what now? | outerbanks

• thirty-two •

"Kie!" I call from the bathroom awkwardly, hoping no one else hears me. I wait a few seconds, listening for anything in response, and when I hear nothing, I go to call again. As soon as her name leaves my mouth for the second time, there's a knock at the door. "Kie?"
"Sarah? Do you need something?" She cracks the door ever so slightly, letting our voices travel easier.
"Yeah, we're out of tampons. Do you have any spares? I see some spotting."
"Oh, for sure. Let me go check in my room real quick. I'll be right back." I hear her feet rush hurriedly down halls, and then right back to me, her hand piercing the doorway with a crinkle from the wrapper. Reaching far, I grab the tampon from her hand.
"Thanks, Kie. You're a lifesaver," I gush as the girl shuts the door.
"Don't have to tell me twice!"
A few minutes later, once I'm situated, I head back to the living room where everyone's snuggled on the sofa and chairs watching a movie. The fireplace is aglow, the crackling sound soothing a soft hum over the scene. Winters are weird here in Kildare. My family always left for winters, to Nassau or Portugal- somewhere warm- so being here for once feels strange.
I sink back into the sofa, my body instantly finding its groove into John B's, my head cradled by his chest.
Kissing my head, he asks, "Everything okay?"
"Peachy," I smile, kissing him on the lips before turning my eyes to the TV. It's not something I've seen before, and I have a hard time paying attention, admittedly. My mind is elsewhere, thinking of bigger things, when I'm snapped out of it by the sound of a loud groan. JJ's head leans back dramatically, and he runs his hands over his face.
"This is totally boring," he complains.
"What?! This is a complete masterpiece, JJ." Pope throws a piece of popcorn at the boy, going back for more as the blonde dodges back and forth.
"Yeah, you're just not developed enough to appreciate it," Cleo chimes in, trying to calm her boyfriend's arm as she pauses the TV in defeat. "But, if it's really that bad, is there anything else you want to do?"
"Literally anything else," JJ quips, shrugging his shoulders playfully, and Kie grabs his hand.
"Maybe," she starts, "we could play truth or dare." She looks around at all of us and waits a few moments for us to respond before a big grin shines upon her face.
"I'm in." John B. is the first to agree, and we all follow suit. We get set in a circle, four of us on the sofa and two on the floor, a tray of snacks and drinks in the center of us.
"Okay, me first." JJ bursts excitedly. "John B, truth or dare?"
"Hm... let me think," he says playfully, his sarcasm making me giggle from next to him. "Dare, obviously. I'm not a bitch."
JJ throws him a beer can, a smirk tugging at his lips in the most devious sense. "I dare you to shotgun this beer. Right here, right now."
John B. is eager and earnest in his movements, swiftly stepping from off of the sofa and making his way to the center of the room. He plants his feet steadfast and meticulously places his hands around the beer can, preparing for the perfect shotgun. And that is exactly what he performs. His actions are smooth and practiced, and I can't help but be impressed.
"That was hot," I admit, kissing him lightly when he sits back down next to me.
"Gross," Kie heaves, taking a sip from an unlabeled bottle. I think about grabbing it from her hands to take a sip too, but I remember the time Rose told me drinking would give me bad period cramps, so I refrain.
"Let's see." John B. says, tapping his chin. "Cleo, truth or dare?"
"Truth," she responds, uneasy.
    "If you could take all of it away, all of the treasure hunting, would you?"
"Never." There's finality in her voice. I can tell she means it. "Look at what we got. I ain't takin' that away." She snuggles into Pope, and I look around and take it all in. She's right; look at what we've got.
The game continues on with its deep truths and stupid dares, but it eventually dies down with our inevitable boredom. Within the first lull in conversation, JJ is already suggesting something else, and his energy is enough to make me exhausted.
"I still got the Cat's Ass out back," he hints, eyebrows raised and full of mischief.
"JJ, what?" Kie asks, unamused.
"You know what? I could get down with a little late-night Cat's Ass action. Need help setting up?" Pope is eager, and I haven't seen him this excited since we got new catalogs for the surf shop.
"Hell yeah, P!" The two of them are instantly hopping from their seats and racing each other for the front door, telling the rest of us to go get dressed.
"What are we getting ourselves into." Cleo rolls her head back before slugging off of the bed and leaving for their room, Kie doing the same a few seconds later.
Once it's just me and John B. on the sofa, he rolls over so he's halfway on top. "Ready?" he asks me, and I nod my head in response before the boy swings me off the sofa bridal-style and runs with me to our bedroom.
I screech as we run, the fast movements flashing before my eyes. He throws me on the bed and I roll onto my side in a fit of laughter, my husband disappearing into our closet.
"Ugh, come on, Sarah. No time for play!" He yells jokingly, a childish, playful inflection in his voice.
"Oh, shut up! Bitch!" I yell back, a grin on my face as I stare up at the ceiling. Mustering up my energy, I roll off the bed and slink to my bathing suit drawer, picking one of my favorites. I walk slyly to the bathroom, knowing John B. is watching, and he can't help but scoff.
"Didn't want to just get dressed here?" My husband asks me, and he sounds almost offended.
"It's too early for you to see all this," I say, motioning with my hands up and down my body. "But maybe later, Sancho." He gapes at me, and then I walk into the bathroom like a tease, unashamed.
In the smaller room, I rid myself of my clothes and put up my hair, sliding on the bathing suit bottoms. They hug my hips and rise below my belly button, but they fit pretty well.
But, when I try to secure my top, my chest spills out of the cups, and my hands can't seem to clasp it behind my back. I move my arms at every angle trying to get the right access, but it won't shut. The fit is uncomfortable and strange, even with it not closed all the way.
My breathing grows heavy, my hands start to shake, and I can feel the frustration setting in. Tears well in my eyes as my fingers fidget around the clasp, and I choke out sobs trying to fit the piece onto my body.
"Sarah?" I hear John B's voice from outside the door.
"Go away," I cry, emotions tight in my throat.
"Hey, what's going on?" He's concerned, and I can feel his presence through the wooden door as I slide down it, ending in a curled position against the wall. My sobs grow louder, and I let go of the top, the fabric sliding off of my body. "You gotta let me in, baby." I don't respond this time, but instead scoot my body so that I'm no longer covering the door. I can just barely hear the knob turn through my cries, and John B's figure is blurry through my tears.
    He crouches next to me within seconds and swipes hair from my face, the strands salty and wet. John B. wraps his arms around me and hugs me tight, his heartbeat a rhythm for my breathing.
    "Hey, hey. It's okay. You're good," he soothes, his voice steady and calming. "What's going on?"
    "My top," I cry, tears spilling over my cheeks and falling endlessly onto my bare body. "I- I can't get my top to fit. It's too small." He frowns and kisses my forehead, muttering apologies.
    "I feel fat. I just bought this top; it used to fit."
    "Oh, Sar, just because your bathing suit top doesn't fit does not mean you're fat. You're beautiful," he beams, wiping continuous tears from under my eyes. "Come on, baby, let's get you a new one." John B. helps me up from the floor, his hands gentle and light on my body, and we walk together to the drawer, finding a looser-fitting top.
This one fits much better, and the straps aren't tight on my shoulders. He clasps it carefully in the back, kissing my shoulder when he's finally got it complete.
"There," he says. "Perfect." I turn around to face him, my eyes drier now, but my face still flushed and wet, and I set my head deep in the crook of his neck. I melt into his hug, and my breathing steadies to its usual rate.
"Thank you, John B." I sigh out, finally feeling human again.
"You don't need to thank me; it's what I'm here for." God, he couldn't be more perfect.