I wake up with a headache, white linen sheets pulled over my head not thick enough to block out the sound of the ocean. I left my window open by mistake, and a timid breeze dances through and cools my room down. The first thing that hits me when I awake is anxiety. I remember telling harry my real name. I shouldn't have gotten into a car with him that first night. Being in a car with tinted windows late at night makes me feel like I could go anywhere, and disappear. I feel safe to speak when I'm alone with him, but I have to remind myself that I can't trust him. Rich people are different, they know they're above the law, and I can't trust him to have good intentions.
Mia and Sophie don't seem suspicious of me at all. They saw me get ready last night, and they know where I was. I remind myself that Casper is the only option here, and I wait for his call.
He calls me late in the evening. Casper is not an incredibly important man in this cartel, and that is why he's so easy. The idea is that he is important enough to flout his status and want notoriety and attention, but low enough that he is easily accessible. I wouldn't be able to just walk up to the real ring leader, he'd be much much harder to find. When my phone rings with a local number, I wait three rings before I pick it up.
"Hello?"
"Is this Evelyn?"
"It is. This must be Casper." I am in awe at the lack of chemistry we have, and I wonder if its just my nerves.
"I'd love to see you again, take you out on a real date." His voice is raspy but not particularly low, and I pretend to giggle a little, before I tell him yes. We make plans to have dinner two days from now, and I save his number in my phone after we hang up. Maybe its because I know who he really is, but I can't muster any sort of excitement about the "date". Its all too forced and contrived. My mind wanders to Harry, and I imagine letting him take me on date. He'd ask a lot of questions like he always does, and I'd feel seen not just looked at. I felt like Casper was looking at me, and I felt like Harry was actually seeing me. Rolling my eyes at the cliche, I toss my phone back onto my bed, and pull the blinds shut. For the next two days, I don't have to do anything while I wait for this date. If I rush anything, he might get suspicious. Instead, I tell myself that I can have the next two days to pretend to be on vacation. I pull on a pair of comfortable jeans and a white t-shirt, clothes I brought from home that have been worn by the real me. Clothes I bought myself back before I got into this mess.
I find myself walking out the back door onto the slightly damp sand. It seems that it just rained, and the sky is still clouded and blotting out the last few hours of sun. The overcast weather is easy on the eyes, and the grey-blue color of the sky almost melts into the ocean where they meet on the horizon. I wander towards the water and just stand and stare it down, wishing I could swim out to an island somewhere and just live the rest of my life in peace. Because of the rainfall earlier, all of the sand is sort of damp, and sticking to my feet and the bottom of my jeans. That, coupled with my windblown hair is making me look disheveled, but more like a real person, not a carefully crafted image.
I decide to walk by his house, because I am stupid. He wasn't out on his porch, and I breathe a sigh of relief. His house is all shuttered up, dark color pallet in direct opposition of the light sand and cool blue sea just a few yards from his back door. Truthfully, I like living near him. The idea of him feels within reach, when I can see his dark looming house in the distance from my bedroom window. I know I'm romanticizing him, but I can't help it; we are both curious about the other. I don't know a thing about him, except that I want to know him. He doesn't seem concerned with the intense party culture surrounding the coast. I'm sure he sees thousands of tourist girls flooding the sand when the weather turns warm, looking for excitement, a summer fling to whisper about for years to come. I'm sure he's been curious about plenty of girls before me, and will be curious about plenty of girls after me. But for these three months, I want to believe that maybe something could've come out of it, if things had been different.
I pass his house without seeing him, thank god. I let my bare feet carry me through the sand towards the glow of the pier and the boardwalk breaking through the foggy afternoon. The sun is going to set in about an hour, and I want to be home safe before that. I feel dazed almost, as I wander between clumps of tourists with their makeup and hair done up, looking for a good time. I can't judge them, that couldve just as easily been me. I step into a tiny souvenir shop on the very edge of the boardwalk; one of the family owned shops, not those big gaudy neon sun themed ones on every single corner. My eyes graze over all of the cheap trinkets, and I wonder if I should by something for myself. If I get my life back, would I want to remember this summer? I decide that I do want to purchase a souvenir just in case, to look back on, but I decide to wait till later in the summer, when I know how it will end. Instead, I buy some sunscreen, coconut scented, and head back towards the house. The green plastic bag holding my sunscreen crinkles against my clothes as I tote it back down the beach.
As Harry's house comes into view, I see a dark figure sitting against the porch steps. I freeze, feet motionless in the scratchy sand as I realize he's going to see me like this. I dart towards the water, getting as close to the frothy current as possible to hopefully pass by undetected. I was hoping to be a distant figure that he can't make out from his porch. I looked like I did the first day when he saw me in the yellow convertible; disheveled and real. Every other time he's seen me, I've been strategically done up and costumed.
I am practically jogging past his house at this point, keeping my head down, hoping the harsh wind will keep my face concealed with a veil of wild hair.
"Lexi!"
I don't look up the first time I hear my name. He keeps calling me, deep voice carrying over the wind.
Internally, I am cursing him out for recognizing me. I am both horrified and thrilled that he wants to talk.
Finally I stop and turn to look at him. I can barely understand what he's saying over the wind whipping my hair around my head, but I turn to him and dumbly start walking towards him. My only line of defense is to be icy.
"Why do you keep following me around?" I accuse, frowning at him as I walk up to his back porch. I feel guilty, but I need him to be the villain. Yes, he is beautiful, and yes he is enticing but he has to know by now that if I could've I already would've.
He looks taken aback. "I'm not trying to follow you. I thought we had a good time when I saw you last." He seems sincerely confused by my back and forth, and I don't blame him. One minute I'm smiling at laughing with him, and the next I'm yelling at him and trying to run away.
"Also," he adds, raising an eyebrow, "I don't think it counts as following you, when you're the one who keeps walking past my house."
"First of all, I have to walk by to get to town."
"That's fine, but don't act like I shouldn't be out on my own porch."
As I'm watching him stare at the ground somewhat distressed, I feel suddenly guilty for being so harsh. "Look, I'm sorry, but I just can't."
He looks up at me, clearly confused but remains silent. I'm sure girls dropping by for the summer usually have less obstacles keeping them away from him.
"You wouldn't believe what was going on, even if I could tell you."
"You've got to stop saying such cryptic things, if you want me to leave you alone." The teasing tone is creeping back into his voice and I am reminded why I am so drawn to him.
Behind me, the sun is setting, casting shadows onto his face. He and I are the only ones on the beach, the empty sand stretching as far as I can see both ways. Anyone loitering by the road wouldn't be able to hear us over the coastal wind. It suddenly strikes me, how ridiculous and unbelievably fucked up my life is. I don't even know what he wants from me, but I wish I could wander down this road with him.
His green eyes rake over my disheveled appearance and bare feet. I'm sure he's wondering what I'm doing looking homeless on a Thursday night at the beach. He meets my gaze again, leaning back on his elbows. "Enjoying your summer?"
"Not really." I wish I could stop being so honest with him.
He glances down at the green plastic bag in my left hand. "What do you have there?"
Instinctively, I hide the bag behind my back. "I wanted to get a souvenir but I couldn't find anything I wanted."
"If you're not enjoying your summer why do you want to remember it?"
We sit in the silence for a moment, neither of us breaking eye contact. The wind blotting out our voices makes me feel anonymous in a way.
"I'm hoping I can turn it around, and it ends well."
"Are you, like, running from something?" He is observably confused, which isn't surprising considering all of the horrible tidbits I have dropped around him.
"In a way." Actually, I am running towards something. Something very dangerous and frightening.
"Someone?"
I shake my head 'no' and he looks placated for a moment.
Suddenly, he's looking over my shoulder at the water. "You know, I live here year round. I don't know if I mentioned that."
"You didn't." He doesn't look over at me.
"It gets kind of boring here, when summer melts away into autumn. Its so different than what tourists see, when they're here for a blip of time in the summer."
"I'm sure."
"It feels crowded in the summer, but really empty for the rest of the year." He looks back over at me finally. "So if your summer doesn't end well, the way you want, just know that it really doesn't for anyone here."
I can't tell if that is supposed to be depressing or comforting. I say goodnight to him even though I don't wan't to, and I let my cold feet carry me through the wet sand, away from him, presumably forever. I can feel his curious eyes follow me every step of the way.