TICK to the TOCK (A Coming-of-Age Story) (16 page)

Her turn to laugh. "You serious?"

"Yeah, why?"

Lifting her forehead, she narrows her gaze. "We went there last night, silly."

I laugh and pat her arm, but her look holds firm: slightly raised eyebrows and pursed lips. Last night's wayward memories creep forward bit-by-bit. "Oh yeah." I say, forcing a smile and picturing the old table the four of us surrounded. "Sorry."
 

I try to move away, but she keeps hold of me. "It's okay. You're okay."

I attempt another smile, but the adrenaline's back, only this time tainted with fear instead of anger. "Yeah. I know."

6
^th
December—Koh Rong:

Recommended Listening:

True Colours—Ane Brun

All This Time—Maria Mena

Wherever You Will Go—Charlene Soraia

Collide—Howie Day

The sand underfoot is delightful, brushing between each and every nook. The dry, powder-like grains soothe my skin, not too hot but a lovely warmth radiating up my ankles, dusting my hairs and turning the lower parts of my calf a pale, chalky beige.

It's still light but dimming, the day anticipating its end. This romantic ambience is perfect, however, my fingers locked with Danii's, her slender and pristine tips caressing my palm. The air's deadly hush, neither of us saying a word as only the gentle crash of waves linger, mixed with the whistle of the breeze and the background hum of insects. We're in the middle of paradise: just the two of us, no one else left in the world, the end of existence and the beginning of
us
.

If Tibet was contrasting to Oia, Koh Rong is something entirely different to the high altitude chill. Gone is snow and the smell of burning, instead replaced by the warm and sensual scent of Cambodia. The sun bakes the land during the afternoon, and now, as it begins its descent, a warm humid tingle remains.

I keep thinking about Tibet, but I don't want to. Despite my eagerness to leave, I awoke on our final day with a lighter than usual headache. Picturing York, and the bench that sits before the giant cathedral, I imagined the dying fauna and the smell of the fragrant air and the touch of the chilled breeze.
 

"I must write," I whispered, springing out of bed and dashing into the simple bathroom.

Splashing icy water over my face, I buzzed with the temptation of pencil on paper. I haven't written a word on this journey, and I often consider the night before my doomed journey to Doc's office: my old notebooks and how they spoke to me, urging me to write and relive a once upon a life.

"Yes. Yes," I said, picturing the words within an inner monologue. "Yes. Yes!"

Tibet inspired me, it's historic and deeper meaning finally making sense. Walking through the streets, I rushed towards the palace, eager to sit below it and write and write and write. The words flowed forward, the narrative so clear, each step quicker and larger and more impatient.

Arriving, I sat on the same bench Ethan and I had a few days earlier, pulling out my notebook and preparing my pencil. With a deep breath, I froze. "Who am I kidding."

The blank page rested peacefully on my lap, my finger hovering above it. "Why the hell would I write about
this
," I said. "Just another reminder of what I lost. Writing is what I had. Not what I have."

Tossing the pencil to the ground, I glared at it. Hated it. I hated the page and the words fading in my mind. I detested the temptation, and the memory of a passion I once loved, but had somehow become a chore. I walked back to the room and returned before anyone had risen. Crawling into bed, I closed my eyes and tried to forget. But I can't. I can't choose the moments that stay and those which leave.
 

Tibet acted as a crossroads, and although the four of us approached it together, I fear we've taken different paths. Wil continues to drink, and our conversations are somewhat stilted. I said sorry for my outburst. He apologised for being who he is. We shook hands and hugged, but it's not the same.
 

Ethan seems to grow more detached by the day, his lonesome walks longer and ever more frequent. Danii, too, is vacant. Yesterday I walked in on her in the bathroom. "Just washing my face," she said. But she wasn't. She cried. I heard the sobs through the door. "I'll be out in a minute," she continued, dismissing me and guiding me away from her pain.

Tibet altered us. The seizure changed this adventure. My mood and anger and fear consumes me. But maybe it's for the best. Maybe we needed to approach a crossroads together, only for us to take separate paths. This isn't only about me. We each have our demons. We each face a battle.

But despite all of this, the sunny sun of Koh Rong helps. Danii and I are walking and talking again. Ethan leaves less, and speaks more. Even Wil dismisses whiskey before noon.
 

As the gentle evening sun caresses my neck, I squeeze my fingers around Danii's, stealing a glance at her sun-kissed cheeks. We've only been in the tropics a few days but already, she's transformed into an exotic princess—her Egyptian grandparents sharing genes a Yorkshire guy like myself can't comprehend. Where I spend hours in the rays, turning pink and eventually red, she browns in a matter of minutes and gets darker, lovelier, and more intriguing as the day draws on. I'll always remember our first getaway to Cairo—going to bed with Danii but waking up next to her exotic clone.

"Can you believe how peaceful this is?" I say, draping my arm over her shoulders. I move towards her neck and take in the aroma of coconut sunscreen, peach moisturiser, and her natural odour sneaking through.

Raising her chin, she locks her gaze on mine, smiling and blinking simultaneously, peering down and biting her bottom lip. She's irresistible, an angel, a treasure I need to partake of. Cupping her left cheek, I kiss her; our tongues warm, wet, vibrant.

"It reminds me of Rhodes. Do you remember? That one sunset that lasted forever?" she says, running her delicate index finger down my dirty white shirt, picking at each button along the way.

"Yeah, that was a good time. It was easy back then."

"Yeah, we'd only been going out for a year. I was still discovering how impossible you were," she says in a playful tone.

"Ditto. It was before you turned into a crazy control freak."

She punches me, but again, it's playful, her smile creating striating lines up her cheeks.

"Still, it feels the same when I kiss you," I say, stopping in the sand and bringing her close. "Ever since I first kissed these lips," I continue, stroking my little finger along the upper and swooping down to the lower.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Do you remember it?"

"Of course."

I frame her face in my hands, brushing her cheeks with my thumbs, unable to look away from her chocolate-drop eyes. "I remember sitting opposite you, listening all night but barely able to hear because all I wanted to do was push the table over and kiss you."

She smiles. "If it makes you feel any better, I wanted you to do that, too."

"Hmmmm, now you tell me." I move my body closer to hers.

"Well, you didn't wait long afterwards, mister."

I recall the moment I stopped dead in the street. "I'd waited long enough. Plus, it was a lovely night by the river. I thought it was romantic."

"It was. One of the best. Everything changed after that."

I nod and take a step back, bringing my hands away and stroking a renegade lock away from her cheek. "For the better, right?"

"Right."

Taking her hand again, I start to walk, our bare feet kicking up a cloud with each step. It's a little darker, the greens of the forest blending into the navy sky above. The setting of jungle and beach so close is a dream, two worlds coming together to form a charming stage. It's moments like these that make the longing for home worthwhile.

"Do you remember Cassis," she asks, looking inland and beyond the trees.
 

"I do." Only her sundress hides her full form. Those firm legs rising high under the thin fabric, and although I'm not certain, I sense there's nothing else beneath. Her shoulders suggest no bathing suit or bra, only the dress' thin strip of fabric. She's almost naked, wearing more clothes in bed most nights. If only the breeze were stronger.

"Do you remember the day we spent on the beach?"

"Yeah," I say, searching my memory for a time nearly two years ago. Thankfully, my long term memory hasn't been affected yet. Although certain everyday tasks pass me by. Silly things like misplaced money and having to think whether I have or haven't had a shower. Hardly end of the world misgivings, but still...

"I wanted you bad that day," she says, breaking my thought.

"Huh?"
 

"I mean..." she says, circling her thumb along the edge of my palm, still looking towards the tree-line. "I was horny and wanted you," she continues, snapping her eyes on mine: full, dark, sumptuous.

"Really?" I ask, taken aback but excited by the way she says
horny
—quieter than the other words, with a gentle roll of the
o
.

"Yep."

"You should have said something. We could have..."

"It was a busy beach, Dante. But this one..." She allows her words to linger.

"Why, Miss Adams, are you trying to seduce me?"

"Is it working?"

"It bloody well is," I say, excitement eating away at my upper thigh.

She squeezes my hand and stops, falling to the sand and dragging me with her. We face the sea, the horizon a long line that reaches from one end of the island to the other; a dark blue resting below the boundary and a lighter hue above, wisps of white and a hint of apricot sneaking and streaking upward.

"This is perfect," she says, resting her head on my shoulder, circling the crease between my chest and arm.

"Cassis was a strange trip," I say, sighing at the far-away thought.

"Yeah, we were struggling. At least, we started to."

I nod. "I still loved you though."

"Yeah..." She drifts off, her circling thumb halting. "I am sorry, Dante."

"What for?"

"For trying to change you. You blame yourself for what happened to us, but the truth is, I was equal in our demise. I loved you for who you were, yet for some reason I wanted to change you. I wanted to rush you into being the man I always knew you'd become."

"Danii, don't."

"It's true. I always placed everything on you, but that's not fair. It was never fair. I didn't allow us to enjoy where we were. I wanted us to fast forward to a place that fit my silly ideals. The silly principles my mother thrust upon me as a kid. I talk about being a modern woman, but how am I?" She sighs. "It was hard being your girlfriend, but it must have been hard to be my boyfriend, too. I'm sorry."

Lifting her little finger to my mouth, I kiss it. "Yeah, maybe we were both a little useless. But I assure you, I was the architect. I wanted you to change me, but I was scared. I loved you the moment I saw you, and it terrified me. I didn't know how to handle it. All of a sudden I
needed
this girl, a girl I literally couldn't breathe without. My own silly ideals pulled on one arm, but my love for you pulled on the other. And so, I hoped each day I would wake up and be ready. Ready for you to change me. Ready to become the guy you saw deep down. Because I wanted to be that guy, too. I did. So, don't be sorry. You may have played a part, but our end was my doing."

Blinking fast, she wipes her forearm across her face. "We really were rubbish, weren't we?"

"Yeah," I laugh.

"But stop beating yourself up over it, please. You're a great guy, Dante. For some reason you don't see it. You focus on what you've never done, rather than what you have."

"Yeah, sure. Like what?"

"Like being a friend to someone who doesn't deserve it. For being more than a cousin. For being brave enough to dream, but not selfish enough to run. For receiving the worst news possible, and not falling apart. For being someone who's made me smile on countless occasions, and given me a vault of memories to forever treasure. I love you, Dante. I love you for the man you are. I should have treasured it all along."

Nature's volume increases, the sound of the waves transforming from a crash into a collection of thrashes; the hum of insects turning from a gentle tickle to a heavy shudder; the distant barks of dogs getting louder and louder, like they're right behind us... stalking us.
 

"Well, we can treasure each other now. That's the main thing."

Wiping her face again, she smiles. "Yeah. And I'm sorry for what I said in Paris. About us being terrible for each other. We're not. We never were. All we've ever done is love one another. We just had a rather strange way of showing it."

I laugh again. "Come here," I say, dragging her to my chest.

Scattering kisses all over my neck and mouth and cheek and more, she's on top of me, and I'm all over her: my arms embracing her body, legs elevating her, mouth biting and nails clawing. She exhales and pushes down, grasping my shirt and pulls, heaves, rips it up and over my head.

She tastes my shoulder and I, her neck. My tongue tingles with salt, but her usual aroma remains and I couldn't imagine tasting anything else right now. Cupping my hands beneath her dress, I lift and pull it over her head, lifting her at the same time so she momentarily floats and defies the rules we usually abide by.