Chapter Text
"When I've had a bathe and something to eat, I'll just trek over to the other side of the mountain and see if I can see any traces of Pigs. Coming?"
Jack and Ralph were standing waist-deep in the bathing pool, but Jack’s mind was anywhere but present. All he could think about was capturing a pig, killing it, and getting the meat for the boys. He could picture the communal surge in strength after the protein, the meat dripping with fat, finally being able to taste something with salt, devour something other than the sweet but tiresome fruit. He yearned for flavour, he fantasised cooking hunks of meat over a fire till it was crispy… Craved the excited looks the boys would have when he strode into camp displaying a dead pig like a hero. The water lapped around his abdomen, and he couldn’t deny the relief his muscles were getting after how tense he got after hunting all day. The hunting was soul-crushing. Crouched below the bushes for hours like an animal, he found himself crawling up and down on all fours like some sort of beast haunting the foliage, with no signs of pigs anywhere, save droppings and footprints. It had been this way every day for the past week.
“But the sun’s almost set!” protested Ralph, his face now tanned by the sun, peeling on his nose, under his eyes. The extra colour emphasised the contrast of his cornflower blue eyes.
Jack sighed. He and Ralph had completely different priorities. All Ralph wanted to do was leave; he never enjoyed anything for one second. He was the biggest pessimist Jack had ever met. What could be so satisfying about home that he couldn’t recognise how great the island was? Jack didn’t miss England one bit. Not that home was bad…. Actually, he didn’t want to think about home right now.
“We’ll have time,” he argued, trying and failing to convey to the dismissive boy how important to him the discovery of meat was. “Come on, Ralph, we need meat. Come with me.”
He needed a helper to track down the animals and cover more ground, but it seemed like he and Ralph were getting further and further away as the days passed. That moment when they lifted the log onto the fire together, that fateful day with the dreaded disaster, the disappearance of the little ‘un felt ages away, as did their old harmony.
“How about you come back and help with the shelters-” said Ralph, just as the same time as Jack wailed, “If only I could get a pig!”
They stared at each other in muted discord and displeasure. Ralph was so fixated on the stupid shelters. Jack thought they were never going to need them; the sun was hot and bright, and the sky was constantly cloudless with no rain in sight. The boys just slept in a large pile on the sand, usually. (Jack slept alone, obviously. He didn’t need body warmth- especially not the stench these boys managed to produce). If only Ralph weren’t so stubborn, so fixated on futile pursuits, he would notice how far the boys were falling from grace. If Jack had been appointed chief, they would never have behaved in such an unruly manner. He would make them all have different roles and report back to him at all times… the absentminded obsessive behaviours some of the boys had developed towards mindless pursuits disgusted him- he would force them to work and contribute, he would induce punishments. The thought of punishing some of the aimless creatures pleased him.
He wet his cracked lips and smiled to himself.
“Why are you smiling?” asked Ralph apprehensively, but Jack’s mood had considerably lifted all of a sudden.
With a gleeful cry, he tackled Ralph into the water, where they landed with a considerable splash. The water swept all the grime off him like a balm, the crisp, cool temperature sharpening his mind and making him renewed. This was life, all right. He would never get this in England. Ralph cried out indignantly, cackling hysterically, splashing Jack in retaliation. Jack coughed with laughter as the clean water flooded his vision, choking his mouth.
“You’ll regret this!” he gasped, splashing back equally hard.
He dove under the water and grabbed Ralph’s lithe ankle with both hands, pulling his legs out from under him. It was easier than he had anticipated. Ralph toppled uncoordinatedly like a felled tree. Jack popped his head back up, grinning evilly. Ralph coughed and gasped, his blonde hair stuck to his face like it had been glued there, his eyelashes all clumped together in dark groups.
Jack made to dunk him again, but he held up his hands in surrender. “I yield!” he spluttered, flashing his white teeth. Jack grinned back.
A natural lull came over both boys, and Ralph rolled his eyes at Jack’s smug expression, floating on his back in the water like a starfish.
“You just love to win, don’t you?” he observed, a teasing note lingering in his voice.
Jack was surprised at the presumption- however true it was. He was mostly surprised Ralph had been paying such close attention. And it was true, but he didn’t just love to win- he was a winner. It was in his blood. He was at the top of his class in geometry, algebra and Latin; he was in the top rugby team and the head of the Choir. To finish it off, he was head boy, captain of the entire school.
Ralph didn’t understand how important and central winning was in Jack’s life, how the adrenaline surged through his veins at the sign of any competition, the constant desire bubbling beneath his skin, calling him to come out on top. Or maybe he did understand. He wasn’t floating anymore; he was looking at him with a knowing expression, maybe his urge to win was more obvious than he had thought.
Nothing wrong with that, though.
“Who doesn’t love to win?” replied Jack after a second, surprised at how calm his voice was as it echoed around the water.
Ralph dragged himself to the edge of the bathing pool and sat with his legs dangling in the water, making slight ripples in the surface.
“Winning is good,” mused Ralph, and Jack scanned his face, “I just-”
“Just what?”
“Just... don’t know if everything is winnable all the time. Don’t you get tired of being so…. competitive?” Ralph asked almost absentmindedly, picking a blister on his palm.
Jack swallowed. What was Ralph saying? That he was too competitive? He was not competitive where it mattered, obviously, because he had failed to become chief. Jack thought resentfully that Ralph had no idea how much he controlled himself from dominating Ralph at every meeting, from taking control of the boys. He had no appreciation for how much Jack held himself back- all out of respect for a role that wasn’t even real. For a symbol- the silly conch- that was an abstract symbol. It meant nothing. He didn’t know the worst he could do, the most controlling he could be. This was nowhere near it.
He glowered bitterly, resentment gathering quickly like the flies gathering to the decaying fruit on the beach. Ralph glanced up and saw his angry expression, eyes glinting with amusement, like he had predicted him to react this way.
That made Jack even more annoyed.
He waded stiffly through the water, his feet squishing on the sandy bottom of the pool. Looking up defiantly at the smug blonde who was still idly swinging his legs in the water, Jack wanted to grab his shins and force him to stop making the unnecessary movement. He detested leg-tappers, knuckle-crackers and general fidgeting.
“I’m not competitive all the time. And besides,” he spat, thinking of something terribly cutting he could say to put Ralph back in his box, “aren’t you tired of being boring all the time?”
“What do you mean?” Ralph wrinkled his nose.
“You always talk about boring things. Signal fire, rescue, shelters… It's boring. You just can’t appreciate how brilliant this island is. You’re ungrateful.”
Ralph scoffed, jumping down from where he was sitting to stand right next to Jack in the pool. His eyes were blazing.
“Jack, what could I possibly be grateful for right now?!” He cried in an agonised way, throwing up his hands.
Jack stubbornly held his gaze.
“Look around you, Ralph. There’s fruit everywhere. Look at the white sand, look at the blue water. Look at the trees- it’s just us on this island, Ralph! No adults, no punishment-”
“Punishment?” cried Ralph, cutting him off. Jack grit his teeth. He hated being interrupted. “Being on this island is a punishment! Can’t you see it, Jack? My entire life is on hold- I’m a missing person! My parents and friends think I’m dead, and probably cry for me every night! This isn’t a game, Jack. All we have to do on this island is survive and get rescued.”
At the mention of parents, Jack’s mind flashed back to his father. His looming frame and high collar, the buttons on his sleeves. The way he smelled- like expensive cologne. Like man. The way he would hit his mother. The way he would-
Jack’s chest heaved, and he narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to Ralph. “You don’t know what a real punishment is, Ralph,” he hissed, “this island is a gift from God.”
Ralph looked up at him through his dark, still wet eyelashes, bleached blonde on the tips, and Jack realised with a jolt how close they were. His breath was sweet with the fruit they had been eating. He was still aggravated; Jack could see his chest rising and falling. Ralph reached up a hand and ran it through his blonde hair.
“Jack,” whispered Ralph, concern heavy in his voice. “What’s so terrible about your life back in England?”
Jack jolted at how invasive the question was. The pity in Ralph’s eyes was intolerable. Jack was never a victim, could never be perceived as the one not in control. He glared at the boy.
“Nothing,” he said sharply, pulling back and away from the boy. “I was head boy and captain of the Choir, I was top of algebra, Latin and geometry and in the top rugby team.” Listing his achievements calmed him down, his heart thudded more evenly, and he could feel his confidence returning. He hadn’t noticed it leaving in the first place.
“Then why were you so miserable?” asked Ralph quietly.
Jack scoffed, but his mind was racing. Miserable? No! It was Ralph who was always miserable. Never content, the boy was never content. He was always complaining. Jack was never miserable, he was confident-why wouldn’t he be?! Any boy would sell their soul to be like him, to be in his position. He was sure of it. He didn’t know how to respond, and his mouth felt numb, his tongue leaden in his mouth. Suddenly, his thoughts got interrupted by a movement in the corner of his eye.
Simon melted out of the trees.
The boy was calm, as usual, and he avoided Jack’s gaze, looking only at Ralph. Jack was momentarily puzzled by his lack of acknowledgment, then remembered with a pang what he had called the boy, accused him of being.
Then his heart hardened again. He was exactly what Jack had said he was- or at least was behaving indecently when he had walked in, and Simon was clambering off of Ralph's chest like he was a girl or something. His fists clenched. He could have killed both of them at that moment, filleted them with his knife when he saw them together, mostly Ralph, when he had grinned so suggestively at him, goading him. It seemed like such a long time ago, but in reality, only a few hours had passed.
Jack thought with surprise that time passed differently on the island; it was sluggish and golden. All the days blended into one, but each day never ended.
His cheeks reddened as he remembered Ralph walking in on a similar scene- twilight on the beach, Simon smiling up at him, pressed against the sand-
“Ralph,” said Simon evenly, seeming quite concerned, “Roger and Maurice are throwing stones at the little uns. I told them to stop, but they won’t. Can you come and tell them to leave them alone?”
Jack kept his eyes on Simon, hoping with an irrational hope that he would meet his gaze, but he never did; his eyes focused only on Ralph. Well, what did he care anyway?
Ralph sighed wearily and pulled himself out of the pool, his dripping back muscles flexing with the movement. Simon averted his gaze.
Well, he wouldn’t be averting it after he saw this.
Jack pulled himself out of the pool, extra conscious of every movement his body made, acting nonchalant but peering out of the corner of his eye to see if Simon was watching.
His mouth twitched at the corner when he caught the boy mid-glance. Simon’s cheeks flushed, and he looked away, his expression tight.
Victory.
“Are you coming, Jack?” asked Ralph, expectantly. Simon appeared fascinated by the flat leaves of a bush nearby.
They were waiting for him, he realised, to go and confront his friends, but he thought that would be rather awkward. Roger and Maurice were basically his second in command after all, and nobody told Roger what to do. Ralph was in for a rude awakening if he tried to discipline the burly captain of the rugby team.
And besides, what was wrong with throwing a few stones at the little ‘uns? Jack would eagerly participate if he had the time, maybe even throwing in a couple of boulders to squash the nasty maggots flat.
It was character-building.
He excused himself to go hunting, like he said he would, all alone once more, Simon's burning gaze following him, hot on his bare back.