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“You’d hate it here. Too many people and the traffic is on another level. Would you believe I got stuck on the freeway from the beach to my place for almost two hours? It’s normally a thirty-minute drive.”
“I wouldn’t hate it if I were with you.” He slows down his words, heavy breathing following. “Milly, take off your shirt.”
Liam is lying in bed, wife beater on, and his bed hair sitting on his pillow so messily. He looks good. I miss him. I miss his touch, the way that everything about him is so comfortable.
“Liam,” I offer a smile. “I can’t do that. Flynn is home. Maybe when he’s not home?”
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I tried my best not to offend him, but I could see by the way he struggled to maintain eye contact he was offended and he shifted the conversation to a quick goodbye, and that was that.
I think about calling him now, but instead, chicken out and send him a quick text.
Me: I miss you too. I’ll call you tonight when Flynn is out xx
No longer wanting to be alone in the confinement of my room, I grab a tee and place it over my tank, exiting my room and leaving my cell behind. The bathroom is between Flynn’s and my room, and when I open the door, I jump with shock screaming as a stranger stands before me.
“Jesus Christ, you scared the shit out of me.” I clutch my chest, riding through the pain.
“Sorry.” The woman smiles sweetly. “I just needed to pee, or I’ll get a UTI.”
“What?”
“You know, after you have sex, you need to pee, or you’ll get a UTI.”
I walk away and straight to Flynn’s bedroom, banging on the door with a vengeance until I open it myself. The room reeks of sex and testosterone. He sees me, ignores my presence, and closes his eyes.
“Are you kidding me with all this right now?”
His eyes open, tired and uninterested in what I have to say. “Just because you ain’t getting any doesn’t mean everyone else has to suffer.”
“How do you know I’m not getting any? Not that this is about me.” I shake my head, confused by how the conversation turned. “You can’t bring random girls to our place. And why didn’t you tell me you speak to Mama every day?”
“Because it’s none of your fucking business.”
I raise my finger, pointing it with anger. “You know, this emo phase is so 2002. As for the women, they better not steal any of my shit…” I turn to leave, but fling the words back over my shoulder, “Oh… and use protection!”
It feels like Flynn is a lost cause. I’ve failed at being a good big sister. The more time I spend with him alone, the more respect I have for Mama. With that thought in mind, I lock myself in the bathroom for an hour and decide to use my day off to hit the beach. I need out of here and time to process my lingering anger toward my own flesh and blood of a brother.
Back in my room, I gather my things into a beach bag, careful not to forget the sunscreen since I’m known for turning into a lobster. My cell vibrates on the bed, perfect timing since I almost forgot to pack it. There’s a text from Wesley, the first time I’ve heard from him in five days.
Wesley: Did you know there are 10 alligators to every human in Louisiana?
My lips curve upward in a smile, but I’m quick to stop it as if he can see me, and I don’t want him to think a simple message will bring me so much joy. I can respond instantly, fall at the mercy of his charm, but instead, I hop in my car and crank up Alanis Morissette and channel some angry-girl music in hopes it will give me much-needed strength.
I settle on hitting Venice Beach, a popular tourist destination with so much to see and quirky entertainment right on the boardwalk. I welcome the bustling atmosphere, my thoughts need a good distraction and less time to ponder and think.
There is a group of young performers doing some dance that I watch for half an hour until it ends. The performers walk around the crowd, requesting a donation be given. I threw in a five—the young guy thanking then asking me for a date at the same time.
Despite the large crowds and busy sights to take in, my mind struggles to rid itself of the unanswered text that sits in my inbox. As if the cell gods are talking to me, it rings in my purse as I fumble for it in a mad rush to answer, only to be greeted by Emerson.
“Hey, a friend and I are heading to the beach. Do you wanna come with?”
“Actually, I’m kinda at the beach already.”
“Even better. We’ll come to you.”
I give her exact directions where I’ll be waiting, deciding to walk further to a less busy part of the beach where Emerson won’t be photographed. She’s quick to let me know she’ll be here soon and what she’ll be wearing since she wants to go unnoticed. Twenty minutes later, the sunflower hat that looks like it belongs in the nineties is right in front of me.
