Burning Moon (Wattpad Version)

Chapter 4

There’s awkward:

Like your dad catching you making out with your boyfriend when you’re fifteen (and it’s not just first base).

Or stalking your boyfriend’s ex on Facebook and accidentally 'liking' her profile picture (and she’s thinner than you).

Or enthusiastically going in for a hug, when the other person was only going for a handshake (and your boob accidentally grazes their outstretched hand).

Or buying a box of condoms at the chemist and bumping into your mother’s friend (and they are ribbed and chocolate flavoured).

I could keep going, but I think you get the message.

And then, there’s Awkward (with a capital A):

Like sitting in the back of a Taxi with a total – and slightly weird – stranger; who you inadvertently bashed in the head, wore your pj’s and threw up in front of. Who heard you pour your guts out and then cry like a baby. Who you suspect might have seen you bending over in your G-string, and who you’ve accidentally invited to join you on your 'honeymoon'.

If I'd thought the plane ride was painful, well, this was definitely worse. We were squashed together in Thailand’s answer to a taxi, called a Tuk-Tuk; a tiny little creature that looked more like an enlarged tricycle with a box attached to it. We were so squashed in fact, that whenever the Tuk-Tuk went over a bump (which was pretty often) our bodies would press together in ways I’d really rather they didn’t. There was a lot of…

“Oops, sorry!” (That was my boob)

“Sorry!” (Elbow dangerously close to crotch)

“Excuse me!” (Boob again)

To say I was relieved when the ride came to a stop was an understatement. The Tuk-Tuk pulled up (chugged up) to a somewhat palatial looking hotel and I was momentarily caught up in the romance of it all; the luxurious five-star-ness of it, the turquoise sea in the postcard background; the fragrance-filled, colourful flowers floating in bowls of water; and the warm glow of atmospheric lighting. BUT my bubble was rudely burst when I remembered I was missing the most important ingredient for a successful honeymoon – the groom!

“Impressive,” I’d almost forgotten Damian was there when he came up behind me and spoke.

“Yes my fiancé…” I corrected myself, “My EX fiancé likes to splash out. He always said, the more expensive something is, the better.”

“Ja, my parents are like that.” Damian said casually. “They always fly business class and refuse to stay in anything less than a five-star-plus hotel.”

This revelation shocked me.

I’d built up a mental image of Damian, and this little tit-bit of information about wealthy parents certainly wasn’t part of it. I’d imagined something a little more… How shall I say this? Dirty! In my mind his dad was a ‘Hell's Angel’, or some such leather-clad thing. He probably had his own motorcycle repair shop and his mother was a tattoo artist, with body piercings and blue stripes in her hair. And they lived in a house with cigarette burns on the carpets and cat hair on the couch, because his mother was also a cat hoarder. Terribly judgmental of me, I know.

My curiosity had definitely been piqued and I decided to pry, as subtly as possible.

“Um…” I was trying to sound casual, so I threw in another ‘um’, “Um, so where do your parents stay…um?” (Okay, maybe that hadn’t worked as well as I’d imagined, but he didn’t seem to notice.)