The Hermit 1

Parts of this story have greatly benefitted from George Anderson's input. I wouldn't call it editing any more, co-authorship describes it better. Other parts are still my stuff, the quality and the lack of grammar errors will surely tell you which parts are his.

*****

Warning:

- This story contains no real sex scenes. I generally don't like writing those and I think I'm also not very good at it.

- My characters are flawed. Flawed female characters are more or less required in this section. But I refuse to pair them with the typical ever-loving, perfect, non-cheating, rich ex Navy Seal owner of an international PI firm. So expect flawed male characters as well. If you can't handle that, choose another author or complain in the comment section that the male character was less than perfect AGAIN if that makes you feel better.

- This story just flowed and I had a good time writing it. When it was finished, I realized there are some similarities to "Fifteen Hours". I'm quite aware of that, yet I liked it too much to let it rot on my hard disk. If the similarity annoys you or if you didn't like "Fifteen Hours", better don't read this one.

*****

Yeah, this is it. The perfect evening. My feet are located higher than my hips, which, as everyone knows, is essential for a serious hanging-around position. A cold beer is strategically positioned in my right hand. My eBook reader is lying on the deck at my side, but switched off, just like it should be at such a moment. No input is necessary now, mental or otherwise. Apart from a little bit of beer, of course. This is a much needed moment of serenity. I need to just - be. And most of all - be alone. Solitude is the only acceptable state in my current life. The sun is just about to set and the colors are warm. The sea is absolutely calm, there is no wind and no sound at all. This is as peaceful as it can get.

Halcyon, my sailing yacht, is anchored in a small bay off a Greek island. Well, not really an island. More like a big piece of rock. This rock has two major advantages: a population of zero and an excellent anchoring place. The small bay is deep enough for my 50 ft. yacht and it is quite nicely shielded from the open sea.

Anchoring the yacht was quite a task obviously, since I was alone. I needed a second mooring point because the bay is too small to let the boat swivel freely. But the manual labor was quite welcome after a day of lazy sailing in the Aegean Sea. Now everything is done, the beer is cool and the silence is just perfect.

Then my thoughts return to Julia. They always do whenever I'm not occupied with something. I always fight it and the more I try, the more I fail. I rarely think about the good times we had, because I have reason to doubt those too. I had lived under the illusion of being one gloriously happy bastard. She seemed all lovey-dovey too and it was just a shame that no camera was present to record her performance. An Academy Award would have been a sure thing. Anger starts to overwhelm me again.

No, stop it. The sea. Look at the sun. Beautiful. There are some doves. Very interesting and underrated animals, worth observing. Especially right now. Relax. I suddenly decide that the mooring lines need to be checked again although I know that they are perfect. I just need something to occupy my mind before the damn thing returns to her again. To Julia. To the evening I discovered the truth. No. Stop it. Shit. This is driving me crazy.

On a sudden impulse I jump into the sea, swimming a short distance. It helps to clear my mind. It stops me from getting angry again: from falling into the seething rage that made me avoid other people, especially women. I need to prevent my rage spilling onto innocent bystanders, like it did so often during the last months.

It was my sister Annette who told me I'm a ticking time bomb. She was right, of course. She always is. So I chose to live as a hermit: it's the best solution for everyone. But instead of living in some damp, dirty cave where I would never see the sunlight, I bought a luxurious sailing yacht. I might be disappointed by humanity, but I'm not dumb.

I climb onto my boat again and decide to keep myself occupied by cooking. Julia never cooked, when we wanted to eat at home that was my task. A lot of things were my task, come to think about it. That bitch. No! Stop. I take the eggs, some mushrooms and proceed to produce an omelet. I'm not really hungry, I just need some defined task to keep me occupied.

Again, I marvel at the silence and solitude of the place. This is really my favorite place in the world right now and I'm just happy that it is public property so everyone is free to stay here whenever they want. I've rarely seen other boats around here, which makes it even better.

I sit on my deck and enjoy my simple meal in total silence. The absolute absence of sound is almost deafening now, as it usually is in the evenings when the wind has died down. Perfect.

I love it when the rocks are illuminated by the reddish-yellow last rays of sunlight. It's nothing short of spectacular. The silence is broken by an engine noise. At first, I think it's a fishing boat on its way home, but the noise gets louder.

Finally, I see a huge white motor yacht appearing from behind the island. Shit. My silent, lonely night is already history. It will be filled with loud and rude party people and it's too late and too dark to go to another island now. Damn.

The nearer it gets, the bigger and uglier the thing seems to get. Loud techno music can be heard now. This is going to be just "wonderful".

The yacht approaches my position until its bow is a mere five meters away. This is not a respectful distance any more. A man in a black suit appears at the bow and looks totally out of place in the Aegean Sea. He hails me.

"Hey mate. Listen, this is Fulvio Brione's yacht. You know him, the fashion czar." He has to shout to be heard over the loud music.

I just nod. I have no idea why he's telling me this and I have no intention to find out.

"So be a nice little nobody and remove your tiny boat from here. We need this mooring spot and we need some privacy."

I just laugh briefly and shake my head.

"Listen, we want to handle this in a cooperative, friendly way. But this is Mr. Brione's mooring spot you're in."

"This is public property. I got here first, so it's my mooring spot. You will just have to anchor over there. Or wherever, that's none of my business."

"Boy, I'm getting a little pissed here."

I just shrug my shoulders. His strategy seems to try to piss me off, whatever he hopes to achieve with it. It doesn't work anyway, I don't give a shit about this clown.

He goes astern. I concentrate on my beer again until he returns a few minutes later.

"What about a thousand Euro for you if you move?"

These guys are actually funny. "Keep your pocket change."

"Asshole."

I just wave him off dismissively.

He disappears again. After a while, the ship moves backwards, towards the second best anchor place, which is almost in the open sea. They anchor their ship about 30 meters from mine, which is far too close for my taste, but there's nothing I can do about it.

I try to not get angry by deciding to regard the whole thing a free show for my entertainment. The ship is as brightly illuminated as a circus and some of the persons on her deck can only be described as bizarre. The gaudily dressed men parade around like complete morons. The women all wear high heels and black bikinis. I wonder what kind of deck they have: I certainly wouldn't tolerate high heels on my teak deck. But they seem to be mandatory aboard this ship, like the general behavior seems to be. Men are busy finding themselves awesome, women are present for decoration purposes. I'm amazed how idiotically these people behave and how great they seem to find themselves. They probably don't think too kindly about me either. It's like we are from different planets.

Apart from the peacocks and the bikini girls, there are a few black suit guys aboard, obviously bodyguards. Then there are the white uniform people, probably part of the crew. The bikini girls seem to be fashion models, some of them are merely slim, while others are extremely thin. It's like watching a conference about malnutrition. My first impulse is to help those poor famished girls by feeding them.

From time to time one of them looks down on me as I relax on my boat and I realize how far apart we are. They are in their glitzy fashion world, probably fighting hard to make a life by brown-nosing and fucking influential people on occasions like this. Probably thinking they are successful and extremely important for humanity. I, on the other hand, am just a lonely, regular guy with a beer in his hand. I'm definitely not a happy man, but I think my life is still way better than theirs.

I wonder about the women on this ship. Maybe they plan to snatch a rich guy to gain some wealth and social status by marrying him before at a ripe age of probably 22 they get too old for their job. I realize that I have no idea about their world. How long can fashion models work? 20? 30? 40? I have no idea.

I think about Julia again and her attempt to get rich by marrying and divorcing some unsuspecting rich dude - namely me. She fooled me completely. I really loved her, finding out the true nature of our relationship and losing her hurt me a lot. It still does. My whole life is still revolving around her, but in an entirely negative way.

Some shouting on the deck of the big yacht brings my attention back to the present. One of the women seems to be in some kind of argument with a small group of men, one of them Brione himself. He's easily recognizable as he's the only overweight person aboard. One of his bodyguards is at his side and for a brief moment it looks like he wants to hit her. It looks almost comical as all of their heads turn simultaneously in my direction. Whatever they planned to do with her, they are suddenly aware that they have a witness. I just smile and lift my beer in a salute.

The fat guy and the bodyguard drag her inside for more privacy. Whatever they have in mind for her, it doesn't seem too good from here. She seems to have come to the same conclusion and fights them tooth and nail. The other girls and a few men watch the scene without any reaction - their lack of compassion amazes me. She's on their boat, there's no police around, she's completely at their mercy. Yet nobody feels compelled to help her.

Suddenly she jerks free and runs towards the bow. Brione and his goon grin and follow her slowly. They know that there's nowhere she can go. She's theirs. It's their ship. They are stronger. They are wealthy and powerful. They can certainly destroy her career. They advance on her like predators, closing in for an easy kill. Watching the situation makes me sick. This is not right. I really have the urge to intervene somehow, but I have no idea how to do it.

The girl looks around in panic and yells something at the other passengers, but these assholes just turn around and look away. Just as I decide to get my camera, the girl suddenly jumps overboard. This surprises everybody, including me. The drop is quite high, but she jumps gracefully, looking fantastic in her high heels. A brave move, but it won't help her. She has nowhere to go.

At least that's what I think until I realize that she's swimming in my direction. She still looks graceful, but I can't appreciate the sight any more. She's about to invade my privacy. What can I do? Send her back to those lechers? Would I be any better than them? No, that is not an option. I couldn't live with myself afterwards. The alternative is to take her in, to sacrifice my precious solitude. Worse, I'd have to be around a woman: something I've sworn never to do again.

Damn. Just what I need now, a woman around me. Not just any woman, but a fashion model. Probably a spoiled, bitchy brat, whining and complaining all the time, living out her bulimia to the fullest. I can almost hear her. "I can't possibly eat that kind of salad, it's not even organic!" "Do you have some decent Evian water instead of this San Pellegrino piss?" "I need my avocado in the morning! Why don't you have the most basic stuff on this caricature of a boat?"

Aren't there any places in the world without women? A cloister maybe? Would I be of any use in a Gregorian chant? Are these monk guys really eunuchs or do they just look that way?

She's still swimming in my direction. Damn, a damsel in distress. Possible female company. I panic.

It's too late to weigh anchor now and I can hardly reject her if she wants to come aboard. Hell, it looked like she was about to get raped on that ship. Okay, okay. I can take her to the nearest port tomorrow. She has just reached the ladder at the stern. I will help her but that doesn't mean I have to talk to her much. Women are not good for me; I need to stay away from them. I'm determined that I will never get hurt by one again. I need to keep my distance from this one. This decision helps me to calm down a little. I haven't spent months to re-gain my mental sanity just to have it shattered by the next bitch.

She looks at me questioningly and I just extend my hand to help her out of the water. No word needs to be spoken, which suits me just fine. I might have a guest for a limited time, but I certainly don't plan to chatter all day long because of it. The situation is self-explanatory anyway. She knows that I witnessed the scene on Brione's ship and my extended hand should tell her that I'm willing to help.

Wait, she's still wearing her high heels and she's about to step onto my teak deck. I just point at her shoes and she understands immediately.

"Oh, sure, sorry." She starts to remove them. "I'm Anna, by the way."

"Mark." Damn, a few seconds in female company and I'm already babbling like an idiot.

She extends her hand again. Our first handshake doesn't seem to count as I only helped her aboard. I understand what she means and shake her hand. This is a combined greeting and thank you.

She stands up and looks around, taking her time. It's obvious that she's not as much taking in her new surroundings as giving me the opportunity to take a look at my new guest. Maybe she just wants to give me time to get used to her after I've opened my home in a less than voluntary way for her. I think that's a sensitive gesture after having imposed herself on me this way. I wonder what a woman with a sensitive bone in her body has been doing aboard this asshole's ship. I don't need to hear this story, but I'm afraid I will sooner or later anyway.

My new guest is a strikingly beautiful woman, as it could be expected for one of Brione's toys. She's not as young as I guessed, though. She might be in her mid-twenties, which makes her only a few years younger than me.

Anna is not some kind of attractive girl-next-door type. She's not cute. She's not pretty. She is straight beautiful, no sense in denying it. If I just saw a photo of her, I'd immediately assume she's an arrogant and self-centered bitch. She just has to be with such a face. Well-defined jaw and cheek bones, perfect green eyes, and a perfect straight nose. Not a cute nose, but a thin, perfect model nose. She is a little on the thin side, but she doesn't look famished like some of the other girls. Her bones don't stick out and she has small, but shapely boobs. Her hair is still wet and it's quite dark by now, so I can't tell what color it is. But it's long, very long.

I had thought that Julia is beautiful and out of my league. But compared to Anna she's plain and unremarkable. This woman is so far out of my league that it isn't even funny anymore. A few years ago the sight of this jackpot in the human genome lottery would have aroused me to no end. But I've decided to keep women out of my life and I think I've been quite thorough in conditioning myself. With Julia's evilness as a perfect motivation, of course. I can appreciate this woman's beauty, like I would a butterfly or a flower, but it doesn't affect me. At least that's what I keep telling myself.

After giving me a few seconds to check her out, she looks at me again.

"Thanks for helping me." She looks a little tentative, almost shy, which surprises me for some reason. Women that look like she does are not supposed to be shy. I expect them to just take what they need and move on. But I realize that she really needs me and lot depends on my reaction.

"Hmm," I just mutter, nodding. I want to make it clear from the beginning that speaking is not high on my agenda. She looks at me puzzled, shrugs her shoulders and takes the towel I offer her. After a while she smiles and has probably booked me under "grumpy sea dog", which is totally okay for me as it is not far from the truth.

I look at the grotesquely illuminated ship again and see Brione discussing something with two of his bodyguards. He seems quite animated and points towards my boat from time to time. Perhaps he's thinking of boarding my yacht to reclaim the girl? An act of piracy in Greek waters would be more trouble than even someone like Brione would want, especially over a woman he can easily replace. He's probably one of those people who can't stand to lose at anything, right down to rock paper scissors. But what do I know? Don't get too curious, old boy or you might get more involved than you want to. Just keep those weirdos out of your life.

I turn around and see that she has watched the same scene, looking worried. She doesn't seem to be arrogant and stuck up right now.

"I hope the fat bastard doesn't send his gorillas to kidnap me."

"Hmm," I say in a dismissive tone, shaking my head.

"He could, you know. He has four security apes he could send after me. Could we just sail away?"

"Tomorrow." I try to sound curt to keep my distance.

"Okay. I can't say that I'm going to sleep well, I'm still a little worried. Thanks again for saving me. They were just about to rape me." She seems quite unperturbed by my brief answers. But what she says surprises me.

"They?" I ask before I can stop myself. Damn, stop it, this is none of my business.

"Yeah, Brione, his male guests, his bodyguards and the whole male crew. It seems that he has made a bet that he and every other male on the ship will fuck every girl at least once before the ship returns to Italy. All the other girls weren't looking forward to it, but let them do it anyway. I... well I suddenly just couldn't stand it anymore. Suddenly - I don't know - something snapped inside me. I've endured a lot, for very little gain. But today it became just too much."

"Shit."

"Yeah. I said no to Fulvio Brione, and with one little dive, my career is toast. That part of my life is already history." She looks a little shaken at her own insight.

I just nod and emit some grunt that might or might not sound sympathetic. For looking so beautiful, this fashion business is totally shit.

"Yeah, you're right," she resumed, despite the fact that I hadn't said anything. "Maybe it's even better this way. Nothing I can do about it now, right? Leave the old shit behind, try something new. New opportunities will arise. Life is change."

She seems surprisingly upbeat again. How could she just shrug off something that completely wrecked the life she thought she had? I wish I could. Or did I?

"Hungry?"

"Seriously? I'm always hungry, it's part of my job description. I've been hungry for ten years now." She laughs. It's magical. Damn, what a woman. No, stop this, you fool! Okay? Just stop it.

To distract myself, I go below deck to get some of my omelet for her. She follows me and looks around.

Wordlessly, I offer her a plate with some omelet. Keeping my grumpy mood is surprisingly arduous while she's around, but it has to be done. No sense letting myself like this woman, I'm quite sure no good will come of it.