Frank hates his boring, solitary life in Cupid's Point. Then somebody special arrives in an unexpected way and turns his life and heart upside down.
It’s only 8 ‘o clock in the morning, and I’m already bored out of my mind. This puny, pathetic excuse for an island offers absolutely nothing besides faulty electricity and poor TV signal. And depressing weather. I’ve read today’s and yesterday’s paper countless times as a last-ditch effort to entertain myself. Now I know healthier substitutes for beef and the scores from a record-breaking soccer match in Amsterdam. If it weren’t 40 degrees outside, I’d strip down and go swimming in the cove. But hypothermia doesn’t sound too appealing at the moment.
Maybe a cup of coffee will help break the monotony. I plug the coffee maker into the yellowing socket on the wall, but nothing happens. The little LED screen doesn’t light up. “Damnit. Another blackout.” I groan. Yes, I talk to myself. Living on your own with barely any contact with the outside world really puts a damper on your sanity.
The cons to living on a rocky island forty-five miles away from civilization greatly outweigh the pros. Sure, the scenery is pretty when it’s sunny outside (which is about 90 days out of the year,) and the fishing is great. But the electricity is unreliable, strong winds, heavy rain, and there’s roughly seven trees scattered throughout the island. There are new repairs to make on the house every day. I can’t go into the basement anymore because the stairs are weak. And it’s fucking creepy down there.
Another blackout means that the house will be freezing cold in a few minutes. I’d better go get some driftwood to make a fire. I pull a hoodie over my head and make my way outside. It’s wet, cold, and depressing as always. The thick blanket of angry gray clouds above promise a storm later tonight. My bare feet trudge through the rocky sand slowly. I count the waves that crash against the stone pillars protruding from the icy water as I walk. This is the miserable home to my miserable existence. Cupid's Point.
56… 57…. 58… Coffee… 59… I really want a cup of fucking coffee. I hope the power turns back on soon. Making fires every night gets tiring, though driftwood fires are very pretty. The salt turns the flames blue and green.
I notice a particularly large, oddly shaped chunk of wood bobbing among the waves. I begin to jog towards it. Suddenly, I realize that it’s not driftwood… it’s a person.
“Holy shit!” I say out loud. I plunge into the freezing water without thinking twice and furiously paddle to the person. I wrap an arm around their middle and pull them to shore.
“Are you okay?” I cry, dragging them farther away from the water. I push the person’s dripping hair away from their face to get a good look at them. Then my heart stops.
Because there is an angel laying in the sand.
He’s white as a sheet and unconscious, but still beautiful. He looks to be around 16 or so. The only word that can describe him is angelic. Little drops of water cling to the tips of his long, delicate lashes. Not a single flaw marks his pale, marble-like skin. A strand of black hair clings to his nose, which has a slight, adorable upturn. Everything about him is perfect. Like a handmade porcelain doll.
He makes a little sound of distress, bringing me back to reality. “Shit…” I mutter. I scoop him up and run back to the house as quickly as I can. Luckily he’s light.
I gently deposit the angel onto my couch, afraid I might break the beautiful little creature. Another quiet mewling sound escapes his blue lips. I need to warm him up. What’s the quickest way to warm somebody up? I think. An electric blanket?
Then I remember. Body heat.
I quickly strip off my clothing, leaving only my boxers to cover myself. I unzip the angel’s soaked thin black hoodie and throw it over the back of the couch. He’s wearing a Doom Patrol tee. I pull it over his head to reveal his slim, toned body. I hesitate before taking off his dripping jeans. I feel like I’m violating him somehow.
I lay on the couch next to him and pull his small body close. Our chests press together. I can feel the angel’s weak heartbeat on top of mine. His face is nuzzling against my neck, his wet hair freezing against my skin. After a few minutes, he still hasn’t moved a muscle. I hold him tighter and rub my hands over his back in attempt to warm him faster. What if he’s in a coma? I think fearfully. The thought almost makes me want to cry. He’s just so beautiful.
Eventually, I feel his head move a little. I pull back slightly to see his face. “Are you awake?” I ask quietly, not wanting to scare the little thing.
His facial muscles contort for a second like he’s in pain, but quickly relax. Then the angel opens his eyes.
I actually gasp at how pretty his eyes are. Some might call them hazel, but to me they look golden. His irises are like a stained-glass window, with little shards of green and gold woven together to make the most beautiful color I’ve ever seen. He blinks at me a few times. He doesn’t look scared… curious, maybe? When I look in those eyes, I know that nothing will ever be the same again. The pure, innocent look in the angel’s eyes stirs something inside of me. Something I haven’t felt in a long time. The overwhelming need to protect… a feeling of…. love?
“Hey.” I whisper.
The angel blinks again and meets my eyes with his.