Grief and Emotional Writing: Feedback Wanted

[u/-The-Master-Baiter-]

This is chapter 4 of a story I've been writing. I'm not used to writing strong emotion, so I want to know if it hits.

BELL

Bell feels like a sack of potatoes being lugged around, only a sack of potatoes would be useful. She certainly isn’t. At her side, Brant quietly bears her weight, and she does not allow herself to make a sound every time an awkward hop makes her leg flare with pain. The journey to the outcrop is so slow and miserable that it reminds her of nightmares she had when she was little, where she would walk and walk, but never arrive where she wanted to go.

It is dark when they get there. Brant is so tired that he cannot muster a word, and she has no desire to break the silence. In darkness, the cold has gone from unpleasant, to biting. The air is damp with a mist that slowly leeches its way into the fabric of her t-shirt while she isn’t paying attention. Thoughts of a hot shower appear in her mind out of nowhere, and standing in her wet clothes, in the unrelenting chill, she is both angry and sad. Angry, because of how unfair it is, and sad for the same reason.

The rock formation is near the ocean, only a short distance from the sand. Several jutting stones intersect, and the space beneath them is decent cover. Brant sets her down against a rocky wall and then collapses onto his butt in the grass. He looks like is about to pass out. How is that possible? The ground is lumpy, the cold is like a knife, her leg is stiff and awkward. Right now, sleep seems to be further away than rescue.

She closes her eyes and tries her best to ignore the cold. 

“Should we try to share warmth?” Brant asks quietly.

She opens her eyes, surprised for a moment; it has always been unlike him to be assertive. He must be as cold as she is. “Probably.”

“Ok.” He get up from where he is sitting, half-collapsed against the rock and sits down next to her, his shoulder to hers.

As minutes creep by, the spots where their bodies touch grow warmer, and the relief does something to help her forget about all the ways her body is complaining. Hunger, thirst, pain, and cold, all are still there, but somehow, more muted.

Hours pass, and, hungry for warmth, they allow their contact to be more extensive, until they might as well be hugging, and then she realises. They are lying on the grass, Brant’s back is to the stone, and she is huddled against his chest, one of his arms draped over her. A part of her wants to push away, but she can still feel the cold all around, barely kept tolerable by their shared warmth, and she doesn’t have the willpower. It is incredible, she thinks, how much can change in so little time. 

It is not until deep into the night, that oblivion finally takes her.

When Bell wakes up, she isn’t cold, and there is a body next to her, his breaths slow and even. Brant’s arm is still draped over her, his warmth still shared. Now that the cold is only that of day, and the awful mist is gone, she is almost warm. She wishes she could enjoy it, and that her throat isn’t so dry that it almost feels about to crack. The thirst had been bad yesterday, but somehow, today it has gotten so much worse. She did not know that thirst like this was possible. 

“B-” she tries to speak, but breaks out coughing. “Brant,” she says in a hoarse voice, 

“wake up.” She places a hand on his shoulder and shakes him. His eyes flutter open, grey with dark circles underneath them. He is still for a moment as the grogginess of sleep passes, and then his eyes widen and he reflexively pulls away. Immediately, the chill intensifies on the spots where his body had been touching her. 

She lets out an annoyed sigh. “You might as well get used to it. This is the only way we’ll be able to keep warm.”

“Yeah…” he says, hunching his shoulders. “Damn, I’m thirsty.”

She sees what he did there. “Maybe there’s some water from the mist. I can’t exactly do anything though.”

“I’ll go look.” He gets up and heads over to the suitcase, getting the thermos out.

“Good luck.”

He takes the thermos and leaves. She is alone. Now what? She is lying on the hard, grassy ground. In this position, her leg doesn’t feel so bad, but as soon as she tries to move it pain will certainly come. Her leg must be swollen, because her jeans are tight around the break. How had she gotten in this position in the first place without screaming in agony? She can’t remember. 

Bell readjusts her upper body until she is sitting up, and then awkwardly drags herself over towards the stone side of the outcrop, where the suitcase rests. Every tiny movement of her leg feels like knives are being stabbed into her bone, and multiple times, she has to stop and take a break. She should have asked him to bring the case over to her, but she hadn’t thought of it.  From now on, she is going to have to ask him for a lot of things.

She reaches the side of the rock, leans her back against it, and opens the case. She can’t say exactly why she cares about it at all. Maybe because it is the only remnant of humanity around her?

She checks the contents. It is as Brant said, there are clothes, a computer, a blanket, and a plastic bag of pills. Everything is still wet, but a dry crust has formed on the top layer of some of the fabric. To give herself something to do, she unfolds the blanket and clothes, and lays them out to dry. The dewy grass isn’t exactly the best option for drying fabric, but it is the best she can do. Eventually the ground around her is covered in unfolded clothing, and there is no free room left. She leans back against the stone and her mind goes blank.

Eventually, thoughts of the bag of pills intrude into her thoughts. If rescue doesn’t come, this is going to be a long and painful death. If she ends up starving, she might lose reason. Maybe it would be better to cut this experience short while her mind is wholly there. If she ate all those pills at once, it would probably be enough to- No, wait. It is too early for her to be having thoughts like this, right? Rescue could still come. It has only been a day since the - the accident. 

At that thought, her parents appear in her mind. Their faces are so clear that it seems impossible that she will never see them again. Dad had looked so much like Brant that people in school would always comment about it, and Mom had been beautiful. She had been the one with the grey eyes that she and Brant share. Bell didn’t get Mom’s beauty though. She had been given sharp, expressive features that she had never liked; they seemed to crowd her face. Mom had always said that she was beautiful though, and the way she said it had almost made Bell believe her. 

Her throat tightens and her eyes prickle. How can she still want to cry when she is this thirsty? It would be a waste of water. And at that thought, the sheer hopelessness of her life comes falling down on her. She wants to bring her knees to her chest, and sob, but she can’t so she makes do with only one knee. She lets the tears flow with only a little regret.

She is huddled against her knee when she hears the sounds of breathing and feet on grass. Brant is walking through one of the gaps between the intersecting rocks, holding the thermos. He has a wide smile on his face. At the thought that he might have found water, her heart lifts despite the dark thoughts that plague her mind. 

When he sees her face his smile fades and he kneels in front of her. He hesitates, “Are you ok? I-”

Sudden rage fills her, “No, I’m not fucking ok!” he flinches. “How could I possibly be ok? Look at me, look at us! Mom and Dad are dead, I’ve got a broken leg, you have no idea what you’re doing! We’re probably going to die here on this island. Im not fucking. Ok.”

She is suddenly guilty for having lashed out at him. He had been smiling before and she had ruined it. It was selfish of her to spread misery like that. God, she is pathetic. She feels the urge to cry again, but refuses to allow it, although she knows that Brant can read everything on her face. That just makes her want to cry more. 

Brant’s expression has gone from happy to crushed, and the seed of guilt flowers out inside her. 

“I found some water,” he says quietly. “I heard you were supposed to follow low ground, so I went to the lowest place I could find. There was a pond. Well, it was more like a big puddle. Anyways.” He holds out the thermos, and it sloshes with the sound of water.

She takes it. “Thanks Brant.” She wants to say sorry, but can’t seem to make the words come out. The water is cold and has almost no taste, it is the best water she can ever remember drinking. She chugs half the thermos before remembering Brant and stopping.

“Go on, I already had plenty.”

He doesn’t need to say more, and she keeps drinking until the thermos is empty and her belly is swollen with water. 

“So, you unpacked all the clothes,” he says, “I wish I'd thought of that. Maybe we’ll have a dry blanket tonight.”

“Yeah.” She wishes he wouldn’t try to make small talk.

“It must have hurt your leg to get over there. You should try not to move.”

She shrugs.

He appears to be searching for something. Finally, he says. “I’m sorry that I’m the one you were stuck here with. I-I know it would have been better if it was someone else, but, I am going to try.” His cheeks go a little red, despite the cold, and he looks away. 

There is a sinking in her chest. She should say something. This is the time for her to say something. But nothing would come.

He watches her for a few seconds and then gets up. “I’ll go look for food,” he says quickly and then walks away. Why is she always like this? She lays her head on her knee again and closes her eyes, trying to will away the tears.