make me anything. I just want to go home and take a shower. And maybe go back to bed for a while.”

“You can take a shower here,” he says, taking a skillet out of a cupboard.

“I don’t have any clothes. I’ll just wait until I’m home.”

He chuckles as he grabs a whole slew of ingredients from his refrigerator: eggs, tomato, onion, potatoes, and a few ingredients I don’t recognize. He’s probably going to make me an omelet. I guess since we’re in Spain, it would be a Spanish omelet. The thought of eating eggs right now makes my stomach clench and I take deep breaths through my nose to keep from gagging.

“I’m sorry. I really have to get going,” I say, rising from the table and quickly heading for the front door. “I’m not feeling well, but I do appreciate this.”

“Wait. I’m—”

“I’m sorry!” I shout as I hurry outside and quickly close the door behind me.

I rush down the paved walkway and out the garden gate, never looking back. The smell of the ocean is like a soothing balm for my lungs. I realize then just how cooped up I felt in that house with Nick.

As I cross the street, I hear footsteps behind me. My heart races as I imagine Nick running after me. I turn around, prepared to tell him to go home, but there’s no one there.

Fuck! Now I’m hearing things?

I knew something like this would happen. Living in the dark for so long made my sense of hearing quite acute. Suddenly, my face hurts and tears sting my eyes as an awful question enters my mind. Will I ever get used to living in the daylight? Maybe I’m just better suited for the darkness.

The monsters we can’t see are the scariest ones of all.

I knew when my mom said these words to me that she was referring to me. I was the scary monster that no one could see. They hid me from the world to protect others, not just me.

Entering my house, I wipe my tears as I head directly for my bedroom closet to retrieve some clean clothes. I need a shower. I need to wash away the vomit and the salty air that’s dried on my skin.

The moment I open the closet door, my stomach drops. That briny smell that was so thick in the air when we were at the docks last night has invaded my wardrobe. But there’s another smell mixed in with it.

I sniff the small collection of clothes hanging before me and I immediately recall the scent. Fresh and soapy. Earthy like… oak.