Page 32 of Bring You Back

8

I’m Sorry

Julian

Sounds. Movements. I focus on those the whole time I’m in the water.

None of it is enough to keep me on my board.

I’m fine when wading, straddling the board like a champ as I wait for the waves, but catching them is a different story. One I can’t change the ending to no matter how many times I leap up.

Camille enters my thoughts. Every. Damn. Time.

And I wipe out.

One—

Two—

Three times.

My arms feel like dead weight as I paddle against the backward pull, again and again and again, trying to gain the speed I need, but I’m not fast enough. I’m losing my energy, I’m losing my balance, I’m losing my mind.

There’s no consistency between me and the surf.

I tear out of the water and haul my board back to my Jeep, my heavy footfalls kicking up sand to then slap against asphalt. I dry off, change into my clothes and shoes, not even bothering to check for onlookers, and climb inside. Everything is a slam—the door, theclickof my seatbelt, my hand against the steering wheel, one, two, three times, until I settle back into the seat with a groan, my hands gripping the back of my hair.

I don’t feel loved. I don’t feel renewed. I don’t feel powerful. My peace is being fucked with.

I’mbeing fucked with.

My phone goes off from the passenger seat and I yank it up to silence the noise when I see the several missed calls and texts in a line on the screen. From Tommy. From Reyna.

One from Mom. Always one from Mom.

None from Dad.

Further down, a number with no name attached. I tap open the text and see two simple words.

I’m sorry

My breathing stalls.Camille.

My fist squeezes the phone with the thought of every time I’ve opened it, many times right here in this seat, just waiting, searching, for another text from her that never came. Not knowing the last one would be the last one.

My jaw clenches so hard my teeth ache. I wanted this.Last year.I don’t want thisnow. I don’t want her on my phonenow. I don’t want her on my mind. I don’t want her in my house. I don’t want this burn in my chest at just the thought of her. I don’t want to associate her with feelings ofanykind.

I want an hour. A fucking hour of peace in theoneway I can still have it.

But now that’s shot to shit, too.

I don’t blame the ocean for my troubles tonight. I blame Camille.

I can’t escape her. Not now. Not anymore. She’s ruining the only good things I have left.

My thumbs hover over the keypad, ready to type out a brush off. She’s sorry. That one word doesn’t change anything. Knowing her, she expects that to be good enough.

I throw the phone to the passenger seat and close my eyes, squeezing the steering wheel until every negative emotion passes through me. The last time I felt this level of anguish, this turmoil, this conflicted all in one moment was the last time my parents were in the same room together, with me, turning my world upside down. I grabbed my board, came out here, and it all washed away.

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