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My hair is a beach-wave mess of onyx black. It hangs down just above my ass, which sucks when it comes to taking a shower.
Damn hair gets all over the place.
I’ve always been the quiet type. Always have my nose buried in a book, quietly sitting in my room or on the back porch, and listening to random music. I don’t talk to people that I don’t know, and my resting bitch face has gotten me into more arguments than I can count.
Opening my umbrella, I dig a small hole with my hands to shove the handle in. Then I lay down my towel– the perfect opposite of hers. My towel is black with various dark shades of coffins. We are definitely two different types of people.
Aimee squints in my direction while trying to use her hand as shade for her face, not wanting to put the sunglasses on due to tan lines. She gives me a look that screams drama and gossip. "Soooo," she draws out the word. "Do you wanna hear why I broke up with Ryan? I mean, I told you that he was cheating, but I didn't tell you the deets."
"Deets?" I pause. "Seriously, you can't even say ‘details’? We may be millennials, but you don’t have to talk like one. You can't shorten everything."
"Fuck off. You knew exactly what I was saying. Don't get sidetracked, I need to talk to you about girly things." Aimee whines.
"Okay, fine. What did sweet ol’ Ryan do to hurt your feelers?" I reply sarcastically while fluttering my eyelids to appease her. "No, but for real, how did you find out that he was cheating on you? And with who?"
"Well," she responds in a sing-song voice after looking at me in exasperation. "It started last weekend when we went on our camping trip. As you know, James and his girlfriend Victoria were invited at the last minute. When we got to the cabin, we all threw our stuff down and went back outside to look around. I went one way and thought Ryan was following me, but apparently not. I ended up finding him and Victoria sucking face on the backside of the cabin. I lost my shit, went back inside, grabbed my things, and headed to the cars. James ended up seeing them too and gave me a ride back."
"Holy shit, Aims, I'm so sorry. I knew he was an ass, but I didn't know he was that big of one." Giving her a grimace with a side eye, I settle down on my back.
"It's all good. I had my suspicions, but I never thought I'd catch him in action."
We sit on the beach for hours. Aimee enjoys soaking up the sun and getting more of a tan than she already has. Being a recluse, I hide from the sun because it’s a deadly laser, and I burn way too quickly.
I sit there behind my ebook. Monster erotica ends up being a way to get your head out of the clouds but also straight into the gutter. We drink so much water due to the heat that my body yells at me to use the bathroom.
Unfortunately for everyone, the bathrooms at the beach aren’t actually bathrooms– they’re porta-potties. The blue and green portable waste boxes always smell horrendous, but sometimes you just have to go. Looking over to Aimee relaxing on her towel, I sit up and tell her where I am going. She grunts in response, obviously more comfortable in the sun than anywhere else in life.
I remind myself to wake her if she’s snoring when I get back. I swear she can sleep wherever and whenever. Aimee and I could be in a devastating plane wreck, and she would be sleeping peacefully in the seat next to me. I wish I could get that kind of blissful sleep. Fucking rude.
Trying to walk in the sand is like stepping in molasses. No matter how hard or soft you step, you never get very far very quickly. Never mind trying to run in the sand if anything happens. No wonder lifeguards have to be fit. Running on the sand should be its own sport. Eventually, I make it to the poor excuse for a restroom. Standing, I shift back and forth on my feet before checking to see if one is open. Thankfully, the one closest to me is. Glancing around, I notice that there are a few families here and there, but unlike usual, no one is waiting in line to get in. However, one person catches my eye.
There’s an older-looking man heading in my direction. He looks around sixty, with scraggly salt-and-pepper hair and eyes that seem to pierce every neuron in your brain. He’s sporting a beard– if you could even call it that– which, from a distance, looks patchy and unkempt. Even though it is warm outside, he’s wearing a dark blue sweatshirt two sizes bigger than he needs. He isn't a thin man, but his beer belly adds to his dilapidated look. He wears jeans that hang below his stomach and are held up by who-knows-what.
He has a menacing facial expression, making me more uncomfortable by the second. He’s still heading straight towards me, his head on a swivel. I ignore him, thinking nothing of the hairs that stand up on the back of my neck. I quickly double-check that the restroom is indeed empty in case someone forgot to lock the door and head inside. God, it smells horrible, and every industrial plastic corner looks sticky, but I really have to pee.
I pull down my black leggings and sit to do my business. A knock comes from the flimsy door. I assume it’s the old man. Maybe the guy needs to get in and relieve himself just as badly as I need to. "Occupied!" I holler, even though I know he saw me walk in. It’s not like there aren’t more. Pick another one, creep.
No response.
'Knock, knock, knock' comes again while I clean up. I huff quite loudly but don’t reply this time. He can wait until I’m presentable. I don’t care how badly he has to go.
Finally, he stops knocking, but I still hear him moving around. As soon as I stop hearing him shuffle around in the sand, I turn around to face the back wall and happen to glance up.
"What the fuck are you doing, you troglodyte?!" All I can see is a pair of dark green eyes. Surrounding the irises is a jaundice color, sprinkled with red veins. The haunting eyes stare back at my own.
When we make eye contact, the pair of eyes disappear. I spin around, unlock the door, and stumble outside. Once I get my feet firmly planted, I start to head back to Aimee as quickly as possible. I don’t want to be around that guy any more than I already have.
I don't notice the metal pipe coming towards me until it’s too late.
Company
I have no indication, of what Roger has planned, only assumptions. I know that he’ll pack up his bags, check to make sure the security system is on so we can't leave, and lock the doors to his private rooms. All the windows have bulletproof glass and hurricane shutters, and the doors that lead outside are made of three-inch thick metal.
I don't particularly mind that he is leaving. It means that I can continue to go up to the roof at night to stargaze. That door is the only one that’s accessible without making the security system go off. I happen to be the one that helped the bastard fix the damn electric fence that’s attached to the edges of the roof where it slopes low to the ground. After the amount of times that I got shocked, I have no worries about triggering the system.
Usually, when Roger packs up and starts a new plan, he stays in his office for hours, sometimes days. Whatever he is plotting, he always ends up bringing another body into the mix.
Three of us are captive on the property, all around the same age. Since we have two males and one female, he needs one more female. I know he already has the next victim picked out. I hope she makes it through until the third morning.
