Chapter Eighteen

THEN

 

Lyric stared out at the rising sun over the water.

He was on the beach. Some beach. Wearing only board shorts.

He looked around at his surroundings, craning his neck to see behind him, then stopped short as the muscles in his back and shoulders cried out. He rubbed the back of his neck in an attempt to soothe the shooting pains then noticed a watch on his wrist that he hadn’t seen before.

It looked expensive and foreign, as if it had been imported from a posh boutique in London, not something you’d find at one of the bohemian style shops on the island. Upon closer inspection, the face read Rolex. He quickly unclasped it from his wrist and turned it over in his hands.

The back of the watch was inscribed and he squinted his newly awoken eyes to make it out.

 

To my darling Ryan,

love always,

D x

 

He shivered as he read the unfamiliar words then tried to remember if he knew a Ryan. Or a “D.”

His head hurt. Like he had been drinking, and the moaning coming from his stomach served to tell him it had been a while since he had eaten. He looked himself over, standing up gingerly. He didn’t appear physically hurt in any way and nothing seemed overtly out of the ordinary, save for his hands. He brought them up to his eyes to inspect under his nails. His hands were filthy. Dirty, as if he had been digging around in a rubbish bin, and the skin around his fingertips was cut and streaked with blood, presumably his own. But it was the deep red stains that caked the underside of his nails that worried him.

His hands trembled as he held them out in front of him and his skin prickled all over. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was watching him, but the beach was particularly desolate at this time of the morning. Lyric walked towards the shoreline, unsteady on his feet, and winced as the cool water washed over his bare toes. He bent down to wash his hands, rubbing them together in the salty water before splashing some over his chest, then his face. Brushing himself down, he tried to rid his skin of any signs or traces of the night before.

Or from whenever they came.

His thoughts wandered, as they habitually did whenever this happened, and he felt nauseated as he scrubbed himself over. His dreadlocks swung in front of his eyes, dipping into the water and blurring his vision further as his eyes filled with tears.

He knew he had to move quickly. He worked his way through his mental list as he had so many times before; finish wiping himself down and figure out where he was, then get home and take his meds. He tried to remember to breathe deeply to calm his nerves, for if he let himself get carried away by his thoughts he knew this wouldn’t end well.

Lyric stood up and almost jogged away from the water and towards the road, keeping an eye out for any onlookers who might view his behaviour as suspicious.

Did I take my meds yesterday? Everything seemed so blurry that he couldn’t be sure about anything.

He squinted his eyes to read any road signs, but it was the monolithic silhouette of Es Vedra in the distance that told him where he’d ended up. Quickly gaining his bearings, he knew he was on Cala D’Hort in the south west of the island. He forced himself to slow his speed as he found the walk that skirted the ocean and flicked his dreads away from his face in an attempt to look casual, just another local out for an early morning stroll along the beach.

The occasional passerby appeared as the sun cast its glow onto the whitewashed buildings, waking people up and announcing another new day on the island.

Lyric swallowed his fears and worries as he repeated to himself over and over that it would all be all right. If he said it enough times, he might convince himself.