The Ruins

never to betray him again. And somehow, despite himself, Eric would always find a way to believe her. The idea of having to pursue this course now, of having to plod through each of its many steps, filled him with exhaustion. He wanted to be at the end already. He wanted her weeping, begging, promising, and it enraged him that even here, even in their current extremity, she was going to make him work for it.

'Look at me,' Stacy said. 'Do you really think I'd have any interest in fucking anyone at this point. I can't even-'

'Would you fuck him at another point?'

'Eric-'

'Would you have fucked him in Cancun?'

She gave a loud sigh, as if the question were too demeaning to answer. And it was, too. On some level, Eric understood this. Calm thoughts, he said to himself. A calm voice. He was fighting hard to summon them, but they wouldn't come.

'Did you fuck him in Cancun?' he asked.

Before Stacy could answer, her voice started up again: Hold me. Just hold me.

We shouldn't. What if he-

Shh. No one will hear.

Then, once more, the panting began, gradually rising in volume. Eric and Stacy were both silent, listening. What else could they do?

God, that feels good.

The panting deepened into moans. Eric was concentrating on the voices, which maintained that same slightly smudged quality. Sometimes it seemed as though they definitely belonged to Stacy and Mathias; other times, he could almost bring himself to believe her, that they weren't real, that it hadn't happened.

So good, he heard, and he thought, No, of course not, it can't be him.

Harder, he heard-that urgent whisper, so full of hunger-and he thought, Yes, definitely, it has to be her.

The climax came, finally, and then there was just the rain again, and Pablo's breathing, and the wet flapping of the tent each time the wind gusted. Stacy edged toward him. She reached and rested her hand on his knee, squeezing it through the sleeping bag. 'It's trying to drive us apart, sweetie. It wants us to fight.'

'Say ‘Hold me. Just hold me.''

Stacy lifted her hand from his knee, stared at him. 'What?'

'I want to hear you. I'll be able to tell if I hear you say it.'

'Tell what?'

'If it's your voice.'

'You're being an asshole, Eric.'

'Say ‘No one will hear.''

She shook her head. 'I'm not gonna do this.'

'Or ‘harder.' Whisper ‘harder.''

Stacy stood up. 'I have to check on Pablo.'

'He's fine. Can't you hear him?' And it was true: the sound of Pablo's breathing seemed to fill the tent.

Stacy had her hands on her hips. He couldn't make out her face in the darkness, but he could tell somehow that she was frowning at him. 'Why are you doing this? Huh? We have so much else to deal with here, and you're acting like-'

'Amy was right. You're a slut.'

This seemed to hit home; it slapped her into momentary silence. Then, very quietly, she whispered, 'What the fuck, Eric? How can you say that?'

He heard a trembling in her voice, and it nearly gave him pause. But then he was speaking again; he couldn't stop himself. 'When did you do it? Tonight?'

It was hard to tell, but it seemed like she might be crying.

'You were naked when you came in,' he said. 'I saw you naked.'

She was wiping her face with her hand. The rain increased suddenly, jumping in volume; it felt as if the tent might collapse beneath it. Instinctively, they both ducked. It lasted only a few seconds, though, and in its passing, the world seemed oddly quiet.

'Were there other times, too?'

Stacy made a sniffling sound. 'Please stop.'

Eric hesitated. For some reason, that peculiar sense of heightened silence was beginning to unsettle him-it seemed ominous, threatening. He glanced out toward the clearing, as if expecting an intruder there. 'Tell me how many times, Stacy.'

She shook her head again. 'You're being a bastard.'

'I'm not angry. Do I seem angry?'

'I hate you sometimes. I really do.'

'I just want the truth. I just want-'

Stacy started to scream, making him jump. Her fists were clenched; she was yanking at her hair. She yelled, 'Shut up! Can you do that? Can you please just shut the fuck up?' She stepped forward, as if to strike him-her right arm raised over her head-but then stopped in mid-stride and turned toward the tent flap.

Eric followed her gaze. Mathias was standing there, stooping, one foot in the tent, one foot still outside. He was completely drenched. It was hard to discern much more than that in the darkness, but Eric had a sense of the German's confusion. He seemed as if he were about to retreat back into the night, deferring to their privacy.

'Maybe you can tell me,' Eric said to him. 'Did you fuck her?'

Mathias was silent, too startled by the question to offer an answer.

'The vine was making sounds,' Stacy explained. 'Like we'd had sex.'

Eric was leaning forward, peering at Mathias's face, trying to read his expression. 'Say ‘God, that feels good.''

Mathias still had one foot out in the rain. He shook his head. 'I don't understand.'

'Or ‘We shouldn't. What if he-' Can you say that?'

'Stop it, Eric,' Stacy said.

Eric spun on her. 'I'm not talking to you. All right?' He turned back toward Mathias. 'Just say it. I want to hear your voice.'

'Where do you think you are?' Mathias asked.

Eric couldn't think of a response to this. Hell was the word that came to him. I'm in hell. But he didn't say it.

'Why would you even care-at this point, I mean-if Stacy and I had fucked? Why would it matter? We're trapped here. We don't have any food. Henrich and Amy have both been killed. I can't find Jeff. And Pablo-'

He stopped, cocked his head, listening. They all did.

The silence, Eric thought.

Mathias vanished back out into the rain.

'Oh God,' Stacy moaned, hurrying after him. 'Oh please no.'

Eric stood up, the sleeping bag still wrapped around his shoulders. He stepped to the flap, peered toward the lean-to. Mathias was kneeling beside the backboard; Stacy was standing behind him. The rain poured down on both of them.

'I'm so sorry,' Stacy kept saying. 'I'm so sorry.'

Mathias rose to his feet. He didn't say anything; he didn't need to. His expression of disgust as he shoved his way past Eric into the tent was far more eloquent than any words he might've uttered.

Stacy lowered herself into a crouch, the rain spattering her with mud. She hugged her legs, began to rock