anacampserote » m.c au

four

It was the summer of the year where I turned thirteen that Michael and I spent a whole day at the beach. Sure, we had always gone to the beach and sat down for a few hours, but that was the first time we stayed til evening before going back to the beach house that my parents had bought even before I was born.

We were both lying on the sand with our new neon sunglasses that we bought at the 24-hour shop nearby. I was squeezing the remaining of my Capri-Sun pouch when I noticed he was staring at me.

“What, Michael?” I huffed in annoyance though in my head, I was really just worrying if I had traces of juice around my mouth. That was the year I started caring about the way I presented myself in front of boys. I used to spend about fifteen minutes each morning finding loopholes in my outfits - no matter that they were just simple shirts and shorts – just because I wanted to impress someone of the opposite sex. Thirteen year old me was more self-conscious (and flirtatious, clearly), and it didn’t help that all my friends had boyfriends whereas I didn’t. Granted, they were puppy loves, but it didn’t feel good to know that I was less worthy of a boyfriend than they were. Silently, I licked my lips thoroughly.

“Why do girls paint their nails?” he removed his sunglasses and put them on his head. That was when I realized he was scrutinizing my nails instead of my face.

“I don’t know,” I shrugged, “We want to feel pretty.”

He tilted his head slightly, his eyebrows scrunched in confusion. I almost parted my lips to tell him that he wouldn’t understand when he said, “But you’re beautiful.”

The next morning – and the next, and the next, and the subsequent ones - I stopped going in front of the mirror before leaving my house.

-

“Kal,” Calum pulled my arm, breaking me out of my thoughts. I flinched momentarily before turning my body to look at him. “You okay?”

“I don’t know- wait, did you see him?” I turned back, only to realize that Michael wasn’t there. I was never one to hallucinate, especially not about my ex-boyfriend. I really was sure Michael was standing there just a few seconds ago.

“See who?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Michael… I thought he was just standing there…” I trailed off, confused.

“He’s in a coma, why would he be here? Why are you even thinking about him? He’d probably forget you when he wakes up anyway,” he scoffed and I flinched. What the hell? I knew he was always sensitive when it came to the topic of Michael but this was a whole new level itself. His jealousy wasn’t a valid excuse to be spiteful, especially considering they were once friends too. But what was more important was the fact that it actually hurt. No matter the fact that he was my ex-boyfriend, it hurt to think that he wouldn’t remember me at all. Heck, it’d still hurt even if he were just a neighbour I grew up with.

“That wasn’t nice,” I mumbled.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean it,” he put an arm around my shoulder and kissed my forehead, “I just don’t like talking about him. I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be jealous of him, you know. I’m with you,” I crossed my arms, still a little annoyed.

“I know. I love you, sorry,” he pouted.

“You’re sorry for loving me?” I pretended to clutch my heart in an attempt to change the mood as he grinned.

“No, I could never be. You’re the single best thing that’s ever happened to me.”