Making Medicine

As I walked around the area, the buzzing of mosquitoes and the chirping of bugs were the least of my worries. Alex needed this flower, and I had no idea what it even looked like. I stayed focused, trying to think about the situation.

"Okay, so like, Alex needs this Echinacea thing, and I gotta find it," I muttered to myself. "But like, what even is Echinacea? Sounds like some fancy plant name."

I scanned the area, searching for any sign of the elusive plant. "Ugh, why does this have to be so hard? Like, can't there just be a big neon sign that says 'Echinacea this way' or something?"

I sighed, feeling the weight of the situation. "I gotta find this plant, for Alex. He's counting on me. No pressure or anything."

I continued my search, pushing through the dense foliage. The sun beat down on me, and sweat dripped down my forehead. "This is like, a literal jungle out here. How am I supposed to find anything in all this green?"

I walk around until my feet burn, my mind racing with worry. I need to think, so I calm myself and retrace my steps back to the bank we came on. I remember his words, "Moist." I shudder at that word. If it was any other man saying it, I would have felt disgusted. But coming from him... I replay those words in my mind, "Moist." I'm angry at myself for becoming excited at the thought.

But then it dawns on me. Moist soil. It has to be soft for where it was. I go a little further down the bank, looking at the purple coneflowers, remembering that's what he called them. They weren't far at all.

I spot a patch of soft, moist soil near the edge of the bank. My heart leaps with hope. Could this be it? Could this be the Echinacea Alex needs? I drop to my knees and start digging with my hands, ignoring the dirt under my nails and the sweat on my brow. I have to find this plant.

My heart pounds in my chest as I approach, sensing on high alert, scanning my surroundings for any signs of danger.

Every fiber of my being is focused on the task at hand. I kneel, hands trembling with a mix of anticipation and fear. Carefully, I dig into the soil, mindful of Alex's instructions to gather only the roots. The earth yields to my touch, revealing the precious lifeline we so desperately need.

As I gather the roots in my hands, a surge of emotion washes over me. Relief floods my senses, mingling with the weight of responsibility. Each root I collect feels like a small victory, a testament to our resilience in the face of adversity.

But amidst the triumph, there is also a sense of urgency. I cast furtive glances around me, hyper-aware of the potential threats lurking in the shadows. Every rustle of leaves and every whisper of the wind sends a shiver down my spine.

I work quickly, and methodically, using my bra to hold the roots securely. At this moment, I no longer care about social norms or propriety. This is life or death, and I'll do whatever it takes to ensure Alex's survival.

With each root collected, I feel a renewed sense of determination coursing through my veins.

"Okay, damn, I got this," I mutter to myself as I navigate through the foliage, my heart still racing from the encounter with those...things. "I hope none of those damn things are still out there."

I shake my head, trying to shake off the memory of the encounter. "What even was that? It looked human, but it didn't feel like it."

And then there were more of them, appearing out of nowhere like some twisted nightmare. "Could this island have people on it? Could they be cannibals?"

Shivers run down my spine as I contemplate the possibilities. "Whoever they are, they don't seem to have followed, but how many more are out there?"

I pause, my mind swirling with questions and uncertainties, before finally making my way back to Alex.

I carefully bring the roots back to Alex, cradling his head in my lap as he weakly opens his eyes and smiles at me. "Good girl," he says, his voice soft and grateful. "Would give you a thumbs up, but the body's still numb."

I smile back, feeling a warmth in my chest at his words, even though I don't quite understand why. I notice that I have been walking around for a while, and I can't help but blush as his gaze falls upon my breast. I quickly shift my position, trying to ignore the sudden rush of feelings his gaze evokes.

"What do we do with them?" I ask, focusing on the task at hand. Alex instructs me to collect two smooth rocks from the water and use them to grind the roots into a paste. He explains that we need to apply the paste to our wounds, as the roots contain properties that can help fight infection and mend wounds.

 I pick up two smooth rocks from the edge of the water, feeling their cool weight in my hands. They fit perfectly into the palm of my hand, worn smooth by years of erosion from the rushing river.

I return to Alex's side, the roots cradled gently in my hands. Placing one root between the rocks, I begin the process of grinding, moving the rocks back and forth with steady pressure. The roots are tough, resisting my efforts at first, but gradually they begin to yield under the force of the rocks.

As I grind, I can feel the muscles in my arms straining with the effort, but I refuse to relent. This is for Alex, for both of us, and I'll do whatever it takes to ensure our survival. The roots gradually begin to break down, their fibrous texture giving way to a smooth, thick paste.

I continue to grind, my movements becoming more rhythmic as I find my rhythm. The sound of the rocks scraping against each other fills the air, a steady beat that matches the pounding of my heart. Sweat beads on my forehead, trickling down my face as I work, but I pay it no mind.

With each root that breaks down, the process becomes smoother, the paste thickening on the surface of the rock. I can feel a sense of relief washing over me as the roots yield more easily, their fibrous texture giving way to a creamy consistency.

Moving over to Alex, I can't help but feel a pang of sadness as I take in his appearance. He looks so pale and vulnerable, his chest marred by deep gashes and cuts. But beneath the wounds, his skin feels smooth and warm against my fingertips, a stark contrast to the jagged edges of his injuries.

I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what comes next. With a gentle touch, I begin to apply the paste to his wounds, spreading it carefully over the torn flesh. The texture of his skin beneath my fingers is unsettling, the wounds a harsh reminder of the dangers we face on this unforgiving island.

As I work, a blush rises to my cheeks, a mixture of embarrassment and tenderness. I try to focus on the task at hand, on easing Alex's pain and helping him heal, but the intimacy of the moment is impossible to ignore. Each stroke of my hand against his skin sends a shiver down my spine, a silent acknowledgment of the bond that exists between us.

As I apply the paste to Alex's wounds, my breathing comes in shallow, uneven gasps, each breath a struggle against the rising tide of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. My heart pounds in my chest, a steady rhythm that echoes the urgency of the situation.

With each stroke of my hand, I can feel a jumble of conflicting emotions swirling within me. There's fear, raw and primal, as I confront the reality of our predicament and the severity of Alex's injuries. But beneath the fear lies a fierce determination, a stubborn resolve to do whatever it takes to help him heal.

I try to focus on the task at hand, on the practicalities of applying the paste and tending to his wounds, but my mind is a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. Memories of our harrowing encounter with the mysterious creatures haunt me, their sinister presence lingering like a shadow in the back of my mind.

But amidst the chaos, there's also a sense of intimacy that fills the space between us, a silent bond forged in the crucible of adversity. As I gaze down at Alex's prone form, a rush of tenderness washes over me, mingling with the fear and uncertainty that threaten to consume me.

I can't help but marvel at the strength and resilience he embodies, even in the face of such dire circumstances. His quiet courage inspires me, giving me the strength to push past my fears and doubts.

As I continue to apply the paste, each movement deliberate and careful, I feel a sense of connection blossoming between us.

Then why does my heart mind tell me no while my heart says yes?

Is it wrong to develop feelings like I am, what if I am suffering from some kind of disorder because of the crash? 

No, I need to push those thoughts aside and focus on getting Alex back on his feet.

Despite the awkwardness of the situation, I press on, determined to do whatever it takes to ensure Alex's recovery. With each passing moment, the wounds begin to look less severe, the paste working its magic to soothe and heal the damaged flesh.

As we talk about the properties of the plant and its miraculous healing abilities, a sense of wonder fills the air, mingling with the lingering tension of our recent ordeal. I carefully apply the ointment to Alex's wounds, my movements slow and deliberate as we continue our conversation.

"Thanks for coming in with the save on that one," Alex says gratefully, his voice strained with exhaustion.

I shake my head, a rueful smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "I wasted more time overlooking it than I did extracting it, sadly," I admit, a hint of regret coloring my words.

But Alex shakes his head, his expression gentle and reassuring. "It's okay, Lexi. What matters is that we're here now, with the treatment we need," he says, his voice filled with quiet resolve.

His words brought me a measure of comfort, easing the knot of anxiety that had been building in my chest. But as the silence stretches between us, a question lingers in the air, heavy with unspoken implications.

"What was that thing back there?" I finally ask, unable to contain my curiosity any longer. "All of them, what were they?"

Alex's reaction is immediate, his eyes darting away from mine as he hesitates, his silence speaks volumes. I can feel the weight of his hesitation like a tangible presence in the air, a sense of unease settling over me like a heavy shroud.

Closing his eyes, he exhales softly, his voice tinged with shame as he speaks. "I'm sorry, Lexi. Please forgive me," he murmurs, his words laced with a sense of guilt that cuts through me like a knife.

Forgive him? For what? The confusion swirls within me, a whirlwind of conflicting emotions churning in the pit of my stomach. I search his face for answers, but all I find is a profound sense of sadness and regret mirrored in his eyes.

As I grapple with the implications of his words, a wave of uncertainty washes over me, leaving me adrift in a sea of unanswered questions. What secrets is he hiding? And more importantly, what dangers lie ahead for us on this desolate island?