into a house.
The sharp scent of saltwater overlays my hazy memory. The tang of saltwater, the cool breeze on my back, light wood a dark room.
A puzzle piece clicks into place. I go to the windows and throw the heavy curtains open, revealing the beach splayed out below me. Crisp, clean, all but virgin sands. In the distance, the blue-black sea spreads out as far as I can see. The waves crash on the beach, hissing as they retreat.
It’s not quite the same view as the last time I was here but there is the neatly kept patio, leading out to the beach.
Erik brought me here.
He could’ve taken me anywhere in the world and yet…
Here I am. I can’t think of why he would bring me here. I can’t actually think of anything at all, not without my head aching.
Desperate for water, I venture to the doorway.
I heave open the door and stick my head out, nearly blinded by the golden daylight that pours in on me. If I had to guess, I would say that it was seven or eight in the evening. Not super late, but not nearly the time that I last remembered it being.
I squint around, looking back and forth down the hallway. It's lined with wood, ceiling to floor. I can see the huge plate glass window at the end of the hall, the sand and light green grass blending in with the décor of the house.
I press the heels my hands against my eyes, wishing like anything that this would all go away. But after leaning against the doorframe for half a minute, I realized that nothing is going to be resolved by me just hiding up here. So, I take the next step and wander down the hall, going downstairs. I find the downstairs living area airy and full of white furniture and the same light wood as I found upstairs. Everything is still and silent.
Water is still calling my name, so I venture into the kitchen, where I find Erik at last.
His back is turned to me. He has a radio on that plays some classic rock very quietly. And he is frying something, I can hear the sizzle and smell the butter as he hums to himself gently and agitates the frying pan. It's only when I step into the open area between the kitchen island and the countertop that he even looks up.
He bites his lip and looks me up and down, a little frown appearing on his face.
His gaze on my legs makes me realize that he probably undressed me and put me in his button up. There's something so intimate and personal about that, while at the same time it makes me a little sad. It also makes me think of the fact that I am naked beneath this oversized shirt and he knows it.
I don't know quite what to think about that. My head aches and I press my palm to my temple. He continues to look at me, finally making a comment.
“I see that you made it. I was starting to wonder."
He turns back to the stove and flips the sandwich he's making in the pan. I take a deep whiff of the smell of cheese and bread toasting. My stomach lurches and I take a step backwards. Not knowing quite what to say, I go around Erik, giving him plenty of space. I retrieve a bottle of mineral water from the refrigerator.
Then I sit down at the kitchen island, watching him. His light-colored hair is slightly askew, as if he has styled it by shoving his hands through it. He wears a T-shirt and dark jeans, slung low at the hips and looking quite like an advertisement for designer jeans. His mood seems lighter too, although you can never tell quite what is going on behind Erik's eyes.
I guess that being here, away from the city and closer to the beach, makes him more relaxed.
If I'm honest, it is a look that really suits him. He essentially ignores me and hums along with the song playing on the radio.
I sit in silence and drink my water. He transfers the grilled cheese sandwich from the pan to a plate, turning to look at me. "Do you want one?"
Just looking at that sandwich makes me feel queasy all over again. I swallow and shake my head. "No thanks. I have a rule about eating after I have vomited. It's usually not a good idea."
Erik looks at me