“The beaches there are beautiful.”
She winces at my reply, and I desperately want to know why.
“Who gave you your bracelet?” I ask, staring at the beaded Belle bracelet.
“I made it,” she says, stumbling over her response. “If you had to pickle any part of your body, which would you choose?”
Her question makes me laugh so hard I choke.
“Do I have to eat what I pickle?” I rasp as she pats me on the back.
“Of course not! You’re so gross. If that’s your first thought, you must be a psychopath,” she replies, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
“And yet you’re the one who dragged me alone to the beach after announcing to those jerks we were going to fuck for hours. You must be the psychopath.” I wink.
She tucks a wave of brown hair behind her ear. I suck in a breath. Her eyes sparkle, and I force myself not to stare at how beautiful she is.
“I’d pickle my ring finger, seeing as I can’t wear my ring anymore because you’ve got it.”
She moves to take it off.
“No, keep it on,” I say, “in case they come back.”And because you look good with it around your neck.
She takes her bracelet off and hands it to me. I rest it on my thigh. “You should have something of mine, seeing as I’m wearing something of yours. Unless there’s anything else you want,” she replies.
Don’t say knickers. Don’t say knickers. I shake my head. She smiles in a cute way that makes me want to learn if she still tastes of the cocktail she was drinking.
“You need to keep the bracelet safe. I run my fingers over it when I’m anxious.”
My shoulders ease. “What makes you anxious?”
“A lot of things.” Her sigh is loud and long. “But right now, with the prospect of returning home tomorrow, I’m anxious about my future. I came out this evening because my friend is worried I’m pushing away my dreams.”
“What are your dreams?”
She bites her lip. “The same as most people’s. To be successful in a career and in life generally.”
“Why are you pushing these dreams away if they’re so important to you?”
She turns in the sand to look at me, and the temptation to lift my hand to her hair and see if it’s as soft as I imagine grips me like a vice.
Her fingers dance across the bracelet, occasionally brushing my thigh. I freeze but don’t recoil. This is progress. “It feels like everything is against me. I don’t know what to do.”
Her finger circles the bracelet, and she inadvertently strokes my skin. I turn over the sanitiser in my pocket. The urge to use it won’t leave me, but I like what she’s doing, and I’ve been around her long enough to get her germs.
“If nothing stood in your way, nothing at all, would you work towards your dreams?” I stammer.
She nods. My chain shines in the moonlight.
I take a deep breath and hold out my hand. She takes it. My heart races, and I don’t think it’s just from anxiety. It’s from embracing my fears and doing something that scares me.
“When I was a teenager, I dreamt about doing the thing I’d always wanted,” I say. “I spent every day working to make it happen. Sometimes it felt impossible, but I had help. Every morning I stood in front of the mirror and told myself that the people who don’t reach their goals are the ones who forget to dream. I said I’d never forget to dream. I wouldn’t forget to live.”
Like I forgot to do this year.
“And did you reach your dream?” she asks with a hint of vulnerability.
“Yeah, and more.”
