Stick Around ✔

𝘧𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘦𝘯 ~ 𝘴𝘶𝘯 𝘨𝘰𝘦𝘴 𝘥𝘰𝘸𝘯

So here I lie, feeling sorry for myself even though I dragged myself into this mess in the first place.

I should probably start packing up and heading back home, but my body feels too empty to be able to move. My heart is empty, the sort of empty that remains after you're been crying your eyes out for hours, and now you're finally out of tears, there's nothing but that emptiness.

Coming to California, travelling across the States, it was all pointless. What the hell was I trying to do anyway? Find myself?

What a load of bullshit.

Instead of finding myself, I just found a few friends and decent waves. Not to mention a boyfriend who I'm pretty sure wouldn't care if I fell off the face of the earth right now.

Groaning loudly, I sit up in bed, casting a dirty look around at my van.

This van was merely a shell of what it is now when I got it—its insides were totally wrecked, so I renovated it, making it into the retro-chic van it is now.

"What the hell am I doing here, Bessie?" I stand up, kicking over a pile of classic novels.

I throw on a new set of clothes and brush my teeth at lightning speed, trying to avoid all thoughts.

Stepping out of my van into the bright sunshine, I see that the waves are crashing in.

It would be a shame to leave on such a perfect day...

It would, I admit to myself, but I know that Ed and all of his friends will be out there today—so if I'm going to leave, I should leave now.

Turning away from the fantastic surf, I strap my surfboard to the roof of my van, and pack away my generator, carefully winding up the cable.

"Hey, Skye!"

I freeze, oh shit.

Not even looking who called my name, I scramble into my van, slide into the driver's seat and start up Bessie's engine, backing out of the car park and hit the gas.

A quick glance informs me that I haven't left anything behind, and that it was Cole. Who's now standing, staring after me, looking confused as hell.

Guess he didn't see the article then.

I drive to the library, parking up nearby.

Before doing anything else, I need to see if anyone has emailed me.

The librarian looks like she's about to offer me a library card or something for coming so often, so I pass by her as quickly as I can.

Logging onto my email, I'm surprised that my inbox hasn't imploded with the sheer number of unread emails that are now congregated there. The vast majority were spam, from more paparazzi and tabloid magazines, and therefore irrelevant. There were a few important ones that I found after sifting through the mass of emails.

One from a Victoria's Secret spokesperson—only semi-relevant.

One from the admissions lady at UPenn (University of Pennsylvania).

One from my mom.

Five from Savannah.

A couple from cousins and aunties and uncles that I haven't spoken to in years.

I open the ones from Savannah; a couple are apologies for not responding to me yesterday, another is questioning when I'm coming home, and the other two are spam: her asking me for my relationship advice—pfft, as if I know anything about relationships!