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“It’s being locked up. How is that different?”
“It’s not close at all. And fuck you for thinking a tropical island time out is anything like being put in a boy’s home for a fucking year.” I shoved out of the sliding door to the back deck to get some peace.
“Where the fuck are you going?” Royal stood just inside the threshold.
“To drown myself.”
“You can’t fucking say shit like that.” He slammed the door, coming after me.
I paused, gasping as I realized how truly over water we were. I’d registered we’d walked out on the dock to get to the bungalow, but the back side of it faced the open ocean as far as the eye could see.
I’d seen pictures of these kinds of places, but this was breathtaking. We were far more spaced out than they normally were. We’d never see another person if we didn’t leave the bungalow.
I walked down the steps to the lower level of the deck that sat at water level. I sat down on a whim and rolled up my jeans, putting my feet in the water and hoping Royal decided to fuck off.
I wasn’t happy about being here either, but the way Royal acted, it was like they admitted us to a psych ward. We were on a forced vacation for a month. We could both use the time off.
If we were in town, there was always something to do. Or fans or something. We hadn’t taken a real vacation in years. Too often, when we got off tour, we were too tired to do anything but exist in our apartment. And by the time we recovered from all the jet lag, endless days, and being a performing act, we had to get back in the studio. It was a never-ending cycle. This felt good. I couldn’t explain it. I wanted to be away from the public. I didn’t understand why Royal was so mad about it. It’s not like I was in a fucking skirt.
Was being here with me that bad?
He sure made it seem like it was, and that hurt more than the last couple of months. I fucking hated it, and it made me want to hurt him in return.
And maybe that made me as bad as him—but in all honesty, what the fuck was wrong with him? I was happy, and he couldn’t get over…what? That he sometimes got turned on by a guy in a skirt. He needed to get over himself. It made me so mad that I’d blindly ignored those parts of him and stood up for him for so many years to my own brother only for him to treat me like this.
Maybe I was just stupid.
I felt fucking stupid.
I wasn’t mad about the shared room, either. I hated sleeping alone, and in a place like this, it was probably a liability for me, considering I’d been known to sleepwalk during the worst of my night terrors. I bet Levi realized and put us together because he wasn’t about to send my brother with me.
I decided to go for a walk, not wanting to face him or the shared bungalow. I found a shaded spot and laid in the sand, not bothering to move as the tide rolled in, licking at my ankles and soaking my jeans. I stayed there as the sun set and the last of the light dipped below the sky.
“Where the fuck have you been?” Royal’s angry ass voice joined a flashlight in my eyes.
I lifted my hand, shielding myself from the brightness. “Here.”
“You can’t just vanish.”
“We are on a fucking island. I didn’t vanish. There is nowhere to go.”
“I didn’t know where you were,” Royal’s voice was strained, and it gave me a sick bit of pleasure.
“That was the point.” I didn’t have to see him to know he scowled down at my words.
“Get up. You’re going to get eaten by a shark or something.” Royal’s voice was a low snarl.
“I don’t think there are those types of sharks here.” I couldn’t recall any notable shark attacks, not like other parts of the world experienced.
“What are you, a fucking shark expert now?”
“The water is too warm for the big ones,” I murmured, sure I was right.
“Will you get up and come back to the bungalow?” Royal’s tone was exasperated.
“I’m going to google sharks when we get WiFi.”
“Will you drop the shark thing? What if you get sand fleas or, I don’t know, eaten by fire ants?”
