Waving Not Drowning

"You know, like, he never even responded to my last text. And now Rahim says he's dating that skank, that blonde from Casey's party last Thursday. I Can Not Be Lieve It." Adriana spits out the last line, articulating each syllable in a hard staccato rhythm, spitting the sounds as if to get the taste of them out of her mouth. Her eyes pool, she pulls her mirrored aviator sunglasses out of her gloriously long, thick, black mane of Persian hair and slides them along the bridge of her aquiline nose, the angles of her face carving harsh shadows on the top of her barely covered breasts. She's rolled up her tank top to sun her stomach, pulled down her waistband and hauled up her shorts fashioning a makeshift bikini. Her skin soaks up the sun, turning a deep mahogany brown, barely breaking a sweat. Carly nods sympathetically, mmm'ing and ahhh'ing, adding some uh huhs, and oh yeahs for good measure. They sit casually straddled, entwined like lazy cats sunbathing, a...

Brendan has got to remember his sunscreen. His face is an entirely different colour than his chest. Unnervingly so. The back of his neck is a screaming red mess of angry freckles that emanate heat like  a burning coil, almost too hot to touch. This is going to hurt in the morning. Five pints too many, he has vague memories of a woman named Natalie or Alexa, maybe Analee. Someone with too many vowels in their name. Karaoke in a private room, throngs of Japanese ESL students and Sweet Home Alabama on repeat at 11 on the dial after a beachside pub crawl celebrating July. Or summer or something or nothing in particualr. Brendan can not for the life of him remember anything in specifics. Except he is suddenly aware that he has indeed lost his phone. It's sometime pre dawn but not quite 5 am and Brendan can't move his neck for the pain in his skin. He flails around like a blind mole, flapping his arms in a 360 degree circle desperately feeling for anything familiar that will send som...