Only What She Can’t Have?

Only What She Can’t Have?

She arrives early at the wharf to take photographs, explore before the yacht departs. She doesn’t enjoy the sickness the open ocean inflicts upon her stomach but thinks, what the hell, it’s free, and how rough could it possibly get on a still, stunningly sunny day such as this.

 

As she places the camera’s viewfinder up to her left eye, she spots a familiar man heading in her direction.

 

Her mouth gaps open while he reaches her side. “What are you doing here?”

 

“Hello to you too!”

 

Shock replaces every emotion she’s feeling. “I can’t believe how different you look.”

 

He grins. He laughs, the laugh she never forgot. “You look pretty damn hot yourself.”

 

She wants to tell him how good he looks but something stops her, makes her feel awkward.

 

They hadn’t seen each other in over two years.

 

He never stopped trying to start a relationship with her in all the fifteen years they’ve known each other. She always fought against it. Sometimes she questions it but the answers never felt right enough. They were always friends in her eyes; in his eyes they were everything, are everything still until recently, she thinks.

 

She turns her head towards the screeching girl sprinting towards them. This girl, dressed in a bikini top and short white see-through sarong came bounding into his opening arms.

 

What the…?

 

He introduces her to the girl. Instantly she does not take to the girl – this has not happened before when she spied him with another woman it never affected her. Why now? Perhaps because this is not a woman but a girl, a girl half his age, half her age. She has no right to take offence, given her track record.

 

Looking for a distraction, she turns her gaze towards the other people, lining up, eager for the lunch-cruise to set off.

 

She makes her way to the back of the vessel. He leads the girl by the hand and they sit opposite her, almost on top of each other, all over each other.

 

Feelings of discomfort settle, make themselves comfortable within her; she spends most of the trip snapping the scenery and avoiding talking to anyone. Nausea soon replaces the discomfort. She wants the trip to end, the sickness to leave her weakening body.

 

As soon as they return to the wharf, she rushes off the yacht, the first to disembark and stumbled to the shelter of her car.

 

She feels a strong hand land on her shoulder, and spins round to face him, concern swimming in his eyes. “Let me drive you home.”

 

“I can drive myself.”

 

“You don’t look well at all. Let me help you for once.”

 

“You already have someone who needs taking home. Go help her. Please just leave me alone.”

 

“Why?”

 

“You’re with someone.”

 

“If I wasn’t then I wouldn’t need to leave you alone?”

 

“I didn’t mean that.”

“You’re jealous.” He grins, and then mumbles, “finally,” under his breath.

 

“What did you say?”

 

He admits he used the girl, a friend’s younger brother’s girlfriend, to make her jealous.

 

She stares at him aghast. “How did you know I’d be here?”

 

“Your mom told me.”

 

Her mom, the mom that still thinks he is the one she allowed to get away. Of course, he phoned her mother.

 

“Go to hell!” She yells at him and then climbs into her car. She watches him while starting the engine and driving off, grab his heart, fall to the ground as if in agony.

 

She laughs, shaking her head, thinking she will surprise him with a visit soon.

 

 

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