The Boy With the Cigarettes in his Pocket

8: Arguments

I wake up because of a bright light shining on my face. I open my eyes to find myself sprawled out on the sand, covered in ash and smelling of alcohol. Hungover with vodka, and whatever else I drank, my head feels like someone in banging it with a large drumstick. Beside me is Jamie, shirtless and looking just as rough as I am.

I rub my eyes and try to remember what happened last night but I couldn't recall anything. My cheeks sting and are hot, I assume I'm sunburnt. As soon as I move I throw up. Hating myself instantly for my choice last night but also surprisingly grateful that the vomiting wasn't voluntary.

I reach over and tug on Jamie's trouser leg. "Wake up,"

He groans a reply and shakes his leg of my grip. I give up and collapse back onto the sand, hurting my head even more.

"God, what happened?" I say, more to myself than to Jamie.

"I wish I knew," Jamie replies, suddenly awake and rummaging around in the sand for his top.

"I really fucked up,"

"Not that bad,"

I feel tears form in my eyes at the realisation of what I've done. "It's morning."

"I know,"

"It's fucking morning, Jamie, and I'm not home! It actually feels like about mid-day, which is even better isn't it, I'm not going to be killed, am I?" 

"Robyn, Robyn, calm down, it'll be okay." Jamie says, putting his hand on my shoulder and I realise I am almost hysteric.

"No it won't, you don't get it okay! You don't know what it's like to have parents wondering where you are all the time!"

"You're right, I don't."

I bring my hand to my mouth when I realise what I said. I can see the hurt rise in Jamie's eyes. "I-I didn't mean it like that..."

The corners of Jamie's mouth turn upwards into a wobbly smile. "It's okay,"

"It isn't. I'm really, really sorry." I say, wrapping my arms around him and pulling him tight.

"Really, it's okay,"

In our embrace I remember a snippet from last night: that I told Jamie I loved him. I feel my cheeks flush in embarrassment. 

"Oh God, I'm so stupid," I say, almost laughing at myself.

"What for?"

"Last night I told you that I loved you,"

"What's so stupid about that?"

"I'm 15, I can hardly know what love is,"

"There isn't an age limit on feelings, Robyn."

I look at him, staring deep into his hazel eyes. He looks completely indifferent, and - more surprisengly - he looks completely serious. "You really believe that?"

"I do,"

"Then how do you feel about me?"

Jamie looks away from me, into the distance of the crashing waves of the sea. He licks his bottom lip before he speaks. "The way I feel about you... I feel about you differently from the way I felt about my past girlfriends... A good different, a great different... Almost like, like..."

"Like what?"

"Jesus, I don't know. Like I could talk to you forever, without getting bored, at all. And I couldn't do that with any of my other girlfriends. You're special - that's it! Special! And I know you'd never believe this - or admit it to yourself - but you are so smart and beautiful and wonderful. And what's so shit about this whole thing," his tone of voice changes and he becomes almost agressive, "is that you're  the girlfriend that's meant the most to me, the one I've liked the best, and you're leaving in a week and it isn't fair! It just isn't!"