I remember once upon a time saying that I was enjoying this whole holiday idea. Well, I've changed my mind. This holiday stuff is shit. Why the sudden change of heart, you ask me? Two words:
Swimming pool.
I had to spend the entire day watching my friends have fun. Splashing around in the massive outside pool, swimming laps and pratting around with each other. Laughing and joking. And swimming.
I can't swim. I never got taught as a child. It wasn't something that ever interested me, and those two idiots I lived with knew better than to try and force me into doing something I didn't want to do. I never got on with the idea of wearing something that is basically glorified underwear in front of strangers that have got the potential to be perverts. And the idea of pissed stained water all over my body is not the most appealing thing in the world.
I regret the stubbornness of my youth. At least in this situation anyway. I really wanted to join in with Danny and Glen. But once again, my fucked up childhood means that I am an outcast to the normal activities of the real world. I'm shunted out, left by myself to watch the world go by me. Wallowing in the past decisions and facing the consequences.
It could have been remedied. Mark could have been here. But he got roped into some sort of wedding thing with Sam that he couldn't get out of. Family business, blah blah. I didn't really listen to what he was saying after 'I have no choice'. I just fell into a pit of loneliness and misery, barely feeling him kiss me goodbye. Not even a flutter from the butterflies.
I watched them for three hours. Mind-numbingly bored. Green eyed with envy. Sinking further and further into a hole of inadequacy. Why am I so fucked up? Why can't I just be normal? For one day in my life, why can't I just be normal?
I gave up eventually and went up to my room. Not like they noticed or anything. Who would notice the tiny fracture on the sidelines? No one. That's who. I don't matter. I never will matter. All because I can't fucking swim.
I can't even get comfortable in this room. I thought it was only ever unbearable when Mark was sharing the covers. But no. Majorca is fucking hot. And I don't like it. I'm sticky, and sweaty, and I probably smell. And the feel of the sheets on my skin is like tiny razors set on fire. This isn't fair. This isn't fair at all.
And to round it all off, Mark isn't even back yet. He's been gone all day, not even a message sent to me through the other two. And they've been royal pricks and not tried at all. A knock on the door here and there, but no real effort. If they cared, they'd break the door down. Mark would. But then, he isn't here either. No one's here for me. I'm totally alone.
“You awake?”
Oh. So I'm not alone. Here he is now, blinding me with not only the evident excitement that is near exploding out of him, but also with the light from the bulb on the ceiling. I didn't realise it had gotten so late, and now my eyes are suffering from the full day in the dark. I whine, pulling the duvet over my head. Subjecting myself to the excruciating heat of the air I breathe in just to get away from the brightness of the light.
“Alex?” he asks, resulting in a pissed off grunt from me.
“What?”
“Are you awake?”
“No. I'm fast asleep. Switch the fucking light off.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
The glow from outside of this death cocoon goes out, and I pop my head back out. I never thought the humid air of the room would feel this good. Compared to what I was just breathing, this air is beautiful...
