Chapter 3: The Night Before
The mirror in my bedroom had never felt like an enemy before. It was just glass, just a reflection, just the same face I'd seen every morning for twenty-one years. But now, standing in front of it in Lisa's crop top and shorts, I barely recognized myself.
The top was a dusty rose color, thin cotton that hugged my ribs and ended just below my breasts, leaving a thick band of skin exposed. The shorts were even worse, white and frayed at the edges, riding high on my hips and ending midthigh. My legs looked long and pale and completely on display. These weren't clothes. These were a dare.
"You're going to give yourself a heart attack if you keep staring like that."
I jumped. Lisa stood in the doorway, leaning against the frame with her arms crossed, watching me with an amused tilt to her lips. She was already dressed for the trip in a loose green dress with a plunging neckline, her dark curls tumbling over her shoulders. The butterfly tattoo on her wrist caught the light.
"I can't wear this," I said, tugging at the hem of the shorts. "I look like I'm going to a club, not a ferry ride."
"Exactly the point." She pushed off the doorframe and walked toward me, her bare feet silent on the wooden floor. "You said you'd try. This is trying."
I grimaced at my reflection. "I look like I don't know what I'm doing."
"You don't." She stopped behind me, close enough that I could smell her perfume, something warm and floral. Her hands came up to my shoulders, light as birds, and she gently turned me to face her. "But that's okay. The island is the best place to learn." Her fingers brushed down my arm, trailing fire across my skin, and settled on my bare waist. The touch was featherlight, but I felt it everywhere. "You have a beautiful body, Emma. It's not something to hide."
My throat went tight. Her hand was still on my waist, warm and steady, and I could feel the heat of her palm through my skin like a brand. The air between us seemed to thicken. I could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, the way her lips parted slightly.
The ferry leaves in an hour," she said, her voice soft. "You have time to change your mind."
I took a shaky breath. "I'm not changing my mind. I'm just..." I gestured vaguely at my exposed stomach. "Working through it."
Lisa's smile widened. She let her hand drop, stepping back, and the absence of her touch left a strange, hollow ache behind. "Good. Because I already called the dock master, and my sponsorship form went in last week. The pass is approved. You're coming with me."
My heart skipped. "It's really happening."
"It's really happening." She looked me up and down, appraising. "But if the crop top is too much, we can compromise. Cover your legs for the ferry ride. Take it off when we reach the island."
I blinked. "Really?"
"Really." She shrugged, easy as anything. "The island rules are for the island. I figure you deserve a buffer zone on the open water. So put on that long skirt you brought, keep the top, and we'll call it a truce." She winked at me. "I'll even let you take the window seat on the ferry."
"Fine," I said, and the word came out relieved. "Fine. Deal."
The skirt was a loose cotton thing I'd bought years ago for a summer that never got warm enough to justify it, light and flowy and reaching my ankles. It felt wrong over the tiny shorts, but it covered my legs, and that was what mattered. By the time I'd pulled on my sandals and grabbed my bag, Lisa was already waiting by the door, jingling her keys.
"You ready, city girl?"
I took a breath. "Ready."
The city fell away behind us as the taxi wound through morning traffic, the skyscrapers thinning out into low buildings and then into the flat grey expanse of the harbor. The ferry was smaller than I expected, a white and blue boat with peeling paint and a deck stacked with crates and fishing nets. It smelled of salt and diesel. A handful of passengers milled about on the dock, most of them dark-haired and sun-browned, and I caught the glint of tattoos on more than one wrist.
Lisa led me up the gangplank, her hand warm in mine, and claimed two seats on the upper deck where the wind could reach us. The engine rumbled to life, and the boat began to pull away from the mainland.
I watched the city shrink as we chugged out into open water. The buildings turned to smudges, the harbor to a line of grey, and then there was only sea, endless and blue, glittering under a high bright sun. The air tasted of salt. I leaned back in my seat and let the wind whip through my hair, feeling something loosening in my chest, something I hadn't realized was wound tight.
Lisa sat beside me, the ferry heaving beneath us as it sliced through the waves. Her hand brushed my knee, gentle and sure, and I felt that warmth again, that thread of something unspoken pulling between us.
"Four hours," she said, raising her voice over the wind. "Then you'll see it."
"I can't wait," I said, and I meant it.
The hours passed strangely fast, the sea hypnotizing me into a trance until the sun climbed higher and the horizon began to change. A smudge of green appeared where the water met the sky, small at first, then growing, taking shape. An island rose from the sea, lush and forested, ringed with cliffs and white sand. A low mountain climbed in the center, covered in dense jungle, and at the base of it, tucked into a sheltered cove, I could see the buildings.
They were whitewashed, most of them, with terracotta roofs and colorful shutters, packed together along a curving harbor. Fishing boats bobbed in the water. Palm trees lined the shore, their fronds waving in the breeze. It looked like the kind of town that belonged on a postcard, peaceful and ordinary and utterly unassuming.
Nothing about it hinted at the secrets I knew. No signs. No banners. Just a quiet fishing village at the foot of a green mountain.
The ferry slowed as it approached the dock, and I stood up as the ropes were thrown from the deck, absorbing every detail. The dock was wood and stone, weathered by salt. A few islanders gathered on the shore, watching the boat with idle curiosity, their skin golden brown, their clothes loose and light. I could see a market square just beyond the dock, stalls with awnings and barrels, and a dusty road climbing up into the town.
"How do you feel?" Lisa asked, stepping close beside me, her shoulder brushing mine.
I stared at the island, at the green mountain and the white sand, at the ordinary, beautiful place that held a world I could barely imagine.
"Nervous," I admitted. "Excited. Like I'm standing at a door."
Lisa laughed, soft and warm. "Then let's walk through it." She grabbed my hand and squeezed.
My heart hammered as the ferry bumped against the dock. The gangplank went down with a heavy thud. Lisa pulled me forward, and I stepped off the boat and onto the jetty.
The jetty was warm wood under my sandals, weathered smooth by years of salt and feet. The ordinary sounds of a working port surrounded me, gulls crying, ropes creaking, the slap of water against hulls. But there was something different in the air here, a hum I couldn't place, a charge like before a storm.
Lisa walked ahead of me, her green dress billowing in the sea breeze, her steps light and sure. She led me past the market stalls and the fishing crews unloading their catch, past a cluster of old men mending nets who nodded at her with easy familiarity. The buildings grew denser, the whitewashed walls closer together, and the dusty road began to narrow.
"The port is the only public part," Lisa said, glancing back at me. "Everything else is through the gate."
"Gate?"
She pointed. Ahead, where the road curved toward the base of the mountain, a tall wall rose from the vegetation. It was old stone, covered in creeping vines and moss, and set into it was a heavy iron gate with intricate scrollwork. Two guards stood before it, dark-skinned and broad-shouldered, dressed in simple linen tunics that left their arms bare. They straightened as we approached.
Lisa walked up to them without hesitation, holding out her wrist. The butterfly tattoo caught the morning light, vivid and unmistakable.
"Sister of the Butterflies," one guard said, his voice warm. He touched two fingers to his chest in a small gesture of respect. "Welcome home."
"Good to be back." She smiled, then gestured at me. "This is my guest. Sponsorship approved, paperwork filed last week."
The other guard stepped forward, studying me with sharp, appraising eyes. He was younger than the first, with a scar through his left eyebrow and tattoos curling up his forearms. "Guest." He said the word like he was tasting it. "New to the island?"
"First visit," Lisa said smoothly.
The young guard's gaze traveled over me, taking in the skirt, the crop top, the nervous way I held my bag against my chest. "She'll need to come through properly. The gate recognizes no coverings."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"Guest law," Lisa said, her voice gentle but firm. "The gate is the boundary. Outside, you wear what you like. Inside, everyone is what they are. No secrets past this wall." She turned to me, her eyes soft. "You knew this was part of it, Emma. The skirt comes off here."
The two guards had stepped back, giving me space. The young one produced something from a pouch at his belt, a small wooden card strung on a leather cord. "Your visitor's pass," he said. "You wear this around your neck at all times. It marks you as a guest, so everyone will know to explain things to you, be patient with you." He held it out. "But first, the covering."
My hands shook as I reached for the waistband of my skirt. The cotton slipped down my legs and pooled at my feet, leaving me in just the crop top and the tiny white shorts. The guards' eyes moved over me, not leering, just observing, cataloguing, the way a customs officer might. The young one nodded once, satisfied.
"Shorts stay?" I asked, my voice small.
"Those are fine," he said. "Guests may keep a covering until they choose otherwise. Some things are learned, not forced." He handed me the card. "Hang this. And welcome."
I fumbled with the leather cord, looped it over my head, and let the wooden card rest against my collarbone. It was warm from his hand, the edges smooth, a single symbol carved into the face that I didn't recognize.
Behind me, I heard the whisper of fabric, and then Lisa's dress was gone. She folded it neatly and set it on a low stone shelf beside the gate, standing in the open air without a stitch of clothing, her body golden brown and utterly at ease. Her breasts were full, her skin smooth, the butterfly tattoo on her lower back just visible above the curve of her ass.
"Better," she said, stretching her arms over her head. "God, I missed this. Clothes are so heavy."
I stared at her. "You're just, you're completely naked."
"It's the island, Emma." She grinned. "I told you. This is how we live." She reached out and took my hand. "Come on. Let's go home."
The gate swung open with a low groan of iron and stone. The young guard stepped aside, and Lisa pulled me forward into the gap.
The light hit me first. Brighter, greener, filtering through a canopy of trees that arched over the path beyond the wall. The air was different too, thick with flowers and earth and something sweet I couldn't identify. The path was dirt, packed smooth, winding between riotous gardens of hibiscus and bougainvillea.
And then the path opened, and I saw the interior of the island.
It was a village, but not like any village I'd ever seen. Whitewashed buildings with terracotta roofs lined a central plaza, their doors open wide to the warm air. Palm trees swayed overhead. A fountain bubbled in the center of the square, stone dolphins spouting water into a wide basin.
And everywhere, everywhere, there were people. Naked people. Nearly naked people. Women with full breasts and milk-beaded nipples, men with sun-bronzed skin and easy strides, children chasing each other between the buildings, their laughter ringing bright.
My eyes caught on a couple by the fountain. He was leaning against the stone rim, his head tilted back, while she knelt between his legs, her mouth moving on him with slow, deliberate rhythm. His hand was buried in her hair. Neither of them seemed to notice or care that they were in the middle of a public square.
Warmth flooded my face. I looked away, and my gaze landed on another scene, three people tangled together on a woven mat outside a doorway, a woman on her hands and knees while a man moved behind her and another woman pressed her breast to the first woman's lips, feeding her. Their soft sounds drifted across the plaza, mixing with the sound of the fountain.
My heart pounded. I gripped Lisa's hand so hard my knuckles went white.
"Easy," she murmured. "You're doing fine."
Around the lovers, other islanders went about their day. A woman hanging laundry on a line, her breasts swaying as she reached up. An old man carving wood on a porch, his body lined and weathered, completely at peace. Two men carrying a crate of fish between them, their bodies brushing as they walked. This was just life here. This was Tuesday.
"It's so normal," I heard myself say. "For them, it's just normal."
"That's the point." Lisa squeezed my hand. "Give yourself time."
I followed her through the plaza, my eyes darting everywhere at once, trying to process the overwhelming reality of it. A woman breastfeeding a toddler on a bench, her other breast offered to a young man who knelt beside her, drinking with an ease that made my throat tighten. A couple pressed against a wall, her legs wrapped around his waist, his hands full of her ass. Another woman walking past them with a basket of bread on her hip, not even glancing.
Lisa led me out of the plaza and down a narrow lane lined with flowering hibiscus, the petals bright as blood against the whitewashed walls. The path curved uphill, past a bakery where a naked woman kneaded dough at an open window, past a cluster of children chasing a ball with a laughing woman lying on a mat nearby, her legs open to the sun. I tried not to stare. I failed.
"Almost there," Lisa said. She seemed lighter here, her steps springier, her shoulders loose in a way I'd never seen on the mainland. "Our house is at the end of the lane."
Our house. I hadn't thought about where we'd stay. I'd assumed a guest house, a hostel, something neutral. But Lisa said *our*, and the word sent a prickle of something electric down my spine.
The lane opened into a small courtyard shaded by a massive banyan tree. A low house with a terracotta roof and wide, open windows faced us, its door standing ajar. Bougainvillea spilled over the walls in cascades of magenta. Two wooden chairs sat by the door, and a hammock hung between two palms, swaying gently in the breeze.
Before we reached the door, it swung open.
A woman stepped out, and I stopped dead.
She was beautiful, in a way that made my breath catch. Dark hair tumbled past her shoulders in thick waves, her skin the color of warm honey, her eyes deep brown and sparkling with welcome. She was completely naked, her body full and womanly, her breasts heavy and tipped with dark nipples that beaded with what I now recognized as milk. A complex tattoo coiled around her right hip, some kind of serpent winding up toward her ribs.
"Lisa!" She cried out, rushing forward with open arms. "You're back, you're back!"
"Mama Jenny!" Lisa laughed and threw herself into the woman's embrace. They hugged hard, rocking together, and I watched as Lisa pressed her face into Jenny's neck. "I missed you. I missed you so much."
Jenny. This was Jenny. Lisa's foster mother. And she looked... I blinked, trying to compute. She looked younger than me. Maybe twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two at most. Her face was smooth, unlined, her body taut and young. But the way she held Lisa, the easy maternal authority in her posture, made her seem older.
"It's good to have you home, little butterfly." Jenny pulled back, cupping Lisa's face in her hands. "You've been gone too long."
"I know. I'm sorry." Lisa's eyes glistened. "There's so much to tell you." She turned, reaching for me, pulling me forward. "This is Emma. My friend. The one I told you about."
Jenny's gaze shifted to me, warm and curious, taking in my crop top and shorts and the wooden pass around my neck. "Welcome, Emma." She reached out and took my hand, her grip soft and dry. "Any friend of Lisa's is family here."
"Thank you," I managed. My voice came out breathy.
"Come in, come in." She released my hand and gestured toward the door. "Adam is inside. And we have our neighbours, Taro and Hana. They'll be so happy to meet you."
She turned, and I caught the full curl of her tattoo, a snake winding around her hip and thigh, its head resting just below her navel. She moved with an easy, liquid grace that made something in my stomach tighten.
Lisa leaned close to me as we followed Jenny inside. "Your face," she whispered. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"She's... she's your mother?"
"Foster mother. And yes." Lisa grinned. "Surprised?"
"She looks my age."
"She is your age, probably." Lisa shrugged. "That's the thing about generations, Emma. The Snakes aren't all old. They're just the generation before us. Some of them are young. Some are ancient. Age doesn't make them mothers. Belonging does. We have the youngest snake who is a toddler now she too is my mother. We also have wolf who is 25. Still he is our son."
We stepped into the house. It was simple and beautiful, white walls, wooden beams, bright textiles in bold patterns. A low table sat in the center of the main room, surrounded by cushions. And there were two men.
One of them rose from a chair near the window, tall and broad-shouldered, his hair dark with threads of silver at the temples. His body was lean and strong, his chest dusted with hair, his face handsome in a weathered, kind way. A serpent tattoo coiled around his left arm, winding up to his shoulder. This had to be Adam. He looked maybe forty-five, but there was a youthfulness to him, a vitality that didn't match the silver in his hair.
"Lisa." His voice was deep and warm. He crossed to her and embraced her, lifting her slightly off the ground. "Welcome home, little one."
"Papa Adam." She hugged him tight, then pulled back. "You look good."
The other man rose from the cushions. He was younger, mid-thirties perhaps, with a lean, wiry build and a sharp, handsome face. A thin scar ran through his left eyebrow, and his chest was smooth, his body sculpted like a dancer's. His serpent tattoo was smaller, curling around his right bicep.
"And this must be Emma." He bowed his head slightly. "I'm Taro. We're neighbours. And this lovely lady," he gestured to a woman rising from the cushions behind him, "is my current partner, Hana."
Hana was probably in her mid-thirties too, with a soft, round body and a serene face. Her breasts were fuller than Jenny's, heavy and low, and milk gleamed at her nipples. She smiled at me, gentle and welcoming, and something in her eyes made me feel instantly safe.
"Welcome, Emma." Her voice was soft and musical. "We're so glad you came."
Jenny moved to the kitchen, a simple open alcove with a stone counter, and began pulling out dishes. "You must be hungry after the journey. We have fresh bread, fish from this morning, fruit from the garden."
"Thank you." I settled onto a cushion at the low table, my legs folding under me. The skirt was gone, but I still felt awkward, exposed in my crop top and shorts. Around me, the four Snakes moved with casual nakedness, utterly at ease.
Lisa sat down beside me and immediately reached for Jenny, who had settled onto a cushion across the table. "Mama, I need this."
Jenny laughed, soft and fond, and opened her arms. Lisa scooted over and leaned in, pressing her mouth to Jenny's breast. I watched, my breath catching, as Lisa's lips closed around Jenny's nipple and she drank, her eyes closing, her whole body relaxing. Jenny's hand came up to stroke Lisa's hair, her expression tender and maternal.
"That's so good," Lisa murmured, pulling back with a wet sound. Milk beaded on her lower lip and she licked it away. "God, I missed your milk, Mama. The mainland stuff is garbage."
Jenny laughed again. "You say that every time."
"Because it's true."
Hana had settled on the other side of the table, and Lisa turned to her, her eyes bright. "Mother Hana. Let me."
Hana smiled, shifting to face her, offering her breast without hesitation. Lisa leaned in and drank from her too, one hand resting on Hana's hip. Taro watched with an indulgent smile, his hand stroking Hana's thigh.
I sat frozen, my hands in my lap, watching Lisa drink from these two women like it was the most natural thing in the world. Because to her, it was.
"We would let you try too, Emma." Hana said, her voice gentle. "But we are restricted to breastfeed outsiders."
My throat went dry. "I don't, I mean, I'm not..."
"No pressure," Jenny said softly. "You're a guest. You drink what you like."
Lisa pulled away from Hana's breast, wiping her mouth. "She's not ready yet, Hana. Give her time." She looked at me with those bright, knowing eyes. "But you will try it, Emma. I promise you that."
Dinner came, and it was simple and delicious. Fresh bread, grilled fish, a salad of greens and citrus, sweet mango slices. I ate hungrily, realizing how long it had been since breakfast on the ferry. The others ate too, but their meal was supplemented by something else. I watched as Adam drank from Jenny's breast, his hand cradling her head, his eyes closed. Then from Hana, who guided his mouth to her nipple with a gentle hand. Taro drank from both women as well, his hands resting on their hips.
And then Jenny turned to Hana. "Trade with me."
Hana laughed and shifted closer. Jenny leaned in and took Hana's nipple in her mouth while Hana did the same to her. They drank from each other, milk mixing at the corners of their lips, their tongues darting out to catch stray drops. It was intimate in a way I couldn't process, two women sharing breast milk, tasting each other. Jenny's hand found Hana's breast, and Hana moaned softly against her skin.
The air in the room changed.
Lisa shifted beside me, her body going still, her eyes fixed on the two women. Taro and Adam watched too, their hands moving to their own bodies, stroking themselves with casual familiarity.
"She tastes good tonight," Jenny murmured, pulling back from Hana's breast with a laugh. "You've been eating the honey flowers again."
Hana laughed. "They're in season. I can't resist."
I became very aware of my own body, the sweat on my skin, the heat pooling low in my belly. I watched Jenny and Hana kiss, their mouths meeting, open and wet, sharing the taste of each other. Taro moved behind Hana, his hands sliding up her thighs. Adam reached for Jenny, pulling her toward him.
"See how they love each other?" Lisa whispered, her breath warm against my ear. "No jealousy. No ownership. Just want."
I couldn't speak. I could only watch.
Taro's hands found Hana's hips, and she rose onto her knees, bracing herself on the cushions. He positioned himself behind her and pushed inside her with a long, slow groan. Jenny watched, her eyes half-lidded, as Adam laid her back on the cushions and settled between her thighs. Her legs wrapped around his waist, her ankles crossing at the small of his back.
"Look at me, Emma," Lisa whispered.
I turned to her. Her hand was on my thigh, warm through the thin cotton of my shorts. Her eyes were dark and steady.
"This is what I wanted you to see," she said. "This is what it means to belong."
Jenny's moan filled the room as Adam pushed into her. Taro had Hana braced against him, his mouth on her neck, her hand reaching back to grip his thigh. The sounds of their coupling rose around us, breathing, sliding, the wet percussion of bodies against bodies.
Hana came first, her body arching, her cries muffled against Taro's shoulder. Jenny watched her with lust-hazed eyes as Adam continued to move inside her, his rhythm steady and sure. After a moment, Jenny reached out and pulled Hana close, kissing her deeply, tasting her cries.
Taro moved behind Jenny then, and I watched, mesmerized, as he slid into her from behind while Adam stayed buried deep. Two men, one woman, moving together. Jenny's head fell back, her mouth open, her body trembling between them.
Adam withdrew, slick and glistening, and repositioned. Taro took his place while Adam knelt in front of Jenny, and she took him in her mouth with a soft, hungry sound. Through it all, Hana lay beside them, her hand trailing across Jenny's belly, her fingers finding their rhythm where the men moved inside her.
I couldn't look away. I didn't want to.
Lisa's hand was still on my thigh. She squeezed gently, grounding me. "Just watch," she murmured. "Let it in."
So I watched. The four of them moved together in a language of touch and breath and want. Taro's scarred face contorted with pleasure as Hana's mouth worked down his length. Jenny moaned around Adam's shaft while he thrust between Hana's breasts, the two women's bodies pressing together, their sobs of pleasure mixing with sound like music.
When they finished, they collapsed together in a pile of slick, shining limbs, breathless and laughing. Hana reached for Jenny's hand. Adam pressed a kiss to Jenny's forehead. Taro stroked Hana's hair.
"That," Jenny said, her voice rough and satisfied, "is what welcome-home feels like."
I sat there, my heart pounding, my skin prickled with heat, Lisa's hand warm on my trembling thigh.
She smiled at me. "You still want to go home?"
"I still want to go home," I said, and the words came out before I could stop them. My voice was thin, barely a whisper, but it cut through the thick, satisfied quiet of the room. "That was... that's too much. Too much to handle."
Lisa's hand was still on my thigh. She didn't pull it away, just let it rest there, warm and steady. Her smile was soft, understanding, not mocking. "It's okay, Emma. I know it's a lot."
"I'm glad it didn't last longer." I heard how that sounded, ungrateful, maybe even rude, but I couldn't help it. The image of Jenny and Hana and Taro and Adam, all tangled and slick and moaning, was still burned behind my eyes. My body was buzzing with something I didn't want to name.
Lisa laughed, low and knowing. "It was short on purpose. That was just a welcome-home snack." She leaned closer, her voice dropping so only I could hear. "On the island, women lactate always. It's the same for the men. They can call an erection whenever they want, hold it as long as they need. They never get tired. Adam could have gone for hours. Taro too. All of them could have. But they kept it quick tonight. For you."
I stared at her. "They, they held back?"
"Mmm. You're a guest. They don't want to scare you off on day one." She squeezed my thigh gently. "Tomorrow will be different. The island doesn't do restraint for long."
My stomach did a slow, uneasy flip. "And tonight?"
"Tonight you sleep. You've had a big day." She finally pulled her hand away and stood, stretching her arms over her head. Her naked body moved with an ease that still made my throat tight. "I'll show you to your room."
I followed her down a short hallway, past open doorways that revealed simple, beautiful rooms. She stopped at the last door and pushed it open. A narrow bed with white linens, a window that faced the banyan tree, a small wooden chest at the foot. A single room. Private. Mine.
"The Snakes keep the guest room clean for visitors," Lisa said, leaning against the doorframe. "You'll be comfortable here. No one will bother you."
"No one will, or no one will be allowed to?"
She smiled. "Both."
I stepped inside, and the door clicked shut behind Lisa. The silence of the room was a relief and a weight all at once. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands in my lap, and listened to the sounds of the house settling around me.
From the main room, I heard voices, low and comfortable. Lisa's laugh. Jenny's murmur. Then footsteps, softer now, moving toward another part of the house. I heard Lisa's voice, muffled through the walls: "Mama, I need you tonight."
And Jenny's answer, warm and easy: "Of course, little butterfly. Come here."
I pressed my ear to the door, hating myself for it, unable to stop. There was the soft sound of movement, rustling, a sigh. Then Lisa's contented hum, the wet, rhythmic sound of her drinking, and Jenny's low, soothing murmur, words I couldn't make out but could feel in the cadence of her voice. Milk for her daughter. Comfort for her child. The sound went on for a while, and I stood there, ear to the wood, my heart beating a strange, uneven rhythm.
Then quieter footsteps, and a door closing somewhere deeper in the house. Adam and Hana and Taro, off to their own bed. I imagined them settling together, the easy intimacy of bodies that had been lovers for years. No jealousy. No ownership. Just want.
I pulled away from the door and leaned against the wall instead, staring at the white linens of the empty bed.
I was alone. For the first time since I'd met Lisa, I was truly, completely alone.
And the strangest part was, I didn't know if that was a relief or a disappointment.
I crossed to the window and looked out at the banyan tree, its ancient branches hanging low, the moon filtering through the leaves. Laughter drifted up from somewhere in the village, distant and bright. A woman's voice, a man's answering rumble. The sounds of a place where bodies were just bodies and touch was just touch.
My hand went to my chest, to the hollow of my throat where the wooden pass hung. The symbol carved into it was smooth under my fingers. I didn't know what it meant. But it was warm, and it was mine, and for some reason, holding it made my breathing slow.
I turned from the window and looked at the bed. The white linens looked cool and clean. Inviting.
I pulled off my crop top and shorts, letting them fall to the floor. The night air was warm and soft against my bare skin, and I stood there for a long moment, naked in the moonlight, feeling the unfamiliar openness of my own body.
Then I slipped between the sheets, and I lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the house breathe around me. Somewhere in the dark, Lisa was drinking from her foster mother's breast, comforted and loved. Somewhere deeper, Adam was tangled with Hana and Taro, their bodies pressed together in easy satisfaction.
And I was here, alone, in a room with white linens and a window facing the banyan tree.
It was too much, I told myself. Too much to handle in one day. The ferry, the gate, the plaza full of naked people, the dinner, the orgy. Too much.
But as I lay there in the dark, my hand resting on my own belly, I felt the pulse of something I couldn't put a name to. Something that stirred in the quiet of the night, patient and waiting.
I couldn't sleep naked. I got up, wore my nightdress. Then i went back to bed.
I closed my eyes and let the island's night sounds wash over me, and I slept.