Your Picture On My Phone (The Scar Series - Book One)

5 - Awake

Conor took a deep breath as if he enjoyed every bit of the chlorine smell that had settled on the second floor. We walked past some offices toward the pool area and, as we found it, searched for each other's faces as if we both couldn't believe what we saw was real. The brightly lit display window showed off the entire basin to everyone walking through the hallway. The water stood still as the place was wiped out. White and blue tiles around the basin direct our gaze to a colorful mural of some mountains framed by two doors that lead to the changing rooms. Even though it looked a bit rustic, the whole appearance was still inviting, with enough swimming space to get the motors running.

"I don't have any swimming trunks," said Conor as we admired the view.

"As if that were an issue," I replied, fully aware that I was in the same boat sailing down the river named Complication.

The entrance was located a few feet down the hall. Behind the counter sat an older lady who appeared to be waiting more for her next smoke break than paying customers. Her dyed, curly, golden hair looked almost like a halo in the spotlight placed directly over her head. She was reading a newspaper, and as we walked up to her, she didn't try to acknowledge us at all.

"Good evening. We would love to use the pool, but we don't have swimwear," I explained to her. She glanced over her newspaper, scrutinizing Conor and me as if we disturbed her inner peace. You could see that her wrinkled face had lived through hard times and could tell many stories about the world, God, and treason.

"I can sell you some—thirty dollars per piece. Plus twenty for an hour of swimming," she answered and pinned her eyes back to the newspaper.

Shit. That was more than I wanted to spend. Why is everything fun in this country so damn expensive? I turned to Conor to see what he thought about it, but he shrugged as if he didn't care about the price.

"Oh fuck it." I pulled out my old brown leather wallet, grabbed two fifties my grandma gifted me, and slammed them on her counter. That money was meant to be enjoyed.

With a sigh, she put down her newspaper, scanned us from head to toe, and reached behind her to a shelf, pulling out two pairs of swim trunks. "These should fit. Only color I have. No returns. Changing room, down there." She was so eager to get back to whatever she was reading that she didn't even make an effort to form complete sentences.

I grabbed the trunks, handed one to Conor, and stared into the innocent eyes of a yellow SpongeBob Squarepants printed on the blue shorts.

"Fashionable," stated Conor before I could even start thinking about how we would look in them. But who cares? Looking silly is probably what we need.

We followed a small, dark corridor to the changing rooms. Small booths separated the publicly accessible part from the showers and pool area. I walked into one cabin, closed the door behind me, and heard Conor walk into the adjacent one. He turned the lock around with a soft click before a slight rustling told me he was taking his clothes off. I inspected the swimwear designed for children.

"Are yours also... tight?" asked Conor from the other side of the wall in an amused voice. I slipped off my underwear, put my feet inside the swimming trunks, and pulled them up, but I had to stop before they reached my butt. I looked down, spotting SpongeBob so wrinkled that he appeared to be screaming in pain.

I raised my head to the ceiling as if Conor wouldn't otherwise hear me. "Shall we exchange them?"

"I don't care. No one else is here anyway."

My ears perked up as he clicked the lock on his cabin open, and I heard him walking to the other side. I pulled the trunks higher and somehow managed to squeeze into them. Grabbing my stuff, I opened the door, walked to one of the lockers, and stuffed my clothes and bag inside.