Currents

Eleven ~ Burnt

Eleven ~ Burnt

Few feelings match that sense of disorientation when waking up somewhere strange.

Where am I? What time is it? Why is my bed so uncomfortable?

The questions muddled through my groggy mind as I opened my eyes, following a nap on the beach. As I adjusted to the light, I noticed a pair of large, tanned feet covered in sand a few inches from my face. The invasion of my personal space prompted me to shuffle away and sit up, only to be overcome by a searing pain across my back.

I winced, letting out a pathetic whimper as I straightened out. How long had I been asleep? When did I last apply sun cream? Was Alastair cheating on me again? The previous questions gave way to more coherent thoughts, before being interrupted by the owner of the feet stating the obvious.

"You're looking a little... pink."

I glared up at Brent. "No shit."

His expression—which almost bore a hint of concern—transformed into one of disapproval as he frowned down at me. Folding his arms, he tapped his foot on the sand, as if trying to calm himself.

"I could have left you to cook," he said. "Feel free to go back to sleep if you don't appreciate me saving your skin. Literally."

Realising Brent must have woken me, I struggled to my feet, careful not to twist or worsen the pain.

"Thanks for waking me." I stretched my arm behind me in an attempt to establish the severity of the burn. The vain part of me despaired at the thought of how long it would take to heal; I wouldn't be able to sunbathe, and I no doubt looked ridiculous.

"Is it bad?" I asked Brent, turning so he could inspect my back and peering over my shoulder to monitor his reaction.

He sighed, pressing his lips together. It was bad. I could tell from the rare display of restraint.

"I might have some stuff for it if you, uh, if you want," he said, scratching the nape of his neck as he looked anywhere but at me.

What was his problem now? Every time I thought we'd made progress, he managed to throw in a curveball and confuse me further.

"Stuff like what?" I asked, curious nonetheless. "Because if it'll help then I'll take it, whatever it is."

"Just some cream."

"Cream?" I raised my eyebrows. "I thought you were going to offer me an illegal, breakthrough drug that you'd invented during your many days on this lonely beach."

His awkwardness fidgeting ceased, replaced by his standard frown. "Do you want it or not?"

"Yes please," I said, lightening my tone and forcing a smile.

"It's in my hut." Brent jerked his head in the direction of the sand dune.

"Oh," I said, following him towards the small structure. "Do you often help out girls who get burnt?"

Despite attempting to keep my voice light-hearted, I failed, and the words came out shaky instead. Brent glanced across at me, his brow furrowed. He probably thought the sun had gone to my head.

"No. I sit on that chair all day. I sometimes burn."

"I was only joking," I said, but I couldn't resist stealing a peek at his bronzed body. If someone as tanned as him still got burnt, I dreaded to think how my fair skin had suffered.

From the outside, the hut appeared basic. Brent had done an impressive job, though, decorating it in a simple yet homely manner. Considering he didn't give much away, being inside felt like an intrusion on his privacy.