Burning Moon (Wattpad Version)

Chapter 7

And so I blew.

And blew.

And blew.

And blew.

But the lash clung on for dear life.

And so I blew some more.

Harder.

Maybe a bit too hard.

I winced, as I caught the glimmer of a tiny fleck of spittle tumbling through the air with a trajectory that put it on a collision course with his finger.

But no matter how hard…

Or how much…

That lash wasn’t going anywhere.

So much for my fucking wish.

“OH MY GOD, I can’t believe this!” I jumped up and flung my arms in the air. 

“What?” Damian was clearly taken aback by my sudden and rather dramatic outburst.

“I don’t know whether to laugh or cry or scream or shoot myself.”

He looked puzzled, “What do you mean?”

“Nothing is going right and I keep making a complete idiot of myself, what with the slippers and the pyjamas and the throwing up on the plane and the almost getting arrested and the catching on fire -- fire for heaven's sake -- and now I can’t even blow an eyelash off a finger, and, and, and…”

Damian’s eyes followed me as I started to pace up and down the embankment waving my arms in the air like a ragdoll in a tumble dryer. “This has got to be some kind of elaborate plot against me!”

“Lilly…” His tone was soft and soothing, which made me want to slap him, "…that could’ve happened to anyone.”

“Name one person that it’s happened to? One person?”

Damian rubbed his forehead thoughtfully. “This girl at university once wore mismatching shoes to class,” he offered.

I swung around and looked him directly in the eye, “That’s hardly the same. Besides, did her fiancé leave her at the altar the day before…NO!”

I kicked some sand into the water, hoping it would serve as a good exclamation point for the end of that sentence. “You know what these last few days have felt like? They’ve felt like someone, or something, has been conspiring against me, turning my whole life into some kind of sick Cosmic-Karmic joke. I’m almost expecting Ashton -- whatever his name is -- to rise up out of the water disguised as a Merman and shout, 'Surprise. You’ve been Punked'." I kicked some more sand into the water trying to make the mother of all exclamation marks. It was all very dramatic. But I didn’t care, because that eyelash was the straw that broke this camel’s back. It wasn’t about the lash. This was about the fact that I felt victimised by the world. That I felt like somewhere, out there, was a cinema full of people with popcorn and Coke laughing at me.

 “Hehehehe. Look, she’s gonna get sick, she’s gonna get sick.” *Hiding behind a tub of popcorn*

 “Hahah, look she’s wearing pyjamas on the plane.” *Laughing so hard, Coke shoots out of nose*

“Wahahah, she’s on fire! She’s on fire!” *Slapping knee and spraying popcorn everywhere*

I was angry, and kicking the sand into the water wasn’t generating the kind of punctuation marks that could vaguely emphasise my current state of distress; in fact, my toe was just sore. I think I hit a shell, or knowing my luck, a giant, rusty metal anchor.