My head spun in circles as I desperately sought a bathroom. I must have appeared mentally unhinged, swaying from side to side with my hands firmly planted on the walls, trying to maintain an appearance of sanity while preventing myself from vomiting on this yacht. Finally, a sigh of relief escaped me as I found a doorknob, and I stumbled into the room.
The space was mostly dark, and my throbbing head discouraged any attempts to locate a light switch. Swaying towards the brightest area I could discern, I reached out and, unexpectedly, heard a click. Perplexed, I explored the surface and realized it was a glass door all along – and I had inadvertently opened it, feeling a breeze of fresh air sweeping through.
I stumbled forward, still swaying with my vision blurred, disoriented about my location. Passing through the door, all I could discern were the bright spotlights on the poles of the boat. The sense of direction eluded me; all I wished for was to return home. Was I not rational enough to decline my friend's yacht party invitation? I had let myself be carried away, forgetting I suffered from seasickness. Did I foolishly believe that attending a yacht party would miraculously cure my ailment?
Disregarding the potential exposure to bacteria or germs, I clumsily navigated my surroundings, seeking a wall or railing to cling to, avoiding the sight of the ocean waves rocking the boat. I collided with the wall multiple times, indifferent to the noise, drowned out by the ongoing party within the yacht.
I gazed upward, though I could barely discern anything but the bright stars gleaming in the now darkened sky. They seemed to mockingly anticipate my next move, as if questioning whether I would endure this night. Curse you, celestial balls of fire.
After a few minutes of clinging to the wall like a madwoman, the realization finally dawned on me – I was lost.
In my desperate attempt to seek assistance, I tried to run, only to trip over what felt like a tangle of ropes conveniently strewn across the deck where I was passing through. THUD!!!
What a fantastic time I was having.
Frustrated with this absurd situation, I couldn't contain a yell of pain as my bottom collided with the railing before I slammed down onto the floor.
"FIGLIO DI PUTTANA!" If I weren't on a yacht and hadn't meticulously applied my eyeliner, I might be hysterically sobbing elsewhere. I abruptly cut myself off after the scream, cradling my leg that had collided with the railing. Hissing in pain, I sat there alone, unable to bear the thought of how dirty the floor beneath me was, consumed by both pain and distress.
Abruptly, a frantic shuffling sound reached my ears from behind, causing me to freeze. My head was spinning like a poorly engineered roller coaster, and my eyes were in no condition to function properly. Hoping that the person behind me was decent and not a potential serial killer, I heard the footsteps come to a stop, leaving my breathing as the only audible sound.
"Are you okay there, love?" A thick British accent emerged seemingly out of nowhere..
Two weeks earlier...
I let out a sigh, nervously fidgeting with the hem of my sleeves as I stepped into the elevator. Wrapping my finger with a handkerchief, I pressed the highest button within my reach. Just as the elevator door was about to close, a hand swiftly slipped through, so unnaturally fast that I had to do a double-take and question my sanity.
The elevator door opened again as the hand retracted, revealing a curly-haired man slightly taller than me- (though it was no surprise that I was sort of lacking in terms of height) dressed in orange. "Must be an employee here," I assumed, judging from the familiar color of his shirt. Shaking off my thoughts, I instinctively created some distance, quietly observing him.
He likely observed my prolonged gaze, prompting him to meet my eyes. Despite my quick attempt to avert my gaze, he had already caught me. I played it off as if nothing occurred afterward. The following three minutes were marked by an awkward silence, during which we stood, occasionally shifting uncomfortably.
DING!—
With a subtle exhale of relief, I delicately readjusted my cap and face mask as I gracefully stepped out of the elevator. To my intrigue, he mirrored my exit. Our synchronized movements guided me to the right, him to the left, orchestrating a seamless parting as we strolled away from each other. The intricate tapestry of our departure unfolded, marked by the fading resonance of our footsteps, each step weaving a greater distance between us.
In the shadows of my obliviousness, the script of our encounters held more pages waiting to unfold.
