We British people really don't understand the meaning of 'hot'.
The second we set foot off the plane, I swear my whole face melted. It's like I walked into a wall of heat, agonisingly painful on my delicate skin. I can tolerate the ripping of my flesh at the blade of a knife, the pulsing of my knuckles after I've broken someone's nose. But you ask me if I want to experience the split second transition between normality and sweltering heat, I'll tell you to shove it where the sun don't shine.
This is another one of those days where I regret being so bloody stubborn. I thought I was being very clever with my jeans and long sleeved top. 'You'll melt,' they said. 'You don't understand how hot it can get.' And I was all up in their face, telling them that I can dress how I damn please. That a little heat will do nothing to me. Well, I guess I was wrong. I am totally mourning the feel of the tiny whisper of a breeze on my arms. And even though I hate the idea of exposing my legs, I would kill to have some relief right now.
No one is sympathetic either. The fuckers. Strolling around in their shorts and their t-shirts whilst I'm sat here, drowning in a pool of sweat. And the glare of the sun through the windows of the taxi makes this feel like a greenhouse. I've got the window open as far as I can, and it's doing sweet FA. Oh my God. I think I'm actually going to die. I'm going to melt into a puddle and be stood on by strange Majorcan men and women. I don't want that. Totally not nice...
“You okay?”
I turn to look at Mark. His face is starting to go a little fuzzy, and he's right next to me. Is that normal? Pretty sure it isn't.
“Hot,” I mumble, my tongue like sandpaper in my mouth.
“We did warn you.”
“Hmm.”
“Did you pack anything cooler?”
I try to answer him, but I'm overly aware that there's now two of him. And one of them seems to be falling. That's not normal. I blink hard, squinting to look at him again.
“I don't know,” I mumble, hearing the words mesh into each other.
“Are you okay?” I can just about hear the concern in his voice. But he's so far away.
“I'm fine...”
His hand is cold on my skin, a welcomed sensation. I hum, the only noise of approval that I can muster and let my head tilt back onto the seat behind me. Letting my eyes flutter closed...
“Shit, she's burning. And she's gone really red. Dan...”
And the rest is a blur. I hear jumbled words all merged into one long drone, along with a strange humming noise. I try to open my eyes, but my lids are just so damn heavy. And the inside of my head feels like I'm spinning around and around, never stopping. And I'm still so hot...
I take that back. There's something delightfully cool against my forehead, making me hum almost happily in this slightly comatose state that I've fallen into. And the scratchy heat on my arms has gone. I can feel a nice breeze running across my skin. And there's someone calling out my name. Hmm. I suppose it's about time to try and actually react.
I force my eyes open and see two dark eyes. Hmm. Mark. He's always here for me. I can always count on that. I reach up and rest my hand on his cheek, feeling a tiny smile play on my lips.
“Hey,” I mumble happily, pulling his face close. He hesitates. Very unlike him. Maybe it's because he's worried that I'm dying. Well, I'm not. I'm feeling a lot better now that he's so close to me. And I want to be a hell of a lot closer. I press my lips against his, letting our familiar...
