Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Myles
I hear Zara knock at my door. I’m assuming it’s her, anyway. Amira has already been in to see me, making sure I have everything I need, so I don’t know who else it would be. So I ignore it.
I’m pissed. For the first time in a long time I feel as though I’m playing a losing game. And I fucking hate losing.
There’s another knock, and I hear her call my name.
Christ. What I want to do is answer the door, pull her into the room and kiss her until neither of us can stand.
But I know that if I do open the door what I’ll actually do is growl at her again, and I don’t want to mess up whatever fragile thing seems to be building between us.
So I clench my fists and wait, leaning against the door until I hear the patter of her feet going down the stairs.
I close my eyes and groan. What is she doing to me?
Perhaps it was a mistake to bring her on this trip, after all.
I go out to the terrace and peer over, but she doesn’t seem to be outside.
I can’t keep doing this, lurking around trying to catch a glimpse of her as though I’m some sort of Peeping Tom.
I made a plan, and I need to stick to it.
I strip off, not caring who sees me, and pull on my wetsuit. There are waves to be had, after all.
* * *
I come back in as the light starts to change, painting the front of the hotel with gold.
I’m exhausted, yet at the same time feel so alive, every sound and colour and glint of light a revelation.
Surfing clears the mind and the body, something about being far from land, outside your natural habitat and at the mercy of the ocean, helping to realign your thoughts.
Coming back to land is like becoming mortal again.
I go back to my room, resisting the urge to knock on Zara’s door on the way past, and shower before flopping onto the bed.
When I wake it’s dark and I forget where I am for a moment.
The ocean’s roar reminds me. I get up, switch on lamps and prepare a meal.
I take it out to my terrace, looking out at the sea.
It’s pitch-black out there, nothing to say where the water ends and the horizon begins, apart from a line of lights like tiny stars, bobbing up and down.
Fishing boats, held in the cradle of the ocean until the sun rises once more.
It’s utterly beautiful, and I wish I had someone to share it with. Unable to resist I get up and peer over the edge of the railing.
Zara is down there, leaning on the edge of her balcony. She’s wearing a long robe and it feels intimate, as though it’s only the two of us out here in the darkness, as though I could wander downstairs and take her into my arms, into my bed, as though she belongs to me and I to her.
The yearning is so strong it hurts me. I step back, inadvertently kicking one of the chair legs so it scrapes against the tiles. She looks up. I step back again, my heart pounding. Cursing myself, I pick up the remains of my lonely meal and head back inside.
Zara
I wake early the next morning and go out on the balcony to stretch, bending forwards with my hands on the ground as I ease the twinge in my back.
I’d slept well, my afternoon of reading and junk food seeming to have done the trick, nothing coming to trouble my dreams. Even Jared’s bullshit seems to have dissipated with the night.
He must be kidding if he thinks I’ll introduce him to Myles after using me like that.
I glance up at Myles’s balcony. I swear he was there, last night, as I’d watched the ships with their lanterns like stars.
A darker shape in the darkness. I’d almost been able to feel him, as though he was reaching out to me.
But I wasn’t totally sure whether it was a figment of my imagination.
The ocean is striped with pink and blue, colours of the dawn, and looks utterly inviting, shallow waves rolling across the glossy wet sand.
On impulse, I decide to go down there. This could be my only chance to swim here, especially as we’re leaving the day after tomorrow.
It looks shallow enough– I remember what Jared said about the currents– and I won’t go out too far.
I pull on my swimsuit, a navy blue one-piece I bought in a sale.
It’s a little bit skimpy in the chest area, but the beach looks deserted, no one there to see me.
Still, I tug at the fabric as I make my way along the curving cliff path from the hotel, trying to cover myself a little more.
The beach is deserted, and I skip a little, twirling, the breeze pulling my ponytail. It’s cooler down by the water and I shiver, then realise I’ve forgotten to bring a towel. Maybe this is a bad idea.
But the waves seem to call to me, whispering across the sand, lace-like with foam.
I dip a toe in and squeal. It’s freezing.
Still, nothing ventured and all that. I can’t come all this way and not swim in the ocean.
I dash into the waves, gasping as cold water splashes up my legs, wading as it gets deeper.
The first waves crash into me and I jump, turning, my arms in the air.
I laugh from the sheer thrill of it, my heart pounding.
Another wave hits me, then another, and I drop into the water, letting it carry me towards the shore.
The surge is powerful, and I suddenly get the lure of surfing, why someone might paddle out into deep water and sit on a board, waiting for that perfect wave to carry them back in.
It’s surrender, and it’s beautiful. I stand up and wade in deeper again.
Then the water starts to pull me.
All those waves that have just carried me are returning to the sea, and the undertow is incredibly strong. I can barely keep my footing. Panic starts to churn in my chest as I push against it, keeping my back to the shore.
Never turn your back on the ocean, that’s what I’ve always heard.
And I realise I’m getting too close to the really huge waves, the ones that will break over me and drag me under.
The noise is incredible, a roar as though I’m facing a beast. I push harder, making slow progress against the inexorable suck of the water.
Then I step on a sharp rock and stumble.
And the ocean takes me.