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“You all good?” I ask gently.
It’s like my question flips a switch. Immediately, Cass’s gaze is alert and focused, and the smile she was wearing earlier is plastered back on her lips.
“Of course,” she says, as if my question is ridiculous.
Her tone is convincing, but I don’t believe it.
“You’re sure?” I try again, my voice laced with concern, but she just nods and places her hand over mine, crinkling her forehead in an expression of reassurance. We turn back to the end of the table just as Doug apparently reaches the punch line of his joke, some nonsense I don’t understand but that elicits a groan from everyone else.
The whisky continues to circle the table, and I gradually notice the volume of voices growing louder, speech growing slower.
“Reckon I’ll be hitting up the Full Moon tonight,” Doug says when the conversation lulls. There’s a noticeable slur to his speech. “Who’s coming with me? Neil? Logan?”
“You’re not twenty anymore. You do realize that, right?” Logan asks.
“Easy for you to say, mate. You’re all shacked up.” Doug looks pointedly in Cass’s direction. “I’m still on the prowl. And you know how loose the tourists get at that shit. It’s like open season.”
“Oh, those poor girls,” Greta says without a laugh.
“Come on,” Doug says, drawing out each word.
“I’m in.” Neil shrugs.
“It’s up to you, Cass.” Logan turns to her. “Should we go?”
I can think of a million things I’d rather do than go to the Full Moon Party, but as soon as Cass nods her head, I know my answer.
As we stand up from the table, picking up the discarded cups and bottles, Neil turns to me. “So what about you, Miss Brooke? Will you do me the honor of being my date to the Full Moon Party?”
He’s close enough that I can feel his breath warm against my cheek, and his fingers brush my hand.
“I suppose so,” I say sheepishly.
“Good.” Neil’s smile is wide. He grabs the near-empty whisky bottle from the table and hands it to me. “You won’t regret it.”
This time, I take a large gulp, finishing the rest of the bottle. As the liquid sears my throat, I hope he’s right.
5
CASS
SATURDAY
The pulsating wail jars me awake. My eyes are gravelly, my throat dry. The alarm pulled me from yet another nightmare where I was back in that hotel room.
Even after I silence my phone, an incessant vibration continues, as if my brain is rattling around inside my skull. I stifle a groan, thinking of how stupid I’ve been. I never stay out late the night before a morning dive. Why did I have that glass of champagne? And those beers at Frangipani? And whatever else I may have drunk at the Full Moon Party…
But I know the answer to these questions. I plastered on my brightest smile, tried to be the cheeriest version of myself, not wanting anyone to suspect what’s really going on.
I tried to put everything that happened yesterday out of my head: the threatening envelope on my doorstep, that weird interaction with my dive student, Ariel. And I think everyone bought theact. Except for Brooke. I kept catching her looking at me, throwing concerned glances in my direction. I assured her I was okay—I just got engaged, I’m over the moon!—but I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching me. It was the same sense I had yesterday as I left my house. And I could have sworn I heard a rustling coming from the jungle lining the road outside Frangipani. But as I peered out into the darkness of the trees, nothing moved.
I shake my head to clear away the memory, flinching at the sudden pain.
I wish I could blame my current state on the alcohol alone, but unfortunately there’s more to it.
I reach over to my bedside table as quietly as I can to make sure Logan doesn’t wake up. I feel around until my fingers brush against a cardboard box, buried under old ChapSticks and neglected paperbacks. A cocktail of shame and guilt washes over me as I pull out the box of little white pills that I hid last night.
I had promised myself I would never use them again. But that was before yesterday. I cautiously carry the box with me to the bathroom and push a pill through the thin foil of the blister pack. I don’t bother finding a cup of water and instead position the Xanax on the center of my tongue and draw up enough saliva to force it down. The rounded corners feel jagged on the dry sides of my throat, and I swallow several times before I’m sure it’s down.
