Moonlit Waters

Chapter 7

It has gone dark by the time I arrive at my secret little beach. With a vague sense of excitement, I strip and change into the usual outfit. It feels weird to pull the bottoms up, to have something fill them. But that won't be the case for long.

Swiftly, I walk into the water, let myself sink, do the first stroke. Soon, the light pressure in my crotch lifts away and the fabric eases snugly against my skin. In its stead, the already somewhat familiar pressure of the bra top against my chest sets in.

I see Alex swimming towards the rock when I'm still only half of the way there. Other than all the times before, he'll be there before me. But I don't mind. It's not like he thinks I live on there anyway. He just doesn't know where I actually live.

I like the idea of being the mysterious girl of the lake. A friend only he knows, that he can come and talk to about all his troubles. I'm a good listener, at night. Well, I suppose at day too, but Alex doesn't know that. In his mind, I must have too many problems already, so he doesn't even try bothering me with his.

I should work on changing that, I tell myself as I close in on the rock. Friendship goes both ways and I know he only means well by sparing me, but at the moment I'm sure I can take it. I'm doing great, aren't I?

"Bonsoir," Alex greets me as I pull myself up onto the rock. It doesn't look as disgraceful as it probably did on the first night I came here as Selena. Since I'm aware that my arms aren't as strong as Timothy's, I simply use my feet a little more. There are a few great stepstones I can use to get up smoothly.

"A good evening to you too, mister," I reply with a grin. His French accent is absolutely terrible and his grin makes clear that he's well aware of that. "What grade did they give you for that? Was it enough to pass?"

He acts offended. "Je ne sais pas de quoi tu parles. Mon francais est magnifique." As if trying to make those grammatically correct sentences shine in the special light of his linguistic skills, he adds, "Croissant!" - butchering the word worse than Rambo with a double-bladed chainsaw ever could.

"This is awful," I laugh. "Please, stop! My heart!"

"Actually," he says, "I had two of those for breakfast."

And I had one as well. But I won't tell him that. "And that makes you real French, huh?" I raise my hand to interrupt him. "Please don't."

I think he's really trying to look serious at that moment? But the light twitching in the corners of his mouth and the sparkling moonlight in his eyes betray him.

"Anyway... How was your day?" I ask after he doesn't say anything for a moment.

His face relaxes and he leans back against the rock.

"Good. My friend and I spent the entire day in the youth hostel's kitchen, chopping veggies."

"And that's your idea of a good day?" I raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs in reaction. "Well, it was nice enough? I proposed it and he came along. That means that he's able to trust me again, right? And also, we ate at the banquet afterward. So yeah, I do think that it was a good-" He pauses and eyes me suspiciously. "You know what's strange, though?"

I look up a little startled. "What?"

"You weren't there."

"Huh?"

"You weren't at the banquet. Just about everybody that's staying at the hostel was there. But if you're not staying there, then-"

"Maybe I just hid well," I interrupt him with a vague smile. 'Not getting me' the smile says. Or, well, I hope it does.