Tommy wasn’tatCòctelswhen I got there, nor was he in the flat above. I tried his apartment, a place I hadn’t been back to since that night, and ran back to my car when there was no answer.
I wanted to speak to him, Livi’s words ringing true, and I needed to speak to him soon, feeling as if I was going to burst if I didn’t. I drove to a couple of spots where I thought I might find him – the gym I knew he went to and a restaurant in Es Cubells, but he wasn’t there. His phone was switched off, so I did what Lala would’ve suggested, and followed my instinct.
The road to Cala d’Hort had never felt so long, the turning onto the unmarked rocky lane seemed to have been moved further away. I parked up, thankful that the area was free from most other cars, except Tommy’s. My gut had been right.
The sun was just approaching the sea when I set out to walk the stony trail that led to Torre Del Pirata. The path led to the cliff, the azure sea visible, Es Vedra looming there, its magnetism still drawing people to it, even without the sirens.
Torre Del Pirata was a stone tower, made from limestone in the middle of the eighteeth century. Whatever purpose it was built for didn’t come to fruition, and it became a watch tower. Now it watched over Es Vedra.
I saw Tommy, looking out from it towards the rocks. His broad back and narrow waist, his dark hair mussed by his own hand.
He turned as I got nearer, seeming to know it was me.
We didn’t speak, not at first. We sat down on the top, watching the day start to cool, the sounds of tourists in the background as the areas started to get busier in preparation for sunset.
As much as the clubs and nightlife were Ibiza, this was it more. This was what made people stay, take a chance on a place where they could be free. Liberated.
Unless you had ties elsewhere, like to family. Like both of us had.
“I’m leaving the day after tomorrow.”
He didn’t say anything, just continued to look at the sea and the sky, just giving a faint nod.
“I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Our hands found each other, clasping fingers together, the hold tight as if we were lovers in a storm and the boat was sinking.
“I don’t know where I’m going.” His words were barely audible.
“Neither do I. I just hope I know when I’m there.”
We watched the sunset, the people there becoming part of the background. The sky performed its usual show of colour, and Es Vedra shivered and shimmied, pulling every soul closer as it always had.
We stayed there until the crowds had gone, until the only voices were the murmurs of couples finding quiet under that sky full of glitter, my head on Tommy’s shoulder, and my face wet with silent tears.
A few words exchanged, and we agreed to meet back at his, the drive alone the loneliest I’d ever felt, because I knew there would be more drives like this one, where I was alone and missing him, even though he’d never been mine to miss.
His apartment was in darkness, and he kept me glued to his sides while he checked the rooms, closing the shutters and resetting the alarm.
We both knew that there was no threat. The tidal wave that had crashed into us days before had now fallen to the sea’s usual ebb and flow, but there would always be a memory of it, no matter how much of our futures buried it in the past.
His bedroom was dark, the dim lamp by his bed giving little glow, but we didn’t need it. Our hands read each other’s skin like we were revising a novel in the darkness, and the history of us was written like braille. Every touch was slow, never enough and always too much. With every kiss, my heart became a little more fractured, and like kintsugi, his touch mended it into something more beautiful.
Every broken thing contains a memory, one that holds hurt maybe. But some kinds of hurt can only come from love.
And it was this night, I let myself fall, relishing in the power of being pulled under its waves and drowning, drowning, drowning in him.
I didn’t need to breathe, because he was the only air I needed. For tonight. Only for tonight.
We didn’t sleep, making love until dawn crashed into the room, signifying another day beginning, another endless day on Ibiza. We lay, eyes wide open and in each other’s arms as the birdsong began.
“I went to where we scattered Leila’s ashes.” His words were some of the first that had been spoken for hours.
“Will you always miss her?”
“No. I don’t miss her anymore. I don’t think I have for a while, and I know that’s okay now. Leila was everything then, but that stopped. My life didn’t and I want to keep living that life. There’s a lot in it that I love.”
My heart beat a little faster at the words, but I wasn’t going to read into them. Too much on this island had been left to be inferred.
