‘Thanks,’ I say, hoping that he would ignore my blush. ‘I had a bit of a crisis when I realised that was all I had with me.’
‘Why?’
‘They’re … tight.’
‘They are,’ Sam agrees. ‘I like that.’
Is he flirting with me?
He’s giving this fake boyfriend thing the method acting treatment.
He’s drinking me like I were a glass of Sangria.
No, there’s nothing to his words. There can’t be. Sam is Sam.
‘You should have more confidence,’ Sam says.
‘More confidence?’
Somehow, we’ve floated around the boat, as if we’re the only ones in the ocean. We drift from the ship.
‘I look at you sometimes, and feel you hide yourself.’ Sam treads water. ‘Don’t hide yourself.’
I felt seen.
Truly seen.
‘Like the shorts,’ Sam continues. ‘You hid them under your other shorts. And then when you took them off, you crossed your arms. You covered your body. You avoided my eyes.’
‘They’re very revealing.’
‘They’re gorgeous.’ Sam lays back, his head facing the sun, his torso cresting through the water, making it ripple off his skin.
Leaning back, I rest my eyes, feeling the heat on my own exposed skin, feeling Sam beside me.
‘I compare myself to others.’ With my eyes closed, it’s easier to say it. ‘Too much. That gets me down.’
Sam doesn’t reply, and I peer out the corner of my eye to see him next to me, floating.
Oh my God. Is he dead?
‘Sam?’
‘I’m listening,’ Sam says.
‘Right.’ Of course. He isn’t dead. ‘Uh… yeah, that’s it.’
‘What is it about others that makes you compare yourself to them?’
The words come from my mouth as strongly as the taste of salt water. ‘Their better lives. Maybe they have a better career, or a better apartment, a better house. Marriage. A better car.Better lived experiences. People getting opportunities I could only dream of. And trust me, I’ve tried. I’ve applied for so many openings in my workplace, but my boss, Sly Nimble Clive, always overlooks me. I’ve occasionally applied for other jobs, but never got a look-in. And there aren’t any other animation opportunities around me. It’s like my experience at my current job doesn’t translate into better jobs nearby. Unless I move to London, media opportunities are limited in Cardiff. Sometimes, I wonder if I’ve coasted through life. My life hasn’t changed all that much. It’s still rather unexceptional. I’m unfulfilled. And I’m only now waking up to that.’
It’s like the ocean is draining, and the only way to fill it up again is to spill out my confessions.
‘I disappoint my mum and dad,’ I say. ‘My brother is rich. And I’m working as a… a… I don’t know what you’d call it. I sit in a box room, day in, day out. On my own, with a not so scary spider called Willow, who watches me type time-codes into an Excel spreadsheet. Sly Clive asks me to do overtime for no extra pay. And then there’s Ollie.’
Saying his name out loud here feels dangerous. Like he could rise from the clear water with shark teeth and rip us to shreds.
‘Ollie, who doesn’t want me anymore.’ It’s either salty sea water I taste or my own tears. ‘Ollie, who has everything he could ever want. Who has a better life than me. Who has the life I thought we were meant to have together. I mean, a whole wedding on the Acropolis? Please. When will it be my turn, Sam? When will I be happy?’
