ETHEREAL

CHAPTER 23

Damien texts me the next day. "I'm sorry for ruining your new car, Skye, I hope that you're not mad at me.. I'm sorry about everything between us. I promise to be better for you, for us."

I roll my eyes and text him back with, "You need to choose to be better for yourself." I feel so incredibly, immensely foolish for continually having the hope and faith that Damien will change into who I know that he can be, and finally treat me the way that I deserve to be treated, time after time again. He gets my hopes up so high just to crash and shred them, then throw the pieces back into my face, every single time. I wish that I could truly hate him, but I don't. I never have. I just love and pity him. I want to give up on him, but I feel this intense, perverse pull towards him, like we are meant to be together. I feel like he will never admit that he needs therapy, and/or some type of rehab, for alcoholics and drug addicts. He needs to match his words to his actions, but I have this sinking feeling that it will never happen. Damien is like the albatross around my neck, and I've tried to keep both of us afloat, but I fear that I can no longer manage the happiness of myself, Damien, and not to mention, Justin. It is becoming ludicrously impossible to make either of them happy, and why are they starting to think that it is my responsibility, that I am responsible for their broken lives and minds?

Damien texts me, "want to go to a party in Salisbury? It's Tyler's birthday," and I chew on my lip. I want to go, especially since Salisbury is only an hour away from Ocean City, my favorite beach town. Everyone hates it, for how they think that it is full of white trash and tackiness, but I love the kitschy, casual vibe. I love the boardwalk, even with the overwhelming smog of cigarettes, and the Candy Kitchen, with its Baltimore-style dark chocolate mixed with marshmallow, cloud-like fudge that instantly melts in my mouth, at literally the very moment that it hits my tongue. I love laying on the beach, letting the sun warm me while I stare into the abyss of waves. I would nonchalantly brush off all of the tiny, minuscule sand spiders that peek out of the sand to crawl on my legs. I don't care about how the water isn't a clear, turquoise blue, like how it is in Turks and Caicos, or Cabo. I don't care about how the sand is a warm-toned beige, rather than a bleached white. I've never been to those places, so I wouldn't know, although I have been to a million California beaches, and nothing compares to my dreamlike, idyllic OC, even though I was nearly kidnapped at the back of a Sunsations store, when I was 15, which was terrifyingly heart-stopping, and I still feel ashamed at how I absolutely froze at the sight of danger. The slight tinge of illegality and unlawfulness that somewhat touches the entire town still doesn't bother me. I feel peaceful there. The water is clean, albeit a murky, smoky, greyish and moody blue. I would shower off the sand from the beach in one of those open, public showers, and stroll down the boardwalk as the sun sets, clad in my soaking wet swimsuit, with my tie-dye cover-up dress sticking to me, and incredibly old, softened leather flip-flops, slapping against the weathered planks. Within minutes, I would already be dry, because it is so suffocatingly hot. I would buy some mouth-watering dark chocolate truffles filled with smooth raspberry cream, and King Tut fudge, which features milk chocolate filled with a mix of chewy caramel and delectable pecans. Hours later, I would stuff my face with a broiled crab cake sandwich that is full of Maryland blue crab and nearly no filler obviously, with some chips that are covered in Old Bay, inside of a trailer that was renovated into a shack of a restaurant, in which the tables are covered with brown wrapping paper.

"Salisbury? Who would be driving?" I ask, because that is a two hour drive from here. Of course, Damien replies, "can you drive?" Sometimes, and especially this time, I wonder if he only invites me anywhere, because of how I can drive. I text back, "are you gonna help pay for gas?" I receive a succinct, "yea," which I don't even believe. Damien is unbelievable. Of course, I say yes.

We pick up his friend Javon, after I pick up Damien, even though Javon lives much closer to me, but Damien asserts that it is on the way, and I make Damien drive us all of the way to Salisbury, to which he complains about the entire time, especially when Javon and I make a point to tease him about how he is missing the view of the beautifully bright, star-filled flooding the black night sky. He smirks his toothless mischievous grin at me, and I know that he is amused, rather than annoyed or mad. I want to be annoyed and mad at him, but I always find it hard to be, especially when how he looks at me melts away my hardened heart, although I know it is stupid and cliche. I never wanted to be that pathetic girl.