Below Deck, page 10
‘You’ll be off watch soon.’ AJ’s smile catches in the moonlight.
I nod, as if my body hurts any less below deck.
The night is held back from black by moonlight. Beyond us is deep blue like ocean mud. Swells are outlined with silver pen. I’m cradling the bulge of my bruise now. Enduring the pain is the slightest bit easier with my right hand cupped under my left armpit. But then we hit two waves that have doubled into each other. We drop down the back of one wave and crash into the oncoming swell. Water surges across the bow and I’m washed off my seat into the cockpit, landing on my left side. I cry out. This pain has yellowed. A stab with a hot knife.
AJ helps me back to the bench seat, sits me beside him. We’re both drenched and, despite the heat, I’m shivering. He wraps one arm around me.
‘How are you so cold? We’re in the tropics!’
We lift on another wave and I notice something beyond the bow of the boat—an enormous barrel, maybe, glowing under the moon.
‘Did you see?’
We surf down into a dark trough and it disappears.
‘See what?’
We rise and I point: ‘There!’
AJ jumps up. ‘What the hell is that?’
Suddenly a whale’s tail lifts out of the sea some thirty feet away from the barrel, thirty feet closer to us than the bulk of its body.
‘Holy shit!’ AJ rushes to the helm. ‘Hold on.’
I grip a lifeline as he throws the wheel starboard and we surf down the back of the wave at such an angle the yacht keels over. I hear plates fly out of the cupboards downstairs, smashing in the galley. I locked the cupboards. I know I locked them. There’s yelling below deck.
At that moment, the tail comes down at the water with a cold, violent slap, like a hand across a face. Wet with tears. The whale raises its head to the surface and exhales through its blowhole. The clouds open up.
Fish guts rain down from the heavens.
Below deck: ‘This shit fucking reeks.’
‘You two aren’t sleeping in the bunks, you’ll stink them out,’ Cam says, getting into his wet-weather gear.
AJ scoffs. ‘Where else are we gonna sleep?’
‘Sleep in the bow cabin.’
‘There’re sails in there, idiot.’
‘So move them, idiot.’
Vlad sits up in his bunk. ‘Chill, boys, alright?’
‘Whatever,’ AJ mutters. He grabs my hand. ‘Come on, Oli.’
I follow AJ into the bow cabin. And in the moment before he shuts the door, I notice Cam glaring at me from the other side of the galley. His eyes are so sharp. They could puncture skin.
AJ moves the sails to one side of the bed, clearing enough space for one body. The boat lurches and we knock heads. His quiet laugh brushes my cheek. ‘You okay?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Good,’ he whispers, his hand sweeping my matted hair off my face, eyes smiling in the dark.
He touches my chin, gently lifting it with his thumb and forefinger. Our lips brush.
AJ is slowly. And then he’s all at once.
All at once he’s a tongue shoved down my throat. He’s a hand reaching under my sodden top. He’s a cold hand gripping the flesh of my breast like he’s squeezing blood from a lemon.
And suddenly all the colours of desire, all the hands touching, and quiet words, and dimples, and eyes smiling, are extinguished like a burning wick put out with the pinch of a thumb and forefinger. AJ is a sharp pinch. Callused skin. Pinching darkness.
I push back and wedge the word, ‘Wait,’ in the thin corridor between his mouth and mine.
‘I’ve been waiting to kiss you for so long.’
‘AJ, stop.’
He kisses me again, pinches my nipple so hard my vision is blotted pink.
I’m choking on flesh.
‘You’re so fucking sexy.’
I steal a breath. The air is thick and wet.
‘AJ.’
‘Mm.’ He grins, licks his lips. ‘I love the way you say my name.’
‘Please.’ I can feel my throat constricting, tears welling.
Behind his shoulder, light sneaks through a tiny porthole. But down here, it isn’t smooth silver. It’s barbed grey.
I miss her. I miss the moon so much.
‘Please …’
He silences me with a kiss.
Silenced with a kiss. Swept off my feet. Up against a wall. We’re supposed to dream of that, aren’t we?
I wriggle … writhe.
He thrusts his body so hard against mine I see stars and my starry-eyed kiss becomes my pants pulled to my ankles, the air as shocking as deep winter between my legs. I pull my pants up. And then I’m pulling them up again, and then again, and then again. I form a sentence with my bones; write a sentence with my body.
And then he turns the page.
I exist?
Is this what rape is? Am I about to be raped? Why aren’t I fighting back? Fight back! I am! No you’re not. Fight back. Fight back! I can’t move. I can’t breathe. Say something. I can’t breathe.
He sticks a finger in me.
This story has so many beginnings.
There was the first time I saw AJ, when he was up the mast, looking down at me from above, whistling at me, and I was smiling inside. The time he helped me with the washing-up and our hands touched and I wanted it to last longer. The time I lied about having had sex at sea. One finger down. The time I fought with Adam in a restaurant and ended up shit-faced on an old man’s boat. The time I caught my dad cheating on my mum. The first time he shut her up. There was this afternoon at dusk, when AJ switched with Cam to do the darkest-hour watch with me, and I felt really good about it. There was Cam’s piercing stare and the shutting of a door. And then there was the kiss I’d wanted. A kiss I’d sought, a kiss I’d invited. Of course I did. He’s great. AJ’s a great guy. I like him. I liked him. The clouds open up.
Fish guts.
My spine is grinding against the hard wall of the hull. The body of the boat. Battering oncoming swells. He rips my underwear. Wedges his leg between my thighs, opening me up. Flesh cleaved apart. He undoes his fly. Bites my neck. Wriggles out of his shorts.
This is happening.
Is this really happening?
This is really happening.
And then, just like that, a thought bubbles inside me. It’s a beginning; a new beginning; my beginning. The beginning of the story I tell myself in order to survive.
If I have sex right now, it’s my decision. I’m deciding this. I’m going to have sex. I’m going to have sex with AJ. I’m deciding this right now. This is mine. I’m choosing.
I’m choosing.
We choose to breathe, don’t we?
fish scales
She’s an entertainer, my mum. Loves it. Loves the champagne pour and the pearls and the polished nails. Her laugh. Her painted lips. Her long, dark lashes, fluttering like black butterflies. It’s all perfectly timed. Like there’s a person behind her eyelids, holding up the cards. Laugh. Smile. Blink. Blink.
I slurped my soup. I knocked over the wine. I laughed when I was supposed to smile. Smiled when I was supposed to laugh. I was a liability.
And so she tried—my God, how she tried—to teach me. Sit up straight. Wipe your chin. Laugh. Smile. Blink. Blink.
She bought me the dresses, the shoes, the matching socks. She plaited my hair and tied ribbons at the end.
But then, when I was thirteen, the pimples appeared—my face was blemished. ‘Must be from your father’s side,’ she said. ‘I never had bad skin.’ And everything became about the skin. The bad skin. And the party. The party of the year. At our house. And my skin. And the party. ‘What will they think?’
So she took me shopping for make-up to cover and conceal. Only, my skin, my bad skin, didn’t respond well. It was allergic to the make-up. ‘Mum, it’s itchy,’ I said. But she wasn’t listening. There were guests arriving and champagne corks popping. Pearls and polished nails.
How was the flight? Did you love New York?
By the time she turned to introduce me, my skin was raised in hives.
Laugh. Smile. Blink. Blink.
I was ushered into the bathroom, where Mae Grace helped me remove the make-up, and then sent to my room, where I stayed for the rest of the party.
Oh yes, poor Liv isn’t feeling well. A cold. She must have picked it up from school.
The next day, my skin was flaking. Like fish scales drying in the sun. It was sore and red, white at the edges.
But it was nothing like this.
I pull down my pants, the boat lurches. I steady myself against the wall. The boat falls down the back of a swell. I fall back onto the toilet seat. Land heavy. Wince. I spread my legs, lean over. My skin is raw. It’s red and sore, bruised at the edges. Flaking off. Scaly. Like fish scales drying in the sun. I start to pee and it burns. My vagina burns as if I’m lying on the deck with my legs splayed. Open to the scorching sun. Open for everyone to see. I start to cry, cupping my hand over my mouth so no one can hear me scream.
None of the boys have cleared the smashed plates from the galley.
‘You have to lock the doors, Oli,’ says Zach, standing over me as I sweep up the broken pieces. ‘It’s like the first rule,’ he says.
‘I did lock them,’ I say. I’m sure I did. At least, I think I did. I always lock them. Don’t I? I’m sure I do.
‘Obviously not,’ he mutters, putting on his board shorts.
Hunter sticks his head down the hatch. ‘What’s for brekkie?’
‘Something we can eat with our hands,’ says Zach.
‘What? Why?’
‘Oli didn’t lock the cupboards, so all the plates smashed when we almost hit that whale. I don’t know how you slept through it.’
Hunter shakes his head. ‘That’s like rule number one when you work a galley, Oli.’
‘So I’ve heard,’ I say, picking up the final pieces. ‘I’ll make sandwiches.’
Up on deck, I hand out sandwiches to Hunter and Zach. Vlad and Cam are below deck, asleep. AJ comes into the cockpit with a jerry can, dripping oil on the deck.
He holds it up. ‘This is leaking.’
‘Chuck it,’ says Hunter.
AJ shrugs, then lobs it over the side. It lands with a splash, then begins to sink, oil slick swirling like words uttered in another time.
He leans over the side, washes the mess off his hands, then takes a seat in the cockpit. When I pass him his sandwich, he winks at me. I imagine it like a lizard’s slimy third eyelid, sliding horizontally. My spine curls.
‘I saw that,’ remarks Hunter. ‘This flirting is making me sick.’
‘No on-board romance, please,’ says Zach.
AJ laughs. The sound is sour green. Under my skin. In me.
‘Too late, I think!’ Hunter says, pointing at my neck.
‘For fuck’s sake,’ Zach mutters.
‘AJ and Oli sitting in a tree,’ sings Hunter, ‘K-I-S-S-I-N-G.’
AJ flicks Hunter’s ear. ‘Grow up,’ he says, and Hunter giggles.
I walk across the cockpit to sit at the helm with Zach. As I pass AJ, I feel him tap me on the bum. My whole body shudders. It makes Hunter’s laugh thicken.
‘I think we should try to catch a fish today,’ I say, desperate to change the subject.
‘Great idea, Oli,’ says Zach, getting up to fetch two fishing reels from under his seat. ‘Should we make it a competition?’
‘AJ’s already caught his,’ Hunter manages, then cracks up again.
This time AJ laughs too.
‘Yeah, yeah,’ says Zach dryly. ‘Very funny.’ He attaches the reels to the boat, one on the port rail and one on the starboard. ‘Oli and I are blue reel. You idiots are red. Loser has to gut it.’
‘What kind of bet is that?’ AJ smirks. ‘I’d happily gut it.’
Hunter laughs. ‘Mate, you’re fucked.’
‘Do you know the best way to kill a fish?’ asks Zach.
‘Pour alcohol into its gills,’ I say.
‘How’d you know that?’
‘A friend told me.’
He nods and sits back down beside me. ‘I underestimated you,’ he says, quietly so that the other two don’t hear.
I open my mouth to speak, to tell him, Yeah, you did … But before my words fully form, the fishing line behind Zach tweaks, slackens, and then pulls tight. He jumps up, shouts, ‘We got one!’
Hunter says, ‘I’ll get the rum,’ and disappears downstairs. By the time he’s back on deck, Zach is landing the fish in the cockpit. Hunter unscrews the bottle.
‘We’re not wasting the rum,’ AJ says, pushing Hunter out of the way. He reaches down and unlatches the winch handle from the winch. ‘Give it here,’ he says to Zach, who kicks the fish across the cockpit.
Watching the fish flounder, I think how instant this death could be, with Hunter’s rum. Straight into the gills. How nice. Because three minutes is an awfully long time when you can’t breathe.
You don’t even know how long that is. It’s disgustingly long. Because it’s not just the sex, how dry and how suffocating it is, the occupation of space, the invasion of your home. The pollution. How they make your skin stretch for their body, how they make you tear.
It’s all the other ways they make you stretch too, make you stretch into hours as you lie awake with their breath scraping against your neck, like a knife scraping fish scales off your slimy body. Lying awake, just waiting for the sun to rise, lying there with cum oozing out of you, waiting for the moon to disappear because you can’t bear for her to see you like this.
It would be so much kinder to pour alcohol into your gills, straight into your brain.
But he doesn’t. AJ doesn’t want to waste the rum, so he bludgeons the fish with the winch handle. Again. And again. Because the damn thing won’t stop squirming. And, even when the fish goes limp, its face now mutilated, head caved in, I’m not convinced that it won’t feel the hook pulled out of its lips, that it won’t feel the red sting of each individual scale being scraped off. Scales like shards of glass floating in a pool of blood, glinting in the sun.
Below deck, Cam is climbing out of his bunk. He rubs his eyes, looks at me, his vision focusing. ‘What the fuck is that on your neck?’
I feel my neck, feel the bruise. Feel the love bite at the hollow of my throat.
‘It was AJ, wasn’t it?’
I nod.
‘Did you have sex with him?’
‘He had sex with me.’
Or maybe I should say: He had sex on me, in me. He stuck his dick in something. He put something in me. Had to force it because it wouldn’t go in. That happens, you know. Clamshell closes, pink lips sealing to protect black pearl. Closing, shutting, squeezing, sealing, shutting up, I shut up. And then I moaned, because I chose to have sex. I’m choosing to have sex. This is the sound you’re meant to make when you’re choosing to have sex. This is the sound you make when it feels good, wow, so good my leg is shaking. My body is shaking. I moan. It’s the sound you make when someone is having sex at you, so deep I have my palm on my belly and I can feel him thrusting, feel him pushing from the inside out. And my leg, it’s shaking because he’s so deep. I’m deep blue ocean mud. So deep in ocean my eardrums burst. And my body is shaking because I think maybe he’ll thrust out through my belly button so I push back down on my belly with my hand, trying to hold my flesh together.
‘Are you fucking serious?’ Cam says. He is furious.
I exhale in relief … my body is heard. I’m heard. He hears me.
‘Yes.’
Cam shakes his head, says, ‘I can’t believe you’d do this to me.’
‘Wait, what?’
‘I liked you!’ he says, spitting his words at me. ‘And now I have to look at him every day. I mean, couldn’t you have at least waited till you were off the boat?’
‘He had sex with me.’
‘So what? You didn’t want it?’
I don’t say anything. Silence pools.
‘Is that what you’re trying to say?’
The sound of no sound is sick yellow.
‘That he raped you?’
‘I’m not going to say that.’
‘So he didn’t rape you?’
‘It’s not like that,’ I say, holding onto my belly, something pushing from the inside out. ‘It’s … it’s complicated.’
There was black and white, like when I pulled my pants up for the fourth time and said, No. And then there was grey, like when I took my top off, like when I bent over and stuck my arse out. Like when I took him in my mouth, because that hurt less. Black and white, like when he pushed so hard on the back of my head I gagged and threw up into my mouth.
‘There’s an in between.’
Cam says, ‘He either raped you or he didn’t.’
I’m whispering. But I want to scream. ‘We’re in the middle of the fucking ocean, Cam! I’m not using that word.’
Rape.
Rape is the deepest red I’ve ever seen.
‘Oli, if he raped you, I’ll kill him.’
‘That’s why! If I use that word, the shit will hit the fan.’
‘But if he did it, he should be punished.’
I can feel AJ in me.
‘I don’t want any of this,’ I say, tears welling.
‘Well, why did you tell me then?’
Holding onto my belly, I say, ‘You asked.’ I sit back onto a bunk and my body folds over, folds in two.
‘I don’t even know if I believe you.’
‘What?’
I can feel AJ. He’s in me. He’s in me! I can’t breathe. He’s in me. Like sour blood, like curdled milk. My bruised rib is pulsing. I can smell his cum on me, sticky on flaky skin, fish scales scraped away. Slice fish open, guts spew out. Slice my belly. Watch him spew out. Fish guts. This shit reeks.
‘Like, I don’t know whether to feel sorry for you, or hate you.’
‘You should believe me.’
Cam looks me square in the face. Those piercing eyes; they could puncture skin. What happens when you puncture an eyeball, when you stick a pin in it? Does it burst? What gushes out? I imagine my eyeball like a water balloon, full of mucus and sick yellow fluid, sick yellow like my silence, the sound of no sound. Stick a pin in my eye and my eyeball bursts, sick raining down my cheeks like fish guts from the heavens.
