When I wake up, I’m acutely aware of two things.
The first is how deeply exhausted my body is. My legs feel heavy and pained from the amount of activity they’ve endured over the last few days. I feel like I can hear them shouting up at me:Witch! You have betrayed us!
The second thing is how close Elliot’s body is to mine, which is infinitely more alarming. Both of us are lying on our sides, his frame tucked perfectly behind mine, with what feels like his head resting against the nape of my neck. I can even feel his gentle breathing against my hair.
This is not normal.
The second I’m aware of my circumstances, my body turns to stone. I take shallow breaths in the attempt to remain as still as possible. As pathetic as it sounds, I don’t want to break the spell that’s apparently been cast over his body and lose the feel of him.
I’m assuming that some kind of survival or biological instinct kicked in during the night and, as a result, he drifted towards me for warmth. And then, inexplicably, tucked his body neatly next to mine. I hate how my heart flutters as I notice what a perfect fit our bodies are. Something about lying next to him feels like itmakes sense: like inserting the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle into place.
A couple of campers near us start to mutter quietly amongst themselves, and I wonder if I’ve woken up earlier than usual, but I don’t dare move to check the time.
At some point Elliot will, in fact, wake up. I wonder if I should gently shimmy away from him to spare him the humiliation of waking up in this position?
Unless he meant to be in this position?
Unlikely. I brace myself for Elliot’s reaction and inevitable rush to get as far away from me as possible when he’s no longer unconscious.
As if I somehow willed it, Elliot starts to stir. I hear a quiet intake of breath next to my ear as his entire frame freezes, and I’m certain I’ve never been so aware of my own breath in my entire life.
I feel Elliot quickly shift his head, followed by his body, completely away from me. Just as I suspected. Cool air replaces the area where his body had just been and my skin briefly mourns his warmth.
It’s much easier to brush off his reaction this time. If I’m being totally honest with myself? I really just want our last day at Firecrest together to be as relaxed and fun as possible. As much fun as two people who have been forcibly stuck together can conceivably have, anyway.
The air inside the tent this morning is far cooler than yesterday, to my relief. I decide to take advantage of it by closing my eyes and letting my body rest for as long as it can. It would be utter bliss if I wasn’t so aware of the man lying stiffly behind me.
Eventually, I hear rustling next to me and see Elliot sit upright in the corner of my eye, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his palms.
I pop up next to him with a chirpy, ‘Morning!’
He just about jumps out of his skin, and I watch his wide eyes rake over me in my cheery state.
‘Morning,’ he replies, still ruffled. He seems to be avoiding eye contact with me. And similarly to yesterday morning, he doesn’t look like he’s feeling very chatty.
‘Bathroom,’ I report, thinking it might be best to give him some space. Without another word, I hop up to exit the tent with my wash bag in hand.
When I step out, I’m overjoyed to see an endless blanket of thick, grey clouds over the festival, giving us a much-needed respite from the heat. Soft murmurs from our fellow campers start to increase around me as they start to prepare themselves for the day.
I relish the feeling of the cool breeze on my legs as I turn my attention to Hennie’s tent. I bend to zip open the door and poke my head inside, pleased to take in the sight of a sleeping Hennie. With her safe return confirmed, I quietly zip her tent closed again.
Making my way over to the toilets, I check my watch to see that it’s just after ten. I mentally curse, knowing that this is peak time for toilets and showers. Nevertheless I continue on my way, trying to not think about the man still in my tent.
Feeling ten times more human,I stomp back to my tent. The queue for the showers had, indeed, been long. But I feel all the better for it.
When I finally reach my tent and step inside, it’s empty. My stomach drops. The only sign that Elliot had ever even been here in the first place is the jumper I loaned him sitting neatly folded on my mat.
I stagger over to my backpack and plunge my hands into it, my heart beating erratically until my hand brushes over the cool wood, and something like guilt wraps around my insides for my immediate reaction. I shove it back inside with a sigh and throw myself back onto my mat to tackle my hair, attempting to tame the frizz that will inevitably come as my hair dries. Hennie’s tiara is then placed proudly back on my head – which does a great job at hiding some of it. I must thank her again for letting me steal it.
My mind skips back to Elliot. Where has he gone? Did he head back to his tent or has he officially backed out of the deal? It’s unlike him to just vanish. The sudden disappearance makes me feel uneasy.
I snap open my mirror with a frustrated sigh. The sun over the last few days has taken effect already: my entire face has exploded with fresh freckles. They typically linger around my nose and cheeks, but now they’ve expanded to the edges of my lips and up to the top of my forehead. I dust some powder over my face to reduce some of its shine, throw on some mascara and call it a day.
My phone buzzes several times and messages start to pile on top of each other as they all come through at once. One from Hennie at two o’clock enthusing about Firecrest and that we need to come again next year, one from my Mum checking in, and the most recent from an unknown number.
My pulse leaps when I tap it and clock the familiar face in the profile photo.
Hey, it’s Elliot. Grabbed your number from the group chat, hope you don’t mind. I would’ve left a note to avoid panicking you but no paper or pen in sight. Queuing for a shower, meet back at yours at 11?
