Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
chapter eleven / salted wounds
Wrappers of cherry starbursts littered the top sheets as Ilyshah drifted in and out of sleep, the consequences of a liquorlip fuelled night giving way to a haze filled wakeful reality. The doorbell's marimba tore her out of the vicious cycle, leaving her pillow to soak up the reverberation of low groans.
She turned to face Spencer Fishers still dead asleep with one leg hanging off the bed, curls hooded over his eyes leaving a trail of soft snores. Sparing him a 2AM intervention with his parents, her room revived its status as a halfway five star last resort for the lawless teenage boys of the Outerbanks. Stay for the midnight munchies, leave before getting caught by uncle Kahu until the adhesive of the bandaid solution wears off again, rinse and repeat.
As the doorbell chime echoed down the empty halls with no sign of winding down anytime soon, Ilyshah hauled herself out of bed in a haste — falling victim to the charger cord by tripping and cursing aloud as she stubbed her toe on the bed frame. Hopping over to the pile of clothes carelessly left in the corner, she seized the first thing from the top and fumbled with the buttons as she puttered down the floating oak washed stairs until she ended the doors marimba with an abrupt swing of the door.
JJ Maybank stood on the other side, his bright gaze sweeping over her. At the traces of mascara smudged into the contours of her vacant eyes, her frizzed hair gone static, the half done up shirt over her crochet shorts and a pink crop peeking out printed with Beach Bum !
He drew a sharp intake of breath through gritted teeth. "Rough night?" he cocked his head to the side, grocery bags double-parked in his grasp with his aviators tucked into the distressed collar of his muscle tank. "You realize it's past lunchtime, right?" He wiggled his eyebrows amusingly.
Ilyshah swayed on her tiptoes as she suddenly became awkward in her own skin, her voice reclaiming its raspiness. "You kept your promise."
"Pogues always keep their promises."
She clicked her tongue as she counted six plastic bags weighing down his arms, "guess I can call you a girl scout now too," she remarked, stepping aside to welcome him in.
"What can I say princess," JJ waltzed over to the island bench and settled down the bags with a stifled grunt, "just doing my part for the rich assholes around here."
"Hey, those are my people you're talking about," she joked wryly then let an excited gasp as she unpacked the bags and cradled the packet of bahama breeze raro drink mix to her chest before giving it a kiss. "Chur, Heyward is such a g."
"Want help with all of this?"
She narrowed her eyes at him with a playful smirk. "Eh, trying to get a big tip out of me?"
