Johnny & I : The Island by Daria Paus (hardest books to read txt) 📕

on my arms. Almost as if he’d read my mind, he removed them, letting them drop to his sides. He gestured toward the door I had just closed, mumbling something I couldn't hear before slipping into the room.

Forcing myself to move, I headed in the direction of the only room I knew to be neutral ground—the living-room. There was no need to hide now, the damage was done. I'd seen him. Just a few minutes of looking at him and my legs felt like overcooked spaghetti.

The room didn't look as cozy without the romantic glow from the fireplace. I sat on the sofa, removing dirt from under my fingernails as I waited.

When he finally came back, wet strands of hair hung in his face and drops of water still trailed down his neck. I tried to smile but I couldn't even breathe. With a half buttoned white shirt and the wet hair, he looked like he’d been taken straight from my favorite movie. I couldn't even count how many times I'd watched the scene, and the image of him shirtless in the moonlight with water trailing down his body was forever imprinted in my mind. Just thinking of it made my heart skip a beat.

"Hungry?" he asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

"Yeah." No matter how stunning he looked in the movie—it was nothing compared to the reality.

When he passed the sofa, he threw an amused look my way, and my cheeks burned. It felt like he knew exactly what had been on my mind.

He headed toward an opening in the back of the room which I hadn't noticed before. On weak legs, I got up and followed. The opening led to another shorter corridor with a few doors to its right. We walked past them and turned right at the end of it. The kitchen looked like it could have been taken straight from a home decor magazine. White along with the dark wood gave the room a nice balance between the old-fashioned country home and modern luxury. In my opinion, it was perfect.

"Can I help?"

"No, sit.”

I nodded, heading over to a massive wooden table he’d gestured toward and sat. Smiling at nothing in particular, I tried to remind myself that this was real and not some kind of weird dream.

A little notebook on the far corner of the table caught my attention. I leaned in, trying to steal a glance at the words scribbled there.

Had to get away. The storm is bad. I didn't think.

The words made me frown. Hadn’t the storm taken him by surprise, like it had surprised me?

Guilt snaked its way into my heart, but it wasn’t enough to keep my eyes from wandering back to the journal that Johnny had no intention of letting me read. What was supposed to be his private thoughts lay exposed for me to see.

Can't go back. Wish I could end it all. 

I looked out through the window with his words still running through my mind.

Palm trees bent under the pressure of the wind and the waves came crashing in with a force stronger than I’d ever seen.

Johnny spoke, and the sudden sound made me jump. With a pounding heart, I turned my head and he avoided my gaze by looking down at his feet.

“I’m sorry,” he began, scratching his head as he glanced up at me behind the strands of hair covering his face. “I didn’t plan . . .” he gestured toward the cupboards and the fridge. “I don’t know what to make.”

He looked so confused I felt bad for him.

“Let me do it.” I got up from the chair, heading toward the still opened fridge and peeked inside. My eyes widened. On the top shelf sat a box of eggs, and next to it, a plastic bag with something that was so covered in mold I couldn’t see what it was supposed to be. On the shelf beneath were a few sausages with a red label telling me they had expired over half a year ago. Other than that, it was empty.

I turned to Johnny. “Are you serious?”

He mumbled something I couldn’t interpret.

“You didn’t plan to eat?”

He looked away.

“This is all you have?” My voice was unnecessary sharp. “A rotten sausage and some old eggs?”

The miserable look on his face made me regret snapping at him.

“Ok.” I looked around. “Anything else? Dry food? Cans, chips, chocolate?”

Johnny went to sit, burying his face in his hands. I stood there, staring at him while my mind raced. Was he for real? How was it possible he’d come here without even bringing groceries? What had he planned to eat? As far as I knew, coming to the island had been a spontaneous decision. But no one could be that impulsive, could they? The only thing he seemed to have remembered was the goddamned liquor.

“How long are you plannin’ to stay here?”

“Don’t know,” he muttered into his hands,

I shook my head in disbelief. “When did you arrive?”

He sighed, leaning back and shaking his head. “I don’t know.”

I threw my arms out in exasperation and exclaimed. “How can you not know?”

He raised his downcast eyes and shrugged slightly. “I don’t remember. Yesterday, day before maybe, I’m—" His voice broke and he turned his gaze away. “I didn’t plan this.” He nodded his head in my direction. “I didn’t—didn’t think. Ok?”

My voice softened. “You haven’t eaten since you came here, have you?”

Without replying, he turned to look out the window, his eyes blank as if not really seeing.

“Only whiskey?”

A small nod.

“Geez.”

I looked around. “I’ll think of something.” I started to search the drawers, holding on to a small hope of finding something edible.

A smile of triumph came to my face as I laid eyes of a box of dry noodles and a package of rice. They had expired just a few weeks ago. After rummaging through his stuff, I came to one conclusion. Johnny Grey was worse than my sister when it came to organizing. A skill I had tried to teach