❝Oh, Oakley. . . What have you done?❞
Well, they say it's best to start at the beginning, but when the story gets so twisted and out of hand, who really knows where the beginning starts?
The Outer Banks is not the paradise Earth talks about. It's n...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
— ⚓︎ ⚓︎ ⚓︎ —
THERE'S SOMETHING ODDLY APPEASING about swimming in the ocean during the nighttime. Something about wading in pitch black waters, incapable of seeing the end of the sea or what lies beneath it is strangely comforting for an ocean aficionado like Oakley Clifton. The thought of it would've maybe scared her a very long time ago, but now she doesn't really fear what's underneath her kicking legs when she's swimming in the metaphorical void, simply enjoying the tickling of cold water on her bare legs and the gentle gurgling of the sleepy ripples.
In her drunken state, the girl floats above the water's surface, tears rolling down her face and taking with them the thick layers of concealer that have been rubbed and dampened off her face. The bruising is now back to its original depth of blues, purples and reds, but the owner of the lesions is too drunk, too high and too pained to notice or care anymore. She just floats and stares up at the full moon above her, allowing its light to reflect on the glimmering capillary waves and bounce into her glossed eyes.
Her tears roll down her temples and merge with the saltier water that keeps her up, making warmth dribble down her face before it is taken by the sea's colder splashes. Her eyes are lazily opened, her puffy eyelids preventing her from prying them into a larger size even if she wanted to. Her head works as a breeding ground for the dull headache reverberating inside her skull, adding to it the sudden nausea that has accumulated in her throat and the restarting ache of her face.
With a weak huff, the girl floats herself back into a doggy swim, suddenly becoming insanely dizzy when her head rises, causing her eyes to slide shut and her hand to find her forehead. She waits for the feeling to cease before eventually swimming back to shore, struggling to find her footing as she trips over her feet and lands on the sand, hands cushioning her fall. With a groan, she rolls onto her back and lets her arms fall limp at her sides, staring up at the scarce stars.
Her lips quiver and a breath finds an escape out of her mouth, making her lips part and cause the cut to reopen. Oakley curses at the sharp burn, bringing a hand up to her face and rubbing her eyes even with the sand that sticks to her fingers. When she feels tears continuously roll down her cheeks and stumble over grains of sand on her cheeks, she stands back up and washes her bikini body in the ocean, pulling her hair from the braid and letting it rest on her back as the wind begins to dry it in the shape of salty waves.
Once she's mostly clean of sand, she turns back around and stumbles back to where she'd discarded her possessions. Her shaky hands reach for the smaller bag dug inside the wicker bag, taking out the last bits of powder inside the pill bottle and using her dollar bill to snort once and twice. Her hands become even more erratic in their trembling as she puts everything away again, rubbing her face and swaying to the side. With nothing to hold onto, she trips to the side, catching her footing right before hitting the ground.
