Tanned Leather & White Lace [+18]

11

‼️Warning: this chapter contain implied domestical violence (physical and psychological)

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Chumphon islands, 1998

Vegas was a bit confused of that sunny morning, to say the least. The annual journey began the day before and now Vegas was sitting on a bench along the sidewalk, surrounded by sun-kissed people and the bustling noise of the street, which he wasn't quite used to. They had arrived with his mother and father at night, and after a not so restful sleep in a vacation home he had distant memories of, Vegas eventually drifted off, with the help of his mother's soothing story.

She told him about a little boy who travelled to an island in the far, far, south of Thailand for vacation, basking in the sun, swimming in the ocean, discovering beautiful seashells, and even making some friends along the way. Among those friends were a jellyfish, a seagull, and even a bear. Vegas couldn't quite grasp how a bear would end up on the ocean side, but he decided to let it slide, being gentle on his mom, who was probably as tired as he was.

It was a bit confusing for Vegas to be there because to start with, he didn't know how to swim. He had tried to learn with his mother in their swimming pool back at their home in Bangkok, but even with the help of arm floaties, he wasn't very good at it, to be...nice. He didn't even know how to float. His father had made fun of him about it, but Vegas didn't let it bother him too much. There's no sea in Bangkok anyway.

To had to this, coming here and expect Vegas to swim and to make friends, well, it was kind of a bit surreal for him. He didn't really know how to make friends. He never actually tried. But again, Vegas didn't mind, and neither did his mom. They had each other, and for Vegas, that was enough.

With all that, it was safe to say that Vegas was feeling a bit tired, a bit grumpy, and a bit jaded as he sat perched on the edge of this bench. Absentmindedly swinging his feet, he stared down at what he held in his hand, a furrow appearing between his brows. It was ice cream. Vegas had never been much of a fan of ice cream, yet it felt like a tradition every time they vacationed on this island.

Vegas couldn't quite recall the last time they had come here yet he vividly remembered this spot —the little ice cream and waffles shop with its pink pastel front adorned with little white and yellow flowers. And there she was, the same old lady, with her plethora of wrinkles and a tooth or two missing, yet her smile as warm as ever as she greeted Vegas.

Vegas himself was missing a tooth, right in the front. It had fallen out when he ate some caramel fudge he wasn't supposed to, but his mother assured him it would grow back. He even had the privilege of keeping that tooth in a little star-shaped box, as long as his father didn't find out.

Vegas liked the old lady because she had hair on her chin, and her laugh sounded like a witch's— Vegas always had a soft spot for witch stories, even if his mother wasn't exactly thrilled by it. Nor about his insistence on keeping his fallen teeth.

But on that hot summer day, it wasn't the gap in his teeth, the sweltering humidity or the fact that he was somewhere so foreign to him that made him skeptical. No, it was two other things that left the six-year-old boy feeling a bit uncertain.

First, he wasn't thrilled about having to wear shorts, nor was he a fan of the neon green bucket hat his mother had insisted he wear before they left their vacation home that morning. She had plopped it on his head, his jet-black hair almost entirely covering his vision until she brushed it away with a tender chuckle and a gentle pat on his cheek. And secondly, he really didn't like the sensation of his ice cream melting far too quickly under the blazing sun, trickling down his tiny fingers, sticky, cold, and messy.