I make my way to the bar and am grateful for the heat from the overhead lamps. Ibiza in mid-November is nowhere near as cold as Dublin, but there’s a definite chill in the air at night. I really don’t want to sleep on the streets or beach again tonight, but I also don’t want to waste my money on a last-minute hotel room. I don’t have it in me to be social enough to brave a hostel dorm. I should go to the bathroom and freshen up, see what I actually look like for the first time in... oh, I don’t know how long. And I don’t really care. First, I need that drink.
I order a beer and a shot of tequila to chase it down with and hold my breath as I hold my card to the pin machine. It goes through.
Thank fuck for that. I really do owe you, Maeve.
I know I should call her, but not now. If she hears the music and chatter in the background she’ll go apeshit on me, and rightly so. I’ll text her later when I have somewhere to stay... or rather, someone to stay with.
“Did you have a good nap?” a voice says beside me. I didn’t even see them approach. My eyes were fixed on the shot glass I’d just emptied, waiting for the hum of the alcohol to melt some of the aching in my chest.
“Oh, you saw that?” I force a smile as I turn towards them. They’re not bad looking and seem clean enough.
“Practically tripped over you,” they reply, and I detect an accent, but I don’t have the energy to ask about it.
“Had a late night,” I explain, although I couldn’t honestly tell them where I was or what I was doing.
“You’ve still got sand in your hair.” A hand comes up and fingers rake their way against my scalp. I close my eyes to see if I feel something, anything. When I don’t, it’s a struggle to open my eyelids again.
“You don’t remember, do you?” they ask.
I shake my head. “Have we met before?”
“I’ll buy you another drink to see if that helps your memory.” They wave at the barman.
My smile comes easily then, as do my short replies to their longer questions as we stand at the bar and sink another three beers each. I never do find out what it is I’m supposed to remember, but as we shuffle to the toilet and hide in a cubicle together and a small pill is placed on my tongue, I have such an overwhelming and heavy sense of foreboding déjà vu I almost spit it out and run away.
Instead, I quickly swallow it and follow them back out to the bar, where the music seems louder and there are more people on the small dance floor. Another beer is shoved into one of my hands while the other is pulled towards the dancing bodies that seem to move too quickly for me to focus on.
Thank God, it’s still this crappy dance music. It’s actually helping. The louder the better. The heavier the bass, the lighter my load starts to feel. Or maybe that’s just whatever I took starting to work. That and the alcohol and the thumping of the music, it’s all waking me up and making me want to move, to do what I came here to do; party, have fun, chase any and every high, forget what happened. Escape.
I start to move, tapping my feet and rocking my shoulders. I can’t dance for shit, but I’m really good at not giving a flying fuck about that fact. I have a good smile, a great arse and I know how to flirt. I won’t be dancing alone for long.
Out of the corner of my eye I see the pinks and purples the sunset has left in the sky, and it almost makes me stop moving. There’s something magnetic in those colours and they’re extra vivid and bold tonight, thanks to a near cloudless horizon. But then I feel hands come to sit on my hips and the back of my thighs brush against warm flesh. I step back into it, leaning into a body, and I reach behind me to see if I can hold a piece of it in my own hands.
Then I close my eyes to the sunset, to the world, and to whatever happens next.
The First Sunset
“Every sunset brings the promise of a new dawn.”
- Ralph Waldo Emerson
Chapter Three
Jenna
For a few seconds, I turn sideways and do an awkward dance on the spot as I step one foot forward to follow my brother, then shuffle it back before trying again with the other. In the end, I can't move my feet any more than I can close my mouth or coordinate holding my drink in my hand with my clutch bag under my arm so I simply turn back to the bar, giving them both my back, which starts to burn as hot as fire, and it’s definitely not my sunburn.
“Did you just check in? How was your flight?” Jake asks and I swear my brother doesn’t need to talkthatloudly. That said, my ears still strain to catch the reply, to hear the young man’s voice, but I get nothing.
“Well, welcome, we’re happy to have you here. I see you have a drink...” Jake is practically hollering.
I stretch back a bit, hoping that will help, but still hear nothing but a slight, deep rumble.
“Oh, yes, that's my sister, Jenna.” I hear Jake say, even louder. My shoulders freeze close to my ears. “I'll try that again, shall I? Yes, that's my sister! Jenna!”
After a quick cringe, my features do an abrupt turn as I swivel to face them, smiling. Leaving my nearly empty glass at the bar, I grip my clutch like my life depends on it and make my way towards my brother, all the while wishing I was in something a bit more sophisticated than the bikini and oversized T-shirt dress I've been wearing all day.
“Hi.” I hold out my hand. “I'm Jenna.”
