Chapter One
Iwonder what it would feel like to walk out into the water and let the waves engulf me. Wash me away. An offering to the ocean. A calmness comes over me at the thought. I bet it would be freeing.
It’s not so much that I want to die. I just want to not be… me. I want to get out of my own head.
Bringing the joint to my lips, I inhale as deep as I can while keeping my gaze settled on the dark blue water in front of me. The sound of the waves crashing as they break against the sand is the only thing I can hear. Well, that and the loud thoughts in my head that never go away.
Smoke billows out of my mouth. I watch it disappear into nothing and wish I could do the same. When a tear makes its way down my cheek, I swipe at it. I know how this works. One tear will turn into two, and two will turn into three. Then it’ll be a river and I won’t be able to stop myself.
Inhaling another lungful of smoke, I count to ten in my head. It does nothing to make me feel any better. I search the veranda and spot a yellow throw cushion on the sofa and a yellow umbrella folded up and leaning against the door. Two yellow things. Yep, counting coloured things does nothing for me, but according to Google, it’s supposed to help.
The second tear falls. I stare back out at the ocean. Maybe I should try it. Just walk in and not walk back out.
Footsteps behind me have my shoulders straightening. I quickly wipe at my face, because one thing I won’t do is let anyone see me cry. I knew they’d find me here. I just thought I’d have more time.
I don’t bother looking back to see who it is. It doesn’t really matter. I knew someone would come for me. When a body sits down on the step next to the one I’m currently perched on, I know by the scent of the aftershave that it’s my grandfather.
He reaches over and snatches the blunt out of my hand. I forgot I was holding it. I probably would have put it out and hid it if I were thinking more clearly. I look at my grandfather and watch in shock as he takes a pull.
“It’s good stuff,” he says after blowing out a heap of smoke.
“Helps when you can afford the good stuff,” I tell him.
“And what would you know about not being able to afford anything, Zara?” he asks.
He’s right. I’m an heiress. Both of my parents come from old money. Australia’s golden couple—that’s what the press calls them. They blended two billionaire empires together when they married. And me? I’m their youngest daughter, which makes me the little billionaire heiress with everything I could ever want.
My oldest sister, Kyla, got married and moved out, leaving me to have my parents’ full attention. Always. And they love hard. I know… How horrible it must be to have parents that care and love me, right?
I have no reason to feel the way I do, the constant state of sadness and depression. And yet, I can’t shake it. I know how lucky I am to be me. And still, I want to be anyone else.
“Nothing,” I admit to my grandfather.
“Want to tell me what you’re doing hiding out in your grandmother’s beach house?” he says. “And why your father is currently on a jet on his way up here looking for you?”
“I got expelled.” I didn’t want to see the disappointment on my parents’ faces, so I got on a flight and came here.
“On the first day of school? That has to be some kind of record. Want to tell me what happened?”
I shake my head. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“I’m old, not stupid, Zara.” He puts the blunt out on the step. Stands and offers a hand to me. “Come inside. I bought food.”
I grab on to his palm and tug myself up.
Before I can take a step towards the house, my grandfather pulls me into a hug. “Don’t ever think you can’t run away here. This is your home too, Zara, and your grandmother and me? We will always be on your side, no matter what.”
I return his hug. “I know. Thank you.” As soon as I enter the house, I smell it. Mexican food. “You got burritos?”
“I did. Sit down. Eat and tell me what happened, so I know if I need to get a principal fired for expelling you or not.”
I pull out a chair at the dining table. “It was my fault, sort of.” I shrug. “I deserved it.”
“What’d you do?”
I look up at my grandfather. “Gramps, if I tell you, you won’t think of me the same.”
“You’re forgetting I raised your father, Zara. There is nothing you can do that will shock me or make me think any less of you,” he insists.
