Lime and Soda ✓

eight - rockpools

It's Saturday, five days after the devastation Hurricane Astrid left on all of us at Eleanor's party, and I wake up feeling like absolute shit.

The sun pushes its way through my curtains and a soft ray falls onto my face, blinds me as I open my eyes. I groan and roll over, listening to the soft shhh of the early morning waves stroking the shore, in and out, in and out, over and over. Repetition is comforting.

I can't have slept at all. I feel as completely exhausted as if I'd been awake all night, though I know I slept some because I had a vivid dream in which Astrid and Ross became butterflies and flew away into the clouds together. This confused me because Astrid isn't a butterfly, she's the sun, and Ross is the colour purple. Dark, mysterious. Hurting. Bruised. I must have slept, so why do I feel so awful?

I count the days on my fingers. I started my detox on Thursday last week, so it's been five days, and I feel completely drained. Since then I've completely cut out all the foods on my list, and have been living off lots of fruit and sampling the few gluten-free breads on offer at the tiny local supermarket. So far I haven't found one that isn't so dry it coats my mouth like sandpaper. This must be a side effect of cutting everything out too quickly - my body can't cope. My legs are made of lead. They're so heavy I can barely swing them out of bed. The skin on my upper arms is caked with blood, again. It's not getting any better.

I remind myself that it's only been five days, that nothing will happen overnight, that I need to keep up with it and look after myself, but I'm frustrated. I want everything to happen too quickly.

I'm in the shower when I get the message. My phone pings, an unusual occurrence in itself - if Astrid wants me, she comes and tells me herself. My mum rings the landline, and I'm living in the same house as Bea. There's no one else to talk to. I don't have anyone else's number - like I said, we're summer friends only. Most people talk to me through Astrid if they talk to me at all. I force myself to finish rinsing the shower gel off me before I allow my burning curiosity to drag me out of the shower and check my phone, which lies on the side of the bath. It's an unknown number, not one in my contacts.

07765342879: hey violet :)

If they hadn't used my name I'd think they got the wrong number. I text back immediately, careless of my wet hands and dripping hair over my phone.

Me: Hey, who's this?

I stand there, waiting for them to answer. A few minutes and a decade pass by while I stand there, and I slowly turn to ice without realising. They don't reply, and I realise I'm shivering, so I quickly lather myself up in soothing shea butter, dress, and head back to my room to dry my hair.

Them: it's jay. astrid gave me your number. sorry if this is a bit weird.

I have become a statue. A puddle collects on the floor around my feet from my wet, tangled hair, and I slowly melt into it and become liquid mass. My legs feel like they are going to fall off. The room closes in on me until it doesn't exist anymore, just me and my puddle. I have no idea what to say. Why the hell is Jay texting me? Isn't he busy enough with Sophia?

Me: not weird. what's up?

Him: fancy a walk on the beach? ross is being miserable and there's fuck all to do here.

I should reply, tell him he can go for a walk with snaky Sophia, that I don't want to go with him, that he only wants to see me because he's bored, that we can go out when he stops talking to her. I should say all of these things. I don't say any of them. What I do say is:

sure. meet at the steps in 20? :)

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