Hope Begins to Fade

Beaches

The waves were dragging Tim away from me. Every time I almost had a grasp of his fingers a wave would roll in and wash him just that little bit further away from me. I struggled to get closer to him but something was holding me back. I opened my mouth to call out to him but a wave washed over me and suddenly I was under water. Unable to move. Unable to breath. Tim's voice ringing in my ears. Caitie. Caitie. Caitlin!

I opened my eyes with a gasp and there was Matt looking down at me his hand on my shoulder and concern in his eyes. "Are you okay?"

My heart was pounding in my chest as I drew in a deep breath and pushed it out slowly. "I'm fine," I answered shakily, "it was just a bad dream."

Matt released my shoulder and collapsed back against the pillows. He didn't take his eyes off me. "Must have been a pretty bad dream. You have those often?"

I shrugged unable to make eye contact. "Sometimes, not often." At least twice a week.

Matt watched me, his mouth in a firm line as if was about to challenge my statement but in the end all he said was, "I'm glad. You seemed pretty upset."

I made some kind of noise of reassurance, still unwilling to look at him. We lay there in a silence for a while. Me staring at the ceiling and Matt staring at me. Don't ask me how I knew because I refused to turn my head to face him but it was like I could feel his gaze burning into my skin.

"How do you feel this morning?" I asked quietly.

Matt gave a chuckle followed by a wince. "Like shit, thanks for asking."

Finally I turned my head and gave him a small smile. "It's your own fault."

"Yeah, I know," he said and then fell silent for a moment before continuing, "I'm sorry about that girl. I shouldn't have brought her back here."

I sat up a bit against the headboard. "Matt you shouldn't have brought her back anywhere. She didn't care at all about you not really. She was nothing but a groupie. She'd have jumped on Brian or Zacky or Johnny or Brooks if she'd managed to come across them similarly incapacitated."

He frowned at me. "How do you know?"

I gave a sharp little laugh. "Matt she had a giant Deathbat tattooed across her shoulders. If she actually gave a shit about you she wouldn't have jumped you when you were essentially the embodiment of a Dead Kennedy's song."

"What?" Matt looked confused.

Colour heated my face. Why the heck had I said that? I ducked behind my hair. "Do I really need to explain it to you? Too Drunk to...."

Matt's cheeks turned as pink as mine felt and he interrupted quickly, "Right. Of course. Wow. I'd never have expected you to know that song."

"Ryan McInerney was my childhood crush. I may have made it my business to take an interest in the things he liked." The blush in my cheeks wasn't likely to fade any time soon.

"I guess that explains you knowing Tai....and your t-shirt. It's a pretty old one." Matt plucked at the sleeve of my t-shirt.

I smiled self-consciously. "Some these days would even call it vintage."

Matt snorted. "Yeah if they want to be pretentious assholes."

I shrugged and began combing my fingers through the tangles in my hair. Matt propped himself up beside me. At some stage in the night he'd made his way under the covers. He still wore his t-shirt but his jeans were hanging off the end of the bed.

"How did you recognise that chick's Deathbat tattoo?"

"Matt, I've been reading your kids the Princess Bride every night. I think I'm up to the fifth read through. They love the bit where Fezzik freaks out about the King Bats. They made sure I knew what a bloody Deathbat was." It was the truth. Partially. I may have neglected to mention the bit about knowing what a Deathbat was before the Wyld Stallyns decided to enlighten me. I had more than one photo of Matt's tattoos on my Pinterest.