Currents

Sixteen ~ Temporary

Sixteen ~ Temporary

The storm passed, but my conflicted feelings didn't. Days went by, and I refused to return to the beach, even when I realised I'd left my book there. I needed time away to process the heated moment with Brent, to come to terms with the traumatic incident, and to get over the awful memories that had resurfaced from witnessing it. The longer I kept my distance, the harder it became to go back.

Unsurprisingly, the incident made headlines. Camberley was a town with few notable events, so this represented a golden opportunity for the local news team. Mum asked if I'd known about it. When I admitted to being the person who'd called the ambulance, a proud smile crossed her face, and that brief acknowledgement of approval almost overpowered the horrors of it. Almost.

At ten o'clock on my fourth day of remaining inside the house, the sound of a knock drifted up from the garden to my balcony. Assuming it must be a delivery for Mum, I trotted down the stairs and fumbled with the lock to open the door.

It wasn't the postal service. It was Brent.

"Uh, hey," he said, looking uncharacteristically awkward. "I wanted to return this."

He held out my book, its pages crinkled from their wet episode in the rain. Taking it from him, I smoothed my hand over the cover, as if that would somehow return it to its original state.

"Thanks," I said.

"No problem. I thought you'd be coming down to the beach and was planning on giving it to you then. Is everything all right?"

Awkwardness lingered between us, a shared sense of discomfort so different to the many emotions experienced in the hut last week.

"Everything's fine," I said, because I could hardly tell him the truth.

I glanced towards the beach instead. Like most days, the sea appeared deceptively calm, but it still brought a queasy feeling to my stomach.

"I'd best get back, anyway. I just wanted to give you the book and, uh, thank you for your help the other day. You played a vital part. And I hope I didn't do anything to make you feel uncomfortable. You know, before."

Words caught in my throat at his sincerity. Seconds later, though, he'd strode away along the path, disappearing down the narrow steps. Such a genuine acknowledgement from such a distant person meant a lot.

~~~

"So, how are things with you?" I asked Mia.

To escape from my self-induced prison, I'd gone to Mia's for an evening of drinking. Sensible drinking this time. We'd both had enough recent experiences to deter us from over-indulging.

After pulling a face at my question, Mia took a sip from her glass. Following suit, I allowed myself to taste a drop of the alcohol that I'd not yet touched. The cool liquid flowed into my mouth, the sweetness of the wine making my tongue tingle.

"I regret it," she said. "I regret it so much."

"Have you still not talked to him? It's been over a week."

"Yeah, but we've never really texted or anything. I mean, we have messaged each other in the past, but more to arrange something, not for chit-chat."

"And you were hoping he'd text to clear the air?"

She shrugged. "Was that too much to expect?"

I shook my head. "I don't think so. He's probably just as confused as you, and he's scared to talk about it."