Page 52 of Was I Ever Here

I hate her. I hate her. I hate her.

The memories I’ve been forcefully suppressing threaten to come back up like bile burning up my throat. I don’t want to think. I don’t want to look. I don’t want to feel.

“Fuck!” I scream it into the pillow, biting my inner cheek so hard I can taste blood. I need to get out of here before the comforting pull of a blade on my skin makes me spiral even deeper into the void. I pick up my phone with shaky hands.

Me: Feel like day drinking?

Lenix: Always! Beach?

Me: Duh. Meet you there.

She sends me a string of emojis to accentuate her excitement and a half hearted laugh escapes my lips while I head to the dresser to fish out a bikini.

The small portable speaker sits between us, blasting the perfect curated beach day playlist courtesy of Lenix. The sun is red against my closed eyelids while I try to shade my face from the early afternoon rays. We’re a bottle of Prosecco deep already, when Lenix rummages through her beach bag and pulls out a mickey of tequila.

“I knew it was in here somewhere,” she exclaims, wiggling her eyebrows in my direction, the freckles on her nose that only seemed to come out after a full day in the sun, heightening her natural beauty as she twists the cap off.

“You’re like Mary Poppins but for sad alcoholics,” I remark between mouthfuls of chips from the bag beside me.

She scoffs, taking a swig of the bottle and handing it to me. “The only sad alcoholic here is you, thank you very much,” she says, pushing her long black hair off her shoulder with her usual faux attitude.

“I’m just here for the good vibes…” she trails off, looking over my shoulder and into the distance. “And maybe a few cute boys too.” She flashes a toothy smile and settles back on her elbows, closing her eyes against the rays, her face seeking the warmth of the sun.

I turn around to find Byzantine, Connor and Bastian heading towards us.

“Youinvitedthem?”

Lenix simply shrugs her shoulders. “Connor gave me his number last week. Thought it would be fun.”

I narrow my eyes. “Lenix, are you fucking Connor?” I whisper, as if the guys could hear us from all the way over there.

Her gaze pops open, looking over my shoulder and waving. “God Sunny you don’t have to be so crass,” she reprimands but still winks at me deviously. “No I’m notfuckingConnor. We’re just friends. Besides, he’s basically a male version of myself. He’s just fun to be around,” she replies noncommittally.

“He’sfunto be around?” I repeat dumbfoundedly.

Doesn’t she remember how I met him? But then, I swallow any more of my retort, feeling like a hypocrite.

“Just be careful, Lenix, yeah?”

She slides her sunglasses on her face. “Always babes,” she promises, and rolls on her side as the three of them reach our spot.

“Hiya boys!” Lenix says as she twinkles her fingers at them. Byzantine brittles at the wordboysbut says nothing, while Connor flashes his famous smile and drops the cooler he’s holding near our heads. Bastian hangs in the back, holding a huge umbrella in his arms, Byzantine carrying the beach chairs.

I need a moment to recalibrate. They all seem so—normal. The thought of them having a normal beach day like us mere mortals is currently fighting against the larger than life image I have of them.

And…is Byzantine wearing swim trunks?

This feels all too casual but I bite down on the feeling and smile up at him. I’m casually trying to hide my annoyance about them crashing my “let’s avoid all my problems at all cost” drinking party. The man currently staring at me being one of my most crucial problems in question.

“Came prepared I see?” I note, just to have something to say.

Lenix and I only brought the essentials—towel, bathing suit and booze. But these guys strolled up as if they were going camping or something.

Connor lets out a small chuckle while he watches Bastian struggle with the large beach umbrella then glances at me.

“Why would I lay on a lumpy towel like a peasant,” Connor drawls while fishing out two beers from the cooler and handing one to Byzantine. Lenix mocks outrage but he only laughs. “Besides,” he continues, falling into one of the beach chairs, his toned legs splayed out in front of him, chest gleaming with sweat while taking a long swig of beer. “I refuse to wash sand out of my ass.”

With that, Byzantine swats Connor behind the head. “Idiot,” he grouses.

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