Not So Hot Girls Summer

8

'We have to go now,'' Mike shouted as he bolted into the bedroom.
''What's going on?'' I said bewildered, having been interrupted from finalising the last few details for the remainder of the trip.
''Jordan's been in an accident. We have to leave now to get the last ferry.''
Mike looked panicked and flustered. I immediately thought of nothing else but the yearning to hold him, just for a brief second, but I knew that in itself would have been too much for him. He wanted to leave now. So instead, I jumped off the bed and began to collect my things without any further questions.

After a quick debate and bicker with the taxi driver over 'too many people', the six of us bundled into a five-seater taxi which drove us to the dock where we waited twenty minutes before departing.
''Are you ok?'' Frankie asked me.
I continued to stare at Mike. I felt awful, but I was more concerned about him than Jordan, not that I knew anything about what had actually happened. He was riddled with nerves.
''Yeah, I am fine,'' I mumbled.
Whilst I did want to find out more, I didn't really feel like talking to Frankie. Although she appeared to be sedate with worry for the time being, I knew it wouldn't last long, she would soon start worrying about wasting precious holiday time in a hospital. I also couldn't help but feel an inner fury towards her for stealing my phone and messaging Amelie. But on top of that, more frustrating than all, was even though she was aware that Jordan was laying in a hospital bed and that he was Amelie's only companion, and she hadn't even aired a cause of concern for her.
''I hope Amelie's ok,'' I said, hoping it would prompt her into thinking of one of our best friends.
''I'm sure she is. She seems to get by ok when she's on her own,'' she replied. ''As long as you're ok though.''
I had no reply for her, she didn't care at all, so I smiled a fake smile before walking off to talk to Mike who was hanging over the edge of the ferry. His gaze remained fixated on the swirl of foam below that surged beneath the metallic panes as we chugged across the water.
''How are you doing?'' I timidly asked.
He continued staring through the deck.
''Ok thanks. I just want to get there,'' he replied.
He looked so lost in what I could only imagine were his drowning thoughts.

I clasped his hand in mine. He didn't look up from the water, but instead, made his response known by clinging the spaces between my fingers tighter. Whilst I knew this small touch may not have been what he wanted, nor would it have helped ease his worry, it was something of familiarity. It was a touch that I knew reminded him I was always going to be there, in whatever form he wanted me to be, and it was for that sole reason of comfort that he gripped tighter to me.