Lost Paradise (The Savages of the Blue Lagoon)

41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

I’ve been feeling a little off this morning, so I stayed behind in the hut within the comfort of the blankets. I positioned myself to face the entrance, allowing me to watch the ocean in the distance and keep an eye on the guys at work. The sun shines brightly, casting a golden hue over their tanned skin as they labor hard under its rays.

Foster, with his strong hands and focused determination, surprises me with his skill. It turns out he’s pretty good with his hands outside the realm of sex and masturbation, and his plans for this boat or yacht contraption are coming along nicely. Zane and Astro work alongside him, their shirtless bodies moving with a grace that’s both powerful and captivating. Their muscles ripple under the sun’s warmth, and I can’t help but feel a deep attraction to each of them, drawn in by their raw physicality and the bond we share.

Then there’s Jack, who remains pale despite the island’s relentless sun. His skin contrasts sharply with the others, and I’m stuck on the belief he might be an otherworldly creature. I laugh at the thought, amused by the idea of Jack as some ethereal being among us. Yet, there’s something enchanting about his difference, something that adds to the complex web of feelings I have for each of them.

“I think I cracked it!” Byron’s voice breaks my focus. He’s spent days analyzing the documents from the facility. I look down at the campsite, where he sits against a tree trunk under the shade.

He’s not wearing a shirt either today, and I swear, he was athletic before, but compared to the others, he was leaner than muscle. That was then. Now, the island has sculpted Byron into something much more, and his transformation is striking. His body has developed surprising strength and definition, and his skin, once pale, now carries a warm, sun-kissed glow. The sun catches on his muscles as he shifts, highlighting the changes that have taken place.

He brushes a hand through his dark hair, which, like the others, has grown a little since we’ve been here. Taking off his glasses, he rubs his eyes before putting them back on. When he looks up at me, a self-satisfied grin spreads across his face.

“Go on, tell me,” I say, patiently waiting for him to continue.

He pulls out his notebook, which he’s been writing in like a madman these past couple of days.

“We already guessed that they were probably conducting secret mind manipulation on the natives. But this was a covert government agency or USSR military organization conducting clandestine experiments using cannibals as unwitting subjects. Initially, scientists and researchers were brought in to study human behavior and manipulation techniques, but they probed deep. There’s paperwork to show orders weren’t coming from the Kremlin.”

He pauses and picks up a document.

“There’s a word I kept seeing that’s repeated in these documents. ‘The Company’ and I remember reading some books on Soviet espionage and the KGB. But there was no such thing during that era in Russia. The Company is related to the Central Intelligence Agency.”

“You mean the CIA, as in the US?” Zane says as the guys gather around.

“Yeah. I think the KGB had a spy within the CIA at that time who was involved in some covert affair going on within the American intelligence unit and feeding the Soviets. Whatever that was, I think they were conducting the same tests here.”

“Probably because they knew the Americans had spies within the KGB.”

“Exactly. These experiments were part of a larger program aimed at developing psychological warfare tactics, mind control techniques, or unconventional methods of population control.”

“But it gets worse. They conducted experiments on the natives, subjecting them to psychological conditioning that prevented them from crossing certain boundaries, like the one here on the island. But also, this psychological conditioning was reinforced by trigger mechanisms implanted in the cannibals’ minds. These triggers could have been symbolic, specific phrases, or sensory cues that activate a programmed response, preventing them from crossing the designated boundary.”

“Yeah, but I didn’t see any triggers along the boundaries.”

“Yeah, there were. Us. We’re white.”

“I’m not white,” Zane says.

“That's why they show so much venom. They can’t hate us because of their manipulation. They hate us because one of them is allowed here.”

“That’s fucked up. So we’re the border control? Our skin color?”

“There was never an observable number of people of African descent in Russia, even after Western European colonization of the continent. So, I doubt people of color were part of the soviet group of government scientists here on this island. I think they conditioned the natives to identify white skin as border control. It was an experiment, but skin color wasn’t their end game.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah, it’s completely fucked. This was an experiment. Instead of using lab rats, they used real people. I don’t think the purpose was to segregate black and white skin. The Soviets didn’t have the same racial issues that existed in America.”

“Exist. Present tense,” Zane corrects.

“As I said,” Byron continues, acknowledging Zane with a nod in agreement. “This was part of a larger program.”

“If they stole this idea from the US government agency. Does that mean they never stopped the study?”

“Maybe we’re already under control, and we don’t even know it.”

“They wouldn’t.”

“Why not? They achieved this here on the island, which means the Americans were as well. The Cold War was a silent competition between the USSR and the USA for global supremacy. This included technology, economy, and military. Do you really believe human rights play any difference to these agencies? They wouldn’t openly conduct such manipulations of humans, but we, the public, have always been their test subjects for as long as people and elitist organizations are funding such causes.”

I look away because as much as I’d love to believe my father and grandfather were successful businessmen, I know you don’t get into the billionaire league without making sure you stay top dog. He has influential power in places I wouldn’t even know where to begin looking.

There was a time when I just looked at him as my distant father with whom I needed to make an appointment to chat, but being on this island has allowed me to think deeper, unrestrained, because I had nothing else to do. Of course, survival has always been our top priority, but this island and my situation here have forced me to rethink my life in a much bigger picture.

“Eve, how are you feeling, darling?” Foster’s smooth yet deep, sexy voice draws me out of my thoughts.

“I think I ate some bad seafood or something. It’s not just my stomach, but my head is killing me,” I say.

“Here,” Zane brings me a cup of fresh lagoon water, which we now store in one of the containers we got back from the facilities. We washed and boiled it several times before using it. "The headache might be dehydration. It’s been a hot morning.”

I take it from him, and I'm grateful for how the guys have been looking after me.

“Then stay here and relax,” Foster says, “The fellas and I will work on the boat for the remainder of the day. If you need anything, we’re only a stone’s throw away.” I can see the concern he’s hiding.

They all are, but I’m sure it’s just something I just ate, and it’ll be gone.

I watch Byron pack up his books and papers. He’s the last to leave.

“I could stay if you’d like, keep you company.”

“Then I’d be very boring company because all I want to do is close my eyes and lie in silence.”

He smirks, reaches out, and squeezes my forearm.

“Go help the guys; they need you more than I do right now.”

I watch him leave…well….mostly that sexy ass of his leave. I turn on my back and sigh. Despite having five boyfriends to satisfy me, I can’t help but be turned on by them all the fucking time.

A sudden wave of pain seizes my abdomen, sharp and insistent, pulling me from my thoughts. I clutch my stomach, feeling the deep, gnawing cramps intensify. It’s like a vise tightening around my insides, each squeeze more relentless than the last. My lower back throbs in response, sending sharp shooting pangs of discomfort up my spine .

I shift uncomfortably on the blanket, trying to find a position that offers some relief. The hut feels warmer, almost stifling, as a sheen of sweat breaks out on my forehead. I bite my lip, fighting the urge to curl up into a ball. The cramps come in waves, each one crashing harder than the previous, leaving me breathless and tense.

The dull, persistent ache is accompanied by a heavy, bloated sensation as if my lower body is weighed down by an invisible burden. I close my eyes, willing myself to breathe through the pain, each breath shallow and quick. The sensation is all-consuming, making it hard to focus on anything else.

Pulling the cover off, I find my white shorts stained with blood and a large dark red, almost black clot running down my inner thigh. Even Zane’s hoodie, which I’m wearing, has blood at the hem.

“Fuck, it’s my period,” I mutter. My doctor did warn me that I might suffer heavy periods for the first few months with the IUD, and then it would gradually phase out. But this is the last thing I need. It’s so embarrassing, and I haven’t got any tampons or sanitary pads. For fuck’s sake, we don’t even have toilet paper!

I fight back tears, refusing to let them fall. I don’t need this happening right now; it’s not fair. Looking out at the guys, they’re engrossed in working on the boat and haven’t noticed my struggle.

Quickly, I gather my things and sprint to the lagoon, hoping to clean up and find some semblance of relief.

Frantically scrubbing at the blood stains on my white shorts and Zane's hoodie, tears well up in my eyes. Each rub of the fabric feels like an accusation, a reminder of my body's betrayal. The cramps twist and tighten in my abdomen, relentless and unforgiving. I curse under my breath, my movements desperate and frantic.

Why now? Why me? I've never felt so helpless, stuck on this remote island with nothing to alleviate the agony of my heavy period.

"I can't get these stains out," I mutter through gritted teeth, pounding on the fabric as tears stream down my cheeks.

The stains mock me, refusing to yield to my desperate efforts. The scrubbing makes my hands ache, and the relentless motion numbs my fingers. I curse under my breath, my frustration and helplessness mounting with each passing moment.

This island, once a place of refuge, now feels like a prison as I struggle with the simplest of tasks.

“Ugh!” I shriek.

“Princess?”

I startle and jolt out of whatever frenzy I’m in.

I look up at Astro, feeling the weight of my vulnerability and being caught.

"Eve, what's wrong?" he asks softly, his eyes filled with empathy as he doesn’t bother to remove his shorts and climbs into the water.

He comes up to me, his hand gentle on my shoulder, and looks at the bloodied clothes and blankets floating in the water and soap on the edge resting on a rock.

"I... I can't," I manage to choke out, gesturing helplessly at the stubborn stains. "And my period... it's too much." I burst into tears, and I couldn't care less at this point that I have snot running through my nose.

Astro's brow furrows in concern as he realizes the depth of my distress. He immediately wraps his arm around my back and draws me tight against his chest.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs reassuringly. "Let's take a breather. We'll figure this out together." His touch is a lifeline, grounding me amidst the turmoil.

Sniffling, I nod weakly, grateful for his presence. As we stand in the lagoon, his comforting presence and calming words begin to soothe the storm within me. Yet, the relentless ache in my body and the persistent stains on my clothes serve as a harsh reminder of my vulnerability in this unforgiving place.

"This is only natural, Princess. But if it’s us you're worried about, then I think you should know we expected it. I mean, you’re a woman. Women get periods. We're not grossed out by it either if that’s what you’re afraid of. Some women have light ones, others heavy. It’s like breasts— they come in all different shapes and forms.”

“Omigod, Astro, you can’t compare women’s periods to their breast sizes. What the fuck is wrong with you!”

Astro's eyes crinkle with amusement as he smiles warmly, a gentle reassurance in his expression. “There’s my girl. My princess is back.”

I try to push him away playfully, but he tightens his grip around me protectively and chuckles, his laughter rumbling against my cheek.

“You’re such a bastard,” I say, mock-punching his chest. He leans down and kisses the top of my head, his touch tender and familiar.

“Love you too, Princess.”

His words catch me off guard. It’s not the first time Astro’s said it, but this time, it feels different—more heartfelt, more vulnerable.

I lift my head from his chest and meet his gaze, searching for sincerity in his eyes.

“Do you really mean that?”

“I should hope so, luv,” he murmurs softly, his voice tinged with sincerity and a hint of vulnerability. “Back home, all this talk about love and feelings could get a gun to our heads.”

“I don’t get it. Aren’t you allowed to love?”

He exhales heavily, his shoulders relaxing under my touch. As I feel the weight of his world momentarily lift from his chest, I realize how rare these moments are—moments where Astro allows himself to be genuinely open and honest.

Our eyes lock, and in that silent exchange, I see a depth of emotion that words struggle to convey.

“Yeah, we’re allowed to love. The power, the money, the respect, the thrill of danger, the adrenaline rush associated with living on the edge of the law. But love like you and I doesn’t exist in my world. The men in my world knock up a couple of pretty birds and breed more spawn like me to run the family firm. And if the females cause problems, you eliminate the source of the problem.”

I feel Astro's grip tighten around me, sending a shiver down my spine.

"Is that why your dad killed your mom?" I ask softly, sensing the weight of his words.

He looks down at me, his ordinarily vibrant green eyes darkening with pain.

"My mother lived a separate life from him. She was an artist in her own right," he says, shaking his head sadly. "Her family was part of a Birmingham firm, but she had no connections to their activities. She met my dad when she was an art student in London. I don’t know much about how they met, but he was fifteen years older than her, and she was only 17. Her college had some art show, and he bought every piece of her work with a note; the sale was a condition that she had dinner with him. Whatever happened was history because I don’t remember them ever living in the same home. My dad lived in the heart of his operations in East London, and my mum’s home was in Acton, West London."

"How did he kill her?" I press gently, my heart aching for the pain in his eyes.

"Her uncle double-crossed him over some job. So he sent her head in a box delivered by one of his henchmen to their Birmingham headquarters. Since then, they’ve been rivals and at war. But Dad’s much more powerful. If he wanted to, he could have crushed them with his thumb, but he prefers to play. Much like a cat playing with a mouse. It’s the back-and-forth chase, catch, and release he loves."

"That’s awful," I whisper, horrified. "I’m so sorry about your mom. I always had in my head that the Greeks are men of passion, you know, all that jazz."

"Well, you asked about love in my world," Astro says with a bitter laugh. "As I said, we’d get our balls cut off if it’s anything other than criminal. Greeks are passionate, and my psychotic Hellenic father can get really feverish. You felt how thick the scar on my back neck is. That’s a pure example of his zealous love. He carved so deep to express his craving for me that he hit bone."

As he speaks, I feel the heaviness of his reality sinking in, the darkness of his world contrasting sharply with the tenderness I’ve seen in him. Astro’s nothing like the bastard his father is.

"Hmm, sounds a lot like my world, well, except the criminal aspect. But then again, wealth isn’t accumulated through honesty. I mean, it’s a pretty fine line between the two. And it gets blurrier the wealthier you are.”

He chuckles softly, a hint of resignation in his smile. “Maybe, but I’m not going back.”

I stare at him, searching his face for any sign of uncertainty. “No?”

“Well, I haven’t figured it out yet after we get rescued. But I can’t go back. Maybe I’ll follow you.”

“You served time in the US. I hardly doubt they’ll let you back in the country,” I remind him gently.

He brushes his hand through my hair, his touch surprisingly tender. “I’ll find a way. Let me worry about it.”

“How chauvinistic of you,” I tease, attempting to lighten the mood.

Astro’s initial response is a warm smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement. But as I continue to banter playfully, his expression shifts unexpectedly. The light in his eyes dims, replaced by a dark intensity that catches me off guard.

“You don’t really think I have plans of giving you up, Princess?” His voice is low, each word carrying a weight of seriousness that sends a ripple of tension through the air. “You’ve imprinted not just on my heart but my soul. You’re mine. There isn’t a creature on this planet that can stop me from being with you. Got it?”

His words hang in the air, lingering with a possessiveness that makes my heart skip a beat. I’ve seen Astro’s protective side before, but this is different. It’s a declaration of ownership, tinged with a primal need to claim and protect.

Caught in the intensity of his gaze, I feel a mixture of emotions—surprise, awe, and a strange exhilaration. This is Astro laid bare, revealing a depth of emotion and commitment that goes beyond mere words. It’s as if, in this moment, he’s stripping away any pretense or reservation, exposing his raw and unfiltered truth.

He chuckles softly, a contrast to the seriousness moments ago, but the underlying intensity remains. “Come on,” he says gently, breaking the tension as he gathers my clothes and blankets. “This can wait. You need to get out of the water and rest for a while.”

“I don’t have any clean clothes, and I don’t want to parade in blood-stained ones,” I admit, my voice tinged with embarrassment.

Astro pauses, his expression thoughtful as he considers my predicament. Without a moment's hesitation, he releases me and swiftly removes his shorts, handing them to me. I hesitate, noticing they're dripping wet from the water.

“I know they’re wet, but there are no blood stains on them, just stains from everything else. You can wrap a towel around yourself once we get back to camp,” he suggests, his tone practical yet reassuring.

“But I’ll dirty these too,” I protest softly.

“And I’ll wash them like the rest of the stuff here. Plus, blood doesn’t exactly eek me like it does for you,” he replies calmly, his gaze steady.

I roll my eyes playfully as I accept his shorts and slip them on. “ Eek ? Does Astro Doukas, big gangster guy, use words like eek ?” I tease, giving him a sly smile.

“Babe, in England, we say ‘firm,’ not ‘gang’ or ‘gangster.’ Just ‘firm member,’” he corrects with a smirk.

“Tomayto, tomahto. It’s all the same shit,” I retort with a grin.

He starts to say something, then stops himself, chuckling softly. “Come on then,” he says, offering me his hand. Together, we climb out of the water and make our way back to camp.

I can’t help but feel a sense of security in Astro’s presence. There’s no doubt now—he’s not just a man who would fight for me; he’s a man who would defy the world for our bond. And in that realization, I find a strange comfort amidst the uncertainty of our circumstances.

Astro guides me to our makeshift sleeping area. I take off his shorts, and he gives me one of the towels hanging in the breeze over the tree branches we use to dry clothes and stuff.

The warmth of his touch and the solidity of his presence make me feel secure despite my awkward situation. Once I’m settled, he wraps another blanket around me, his eyes filled with concern and understanding, his brows furrowed slightly as he tries to ease my discomfort.

"Just rest for a bit," he murmurs, his voice soothing. "I'll be right back."

As I lie down, time passes, and exhaustion washes over me, but my thoughts are interrupted when the guys approach. Foster, Zane, Byron, Jack, and Astro stand by the entrance of the hut, looking a bit sheepish but determined.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing’s wrong, Wildcat.”

"We, uh, brought you something," Zane says, holding out a bundle of cloth strips. His eyes flicker with uncertainty, but his tone is earnest. "We cut up all the sleeves of our shirts and jackets and cleaned them. The fabric is soft enough not to chaff your skin. You can use them as period pads. And we’ve washed your panties. They’re drying, so you can use them to hold the pads in place."

His words are so thoughtful, and the gesture is so unexpected that I feel a lump form in my throat. Tears well up in my eyes, and I blink rapidly to keep them at bay. "I... I almost don't know what to say. Thank you. This means so much to me," I manage, my voice thick with emotion.

I stare at the black leather strips and then at Jack's sleeveless arms, my heart swelling with emotion. “Oh Jack, but you love that jacket!” I exclaim, my voice catching slightly.

Jack shrugs, a small, crooked smile playing on his lips. "It's just a jacket, Eve. Besides, I think you need it more than I do right now. Use it to layer under the cotton pieces." His eyes, usually so tough and guarded, are soft with sincerity.

I look around at the others, their faces a mix of awkwardness and concern. It’s clear they all played a part in this gesture, sacrificing their own comfort for mine. More tears well up in my eyes, and I blink rapidly, trying to keep them at bay.

“You guys… this means so much to me. Thank you,” I say, my voice thick with gratitude.

Byron steps forward, holding out a piece of coconut spout. “We also found this. We know it’s your favorite,” he says with a gentle smile, his eyes warm and kind.

I take the spout, the sweet aroma instantly lifting my spirits. “You guys are amazing,” I whisper, a tear finally escaping and trailing down my cheek. “Really, thank you.”

Zane shifts awkwardly, his usual confident demeanor replaced with a shy sincerity. “Don’t mention it. We just want to help.”

I glance at Zane, guilt tugging at me. “I’m really sorry about getting your sweatshirt bloody,” I say, my voice small.

Zane waves it off, a reassuring smile on his face. “Don’t worry about it. I already washed it for you. It’s no big deal.”

His casual dismissal of something that feels so embarrassing to me touches my heart deeply. I can see the sincerity in his eyes, and it makes me feel a bit lighter. “Thanks, Zane. Really.”

The guys get back to being busy with their tasks on the boat, but Byron approaches me with a soft, genuine smile.

“Hey, you want a cuddle?” he asks gently, his eyes filled with warmth and affection.

I nod, feeling a wave of exhaustion and emotion wash over me. “I’d love one,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

Byron lies down beside me and wraps his arms around me, his warmth and presence a balm to my frayed nerves. As we settle in, I feel a sense of peace and comfort envelop me, making the harsh realities of our situation fade, if only for a little while.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice trembling with gratitude and a touch of vulnerability .

"Anytime, Firebug," he murmurs back, his breath soft against my ear, his embrace tightening slightly in reassurance. "I’m in this with you all the way."

As I drift off to sleep in Byron's arms, surrounded by the kindness, love, and support of these unexpected men, I realize that despite everything, there is still so much to be grateful for. The warmth of their gestures, the sincerity in their eyes, and the strength in their actions fill me to the point that I’ve never experienced before in my life.

And I absolutely love it.