"Go pound sand in your ass," she said, throwing an energy bar at his head.
"Speaking of pounding things in asses," he said, eyes point down to his erection standing proud, if unimpressive. He thumbed it once and it shook with an audible twang.
She glared at him.
"Aw," he whined, "c'mon, baby!"
"I ain't your baby. And you've read Even Cowgirls Get the Blues," she said, leaning toward him, drawing her fist back to strike. "You know what would happen if I punched your dick right now."
She looked down to take aim, but it was too late, his erection had already deflated. His sad, flaccid member a limp protrusion out of his pubic hair. But he had gotten her riled, so she slapped his scrotum with force, then started into her breakfast of part of an energy bar, a vitamin pill, and a drop of water.
"Why'd you do that?" he said after a few minutes recovery.
"Why?" she said. "Um, let's see. Oh, yes, that's right. It's your fault my sister is dead. It's your fault my two best friends are dead. It's your fault we're stuck in a life raft in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. And it's your fault that half the raft has been colonized by an evil book that tries to bite me when I get near it!"
She slapped his scrotum again. "Jackass," she added. She took what was left of one of the oars and tried to push the book back to the far end of the raft. It snapped at oar, sinking its teeth into the plastic pole, which allowed her to shove it farther away from her. When it reached the limit of the raft, she pushed even harder. The oar slipped farther into the book, little by little, until it started to gag and choke. She chuckled and shoved harder, enjoying the pleasure of torturing such an evil thing.
"Be nice," he said behind her, when he could manage the words through his groans.
"Why didn't I think of this before?" she said. After a few minutes she and the book seemed to reach a sort of equilibrium; it wasn't ready to admit she was the boss, but had to admit that it wasn't. "Truce?" she said to the book. The book thought for a moment, then acquiesced. She cautiously reached for the thing. It growled a bit, but let her pick it up. Using some rope and two dolly knots, she strapped the book — with the eyes on the cover facing the ocean — to the outside of the life raft's tent top. "Now you can enjoy the view."
The book was pleased.
She took a view of the ocean, then lay back down in the life raft and let out a sigh. "I wish I had some clothes."
"No one told you to sleep nude."
"No one told you, either," she said. "And no one told me that you intended to summon Octopus-Head from the ocean depths!"
"It was good fun, admit it."
"What the hell were you thinking?" she cried. "Honestly," she added to her self.
"Mistakes were made," he said. "How should I have known what would happen?"
"The book bit Sarah three days before your little stunt. Did that make you think something good would come from it?"
"I thought she cut her hand on that broken bottle," he said. She rolled her eyes. "Besides, I wasn't sleeping nude, I was doing the summoning nude," he added.
She turned away from him, and using the inflated side of the life raft as a sort of pillow, looked out at the ocean. "Hey, book," she called out after a few minutes, "if you see a ship or something, holler, 'kay?" The book growled in consent from it's vantage point outside the opening opposite hers. "I guess the book doesn't want to be lost to oblivion, either."
He leaned forward and tickled her butt. "Back to what we were talking about earlier." She slapped his hand away.
"It's not like you'll listen," she muttered, "but here are the problems with that plan. I don't like you, I never liked you, I never will like you, you're ugly, you lured me out into the ocean with my sister and best friends and got them killed by some octopus-headed monster — remember that? — you're apparently trying to bring forth some sort of world-destroying evil, I'm not attracted to the idea of butt sex, and you don't have any lubricant. There are more reasons why you're not going to butt fuck me, so when you get past those, I'll list some more."
"Spare the rod, spoil the asshole!"
"Asshole!" she screamed as she reached for the broken oar. She swung at him with all her might; he barely dodged the blow. "Keep it up, and I swear I'll feed you to the book dick first!"
The book growled in approval.
She heard a twang. She turned and saw him slouching against the side of the raft, thumbing his erection with one hand, pinching it at different points, trying to play a tune. She went back to watching the ocean, trying to ignore the dick music coming from her only — well, only human — companion.
She gradually let her eyes relax a bit, and the ocean eased into a soft focus. Something started to come into view, and she let her eyes relax a bit more, still keeping them open, and the waves and rhythms doubled and slowly superimposed, creating noise, mostly, but here and there the coalesced into a compelling image. When that happened, she tried to look at it, only to destroy the image by bringing her eyes into normal focus. Then she'd start all over again. Hunger and thirst must have made her a bit loopy, because before long she was hallucinating delightful images with ease, until he broke her lack of concentration by speaking.
"Listen to this," he said. She heard a confused string of barely discernible musical notes. "It's Funky Town!"
"This is too much," she whispered to herself. She shut her eyes and drifted into sleep. She dreamed she was a priestess in a great cult, and Sarah was the High Priestess, performing a sacrifice. He was the victim. She slashed his belly with a stone knife and then drew his entrails from his writhing body, his screams high and pleading, like a little girl's. No, it wasn't him, it was the book. And octopus-face was the High Priest. There was no one left but the monster, the book, and her. The monster had the book strapped to the alter, and was tearing the pages from it as if disemboweling a living victim. Pyramids of skulls were stacked behind the monster, and from the high vantage point on the dais, she could see pyramid after pyramid of skulls stretching to infinity. They weren't just human either, but every conceivable living thing was similarly displayed as trophy upon trophy. She looked back to the monster sacrificing the book and saw it was waist deep in viscera; the stench of blood and death and shredded bowels overwhelmed her. I've never smelled in a dream before, she thought.
She woke with a start. The sun was setting. He was sleeping. The book was growling a tune to itself. She crawled over to the book, trying not to wake her human companion. She leaned out and studied it closely.
"I get it," she whispered to it. It growled questioningly. "Why you attack anybody who tries to open you — you'll be sacrificed, too."
The book's eyes smiled.
It pointed with its eyes. She looked in that direction and two triangular fins sticking out of the water, apparently circling the raft. "One will do," she murmured.
She turned and gave him a kick, but not too hard. He woke quickly, the bastard.
"Okay," she said. "You can do it, but you're really gross. Take a swim and get as much grossness of you as you can."
"For real. I'll figure out the lubricant problem while you're swimming."
His face lit up with joy, and without hesitation, he dove from the raft and into the ocean. He was under for longer than she had expected, then he surfaced a little way from the raft, kicking with his legs and splashing himself with both hands. He didn't even have time to make a face when he was jerked under the water, some ripples being the only evidence that he had been out there.
She smiled, then untied the book from its perch and brought it into the raft. She propped it against the side opposite her, then she leaned back and started preparing a meal of energy bar and a sip of water.
"If we get rescued," she said to the book, "I'll make sure you're safe from curious eyes."
The book was content.