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“We’ll make it to the beach,” I try for my best smile, “I was just thinking, a lot of these places close early, and I don’t want you to miss out on a coffee mug that says Seaside on it or some seashell earrings.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Ooh, maybe we could hit up the aquarium. I haven’t been there in years.”
“Beach, Asie, we’re going to the beach.” She shoves the last of her melty pastry in her mouth and stands up.
“Fine,” I pout. Donning my hat and sunglasses I follow her out into the unholy sunshine.It has to be close to seven by now. The sun honestly should not still be this bright.
It doesn’t take long to reach the promenade separating the town from the blinding union of sand, sunshine, and water. After taking our sandals off, we step off the cement walkway.
“Ahh,” Vivian exclaims, squishing her toes in the powdery, soft grains, “now that’s the stuff.”
Ignoring my better judgment, I decide to let go of my worries. I need to have a good time. It’s been far too long that I’ve trapped myself inside during the day.Besides, it’s late enough in the evening. It should be fine.
Smiling, I follow her as she strolls through crowds of sunbathers. The sun-warmed sand instantly relaxes my nerves, like a caring hug can cure the darkest blues.
Keeping my hat secure on my head, I make my way toward the water.
“Come on,” Viv splashes me as I dip my toes in the frigid surf, “let go of the hat and live a little.”
I freeze and stare at my shadow. One hand holding my shoes and purse, the other grasps my sun hat. No matter how hard I try, even my shadow looks uptight. I bite my lip, then stare out at the horizon.
Even with the hat and sunglasses, it burns my eyes a little. I sigh.How do I explain that my eyeballs sunburn?My freaking eyeballs.
Closing said eyes for a moment to ease the burn, I force a smile. “It was a gift from my nana . . . I just don’t want anything to happen to it.” I glance away from the sun at the crowded beach. I don’t know when everyone and their brother decided to show up, but there isn’t a free spot in the sand. I couldn’t ditch my stuff even if I wanted to.
“Whatever,” Viv splashes more freezing water at me, “you’re leaving it at home tomorrow.”
I try to smile back or come up with some snarky reply. But my mind drifts back to the beginning. Back when it all crumbled.
Groaning, I peel myselffrom the hard, tiled bathroom floor. I haven’t thrown up in an hour. Hopefully at least an hour. Maybe.
My stomach still aches, the dull pain encompassing my entire abdomen throbs enough that I can barely stand. I’m sure if there was anything left in my stomach, it’d be in the toilet. As it is, I’ve been dry heaving what little acid my stomach has managed to produce since sunrise.
Happy graduation trip to me. I wasn’t even able to sleep in the fancy hotel bed for even a minute.
I groan again, clutch the sink vanity, and peel my eyes open. Like ripping duct tape off a parchment manuscript, even that movement proves almost too painful. If I could produce tears, I’d be crying.
I blink, sandpaper rubbing against my aching eyeballs. My mouth falls open as I lean closer to the mirror. Where my eyes should be white, yellow stares back at me, ribbed with bright-red veins as if every blood vessel in my eyes burst.They’re yellow. Even in the dark, I can see it. Yellow.
I couldn’t have thrown up that much or coughed that hard.
“Yo, Asra,” a deep voice echoes from the doorway followed by the click of the heavy door unlocking, “you finally up, babe?”
I cringe, knowing I look just as bad as I feel.
“There you are,” he smiles, popping in the bathroom doorway. At nearly six foot tall with a Master’s in engineering, Don is everything I want in a boyfriend. Talented, going someplace, and sweet, except for that smirk on his face. “You seriously cannot still be that hungover,” he almost laughs, “it’s like three in the afternoon and you barely had one wine cooler at the bonfire last night.”
“You ready for parasailing?” his best friend, Vince asks, joining him in the doorway. “Woah, what the hell happened to your eyes?”
I turn away, trying not to catch my reflection in the mirror. At least he didn't comment on my messy, ‘I spent the night puking in a toilet’ hair.
“For real, like you sick or something? Did you drink the water?” Don asks, leaning his arm on the doorframe.
“I just got too much sun yesterday,” I mumble, still not looking at them.
“Yeah, if that's what you’re gonna say . . . Just sit the rest of the day out.”
