Playing With Fire

Chapter Seventeen

            Despite my irritation that has carried on from my confrontation with Travis a few days ago, the humidity layers my body like a cake—normally, I hate the sticky, hot feeling; however, it feels like an endless shower as I find myself enjoying it.

            Tranquility, followed by a relief that Friday evening has finally arrived, settles in hard as I rest with my eyes peacefully closed. The only sounds I can make out are the dull crashes of waves hitting the shore.

            Unlike the last time I heard the peaceful violence, the waves sound more lulling than luring. Occasionally, in the last hour, I’ve found myself dozing off—only, when I wake, my head has lopped to the side, or a small, white sand crab has been crawling up my leg.

            Only, this time, when I wake up, it’s not to the sound of the waves, to the sensation of crawling bugs, or to the crash of my head. Rather, it is the sound of heavy breathing, similar to the way I was panting at the further end the beach.

            My eyes flutter open, immediately squinting as they reach the view of sunlight. Every time a wave relapses, I can hear the labored breathing in between the silence.

            A little whimper followed by a shaky sob captures my cautious attention the most. I sit up straight, arduously pushing past the blood rush that leaves me dizzy and nauseated.

            As I look around, I spot the source a few yards away. Back facing me, a young boy, about a fourth my size, has his hands braced on his knees. Recognition shudders through me, and I shoot up from my rooted spot.

            My head pounds at the abrupt movement, but suddenly, it doesn’t matter anymore.

            I jog towards the boy, who is now placing a trembling hand on his neck. When I reach him, he doesn’t acknowledge my presence at first. It’s only when I place a firm hand on his puny shoulder that he fights to sneak a glance.

            To my dismay, my appearance confuses him even more and he begins to breathe even harder. I quickly remove my hand from its position and kneel down so that I’m looking directly at him.

            “Hey,” I say softly, raising a hand, “Focus on my breathing.”

            Similar to the way Travis helped me, I demonstrate a slow, deep breath. With my free hand, I draw my fingers up in an inhale, and let them fall gradually for the exhale.

            The boy watches my movements and attempts to follow my lead. With a crinkled grimace, he painfully does so, taking mini shaky breathes to gain stability. Slowly, as we continue to do this, I watch as the green drains from his face and is replaced with the peachy flesh color of his hands.

            Finally, he takes a gentle step back and cautiously straightens from his fetal position. I put my hands out carefully, wondering if he’s stabilized enough to walk—but he seems just fine.

            Moments tick by as he simply stares at me with his round, blue eyes. Deciding to try again, I smile but keep my hands to myself.

            “Are you okay?” I press softly.

            He shakes his head, his lower lip trembling. “I’m lost.”

            My heart reaches out to him, as his statement ironically fits my entire life status at the moment. At the comparison, I let out an amused ‘hmpf’ before taking a baby step on my knee, towards him.