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And Abby. I’d have Abby.
Silence stretches out between us, intensifying the ache in my chest. Save for the waves rolling into the beach, slamming up against the rocks, and the low crackles of thunder fading into the distance, it’s quiet. So quiet, I can almost imagine there’s no one else here. That there aren’t people screaming and writhing in detox hell just beyond the tree line.
That there isn’t a resort on the other side of the jungles and mountains behind us, full of rich, fortunate pricks having the times of their lives, while the less fortunate over here have to suffer in exile to prove a point.
That my daughter isn’t thousands of miles away, forgetting me with each passing day I’m not there.
“Where are you going?”
“Back inside,” I grumble, putting my back to him once more, trusting he won’t be so stupid as to actually try and climb the cliff. The rain has all but completely stopped, but the water is still pretty choppy, and there’s no telling what the hell is up there anyway.
Maybe it’s not dangerous at all. Maybe it’s just out-of-bounds to island guests. Maybe it leads to where the staff stay. Who knows?
“W-wait!” he stutters out, and I hear the chain rattle, like maybe he grabbed it to climb over. I don’t look back, but I sense him jogging after me, hear his flip-flops flapping through the sand.
Shaking my head, I glare straight ahead and quickly collect my shoes and socks.
I don’t fucking need this shit.
“Hey!” he pants. “Wait!”
I stop and whirl on him.
This time, he’s a lot closer. He rears back, stumbling, eyes wide.
Nose flared, I curl my lip up. “What?” I bite out.
His lips slam together, his throat bobbing with his heavy gulp. A flush creeps up his neck, spreading over his cheeks.
I bug my eyes at him, silently urging him out with it.
His gaze dips to my chest, and he seems to pause, like something’s caught him off guard. His dark brows knit, lips pursing. He looks…confused.
Frowning, I drop my gaze, not understanding what it is that snagged his attention and put that look on his face.
My tattoos?
My thin white V-neck is completely soaked through from the rain. It clings to my torso, putting my ink on full display.
It’s nothing crazy—not like I’m covered head to toe. Just a nice shoulder piece in the American traditional style that extends from my right forearm to up and over my pec. At the top, near my collarbone and extending over my shoulder up my neck, constellations peek out from between thick clouds. Down my arm, a woodsy scene backdropped by rolling mountains. All in shades of black and gray.
I have other pieces, but this is probably my favorite apart from the date scrolled across my heart just next to where this ends. I started this piece at eighteen, and have been getting it slowly filled in the years since whenever the mood struck, waiting for the day it finally felt finished.
I thought the date of my daughter’s birth would’ve been it. Like that’s what I was waiting for all along to say,There. It’s done.
But there’s still something missing. I just haven’t figured out what yet, or been inspired to even try.
A throat clears and I peer up through my lashes.
The kid stands a little taller, putting him only a few inches shorter than me at his full height. He lifts his chin haughtily, looking off pointedly at some spot in the horizon. Features tense.
The sun hidden only moments ago peeks out from where the storm clouds have begun to dissipate, cutting a ray of light over the boy’s face, turning his brown eyes a molten gold.
My lip curls, and a humorless laugh rumbles my chest.Right.
His head snaps forward, eyes wide, cheeks ruddier than they were a moment ago. “What?”
Shaking my head, I turn away. “Typical,” I mutter.
