Dix passed me another drink, the empty flask abandoned at my feet. “Drink the ocean, Elliot. That’s what we do out here. You drown once, and then you decide—sink or swim.”
Jet added, “Or float like a corpse. That’s an option too.”
Laughter rippled around the fire. It didn’t feel cruel. Just honest.
Mia leaned her head on Drax’s shoulder. “You miss them?”
The words hit me like a sucker punch. “More than I can say.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Yeah.”
“Wanna talk about it?”
I hesitated. My first thought should have been about mom but it wasn’t. It was him. The way Anthony looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching. The way his fingers twitched when I walked by. The fact that he hadn’t seemed to notice when I left.The fact that I wanted him to chase me and hated him for not doing it.
“I don’t know.”
“That’s the worst part,” Dix murmured. “Not knowing if they’ll fight for you.”
“I don’t think he knows how.”
“Maybe he’s as scared as you are.”
“Then we’re fucked.”
Mia laughed softly. “Probably.”
The fire popped, and for a while no one spoke. I watched the sparks float into the night like fireflies and wondered how many more pieces I had left to give. How long I could pretend that grief wasn’t swallowing me whole.
Someone passed me a joint again. I took it this time with more confidence. Let it numb everything. Let it blur the edges of him.
But even high, even half-drunk,hewas still there. Anthony, in the spaces between my ribs. Anthony, in the silence between songs. Anthony, in every echo ofnot like that. I checked my phone without meaning to. No new messages. Of course there weren’t. Of course he hadn’t reached for me. My chest tightened, every thump echoing like a warning. Somewhere deep down, I hated myself for needing him. For wanting him. For imagining he might cross the dunes and fix the fragments of me I couldn’t reach on my own.
And yet I couldn’t stop picturing him. The way his fingers twitched when he thought I wasn’t looking. The curve of his jaw in the soft morning light. The warmth that always seemed just beyond my reach. Every memory stung sharper after the alcohol.
Time stopped meaning much after midnight.
It blurred into something softer and stranger—the music distant now, just a low thud behind the crash of the ocean. The bonfire had burned itself down to glowing ribs of orange andred, embers breathing instead of flames. The party thinned into silhouettes and laughter that felt too loud for how tired everyone was.
A few stragglers had stumbled away, their laughter fading into the hush of waves. The air had grown colder, biting at my skin, but I barely noticed. Hours could have passed, or minutes; I had lost all sense of time.
I didn’t feel tired.
I felt hollow.
The surf slapped my legs and chest with icy force. My hoodie clung to me like a second skin, jeans heavy with water. Each step felt like running through molasses. The cold burned my lungs as much as the alcohol burned my throat, but I welcomed it. The combination hurt in a way that felt clean. Pain meant edges. Edges meant it was real.
Mia and Jet chased me in the shallows, laughing when a wave caught me off guard and knocked me sideways. Someone grabbed my wrist to keep me from falling. Someone else splashed me deliberately. The salt stung my eyes, and the wind scrapped my skin raw.
The world spun. I laughed, but it was hollow, jagged at the edges. The waves hit me like reminders of everything I couldn’t hold onto. Of what couldn't be held. Of what kept slipping away. Mom, Dad, Anthony.
The aching inside me came with wanting something I’d never be worthy of. It wasn’t sharp, just deep. A weight where something should have been.
The waves knocked into me again and again. The water soaked me to the bone. I let it drag me down. Let it pull me away.
Mom would have loved this. The ocean. How it could wash away all your secrets, leaving you with a clean slate.
