Page 2 of Greased

They took my heart with them the day they left.

No amount of preparation could have equipped me for the day I said goodbye to Dawson, Nicky, Dacre, Sonny and Pike as they boarded their plane back to the States. My heart aches at the reminder of them and the utter devastation that followed in the days and weeks after. I don’t think I’ve ever cried the way I did as I watched their plane leave.

Cue the violins.

Before they left, we had made so manyplans.

Talks of my flying to them and them flying here so we can see each other. We exchanged every form of communication so that we could always talk. Yet, it’s been nine months and I haven’t heard a single peep. No phone calls, no facetimes, no texts, no dms, no snaps, no letters, no pigeon carriers. Nothing. It’s like their plane just disappeared.

It didn’t, mind you, because I checked. Multiple times.

Theyjust did. Like they never existed.

Slowly starting to feel like my heartbreak is justified.

To dream of what could have been, to plan all of these things you could have done, to fall in fucking love for God’s sake to just be shattered in the end.

Fuck men.

Acool nip of the fading winter’s breeze bites at my skin, shaking me out of my self loathing. It's a welcome change to the sun’s rays that were beating down on my skin, causing a light sheen of sweat to form.

I slowly get up and dust the sand off my ass. The beach has always been a place of peace for me. Whether it’s to scream and cry after being overwhelmed thanks to one too many difficult doctor’s sessions or just to simply think and reflect.

In the early days after I woke up from the coma, I would find myself sitting down at the beach, be that day or night, and just looking out over the ocean. Mum never seemed to mind my disappearing acts, at least not after the first time I went missing. I admit it probably wasn’t a good idea to just up and leave in the way I did but I was an eight year old in need of an escape. The beach provided that for me. Mum understood that, as long as I had my location turned on myphone. It has now become a habit, one that never fails to dull down any unwanted feelings that seem to plague my mind.

It is my place of serenity. My escape from reality.

That, along with music.

Thankfully we live a few streets back from the beach, so my midnight beach escapades were never too much of a concern for Mum. It also helps that basically everyone knows everyone in our town. Trouble rarely finds its way to us. Not like any of that would stop her anxiety when it comes to me.

As I turn, I can’t help but wish I could stay at the beach longer today but the near constant buzzing of my phone in my back pocket means Mum really must want me home. I don’t bother checking it as I begin my slow walk home. I know exactly what it will say and I would give anything to prolong the quiet inside my mind. Even just for a moment longer.

The walk home from the beach goes way too quick as I look up at our house. My Jeep Wrangler sits in the driveway and I can’t help but smile remembering the way Mum dressed it up for my 17thbirthday. I swear it could have floated away with the number of balloons that were hanging off it, let alone the few she jammed inside the car. She knew that gifting me a car would be the perfect gift. The gift of an easy escape to my favourite beach, Five Rocks. Only accessible by four-wheel drive, it will forever be my happy place.

My gaze lingers on the unfamiliar blacked-out SUV that also sits in the driveway. I eye it with caution. Mum rarely has visitors over and the few she does definitely don’t drive anything like that.

I slowly unlock the door trying to make as little noise as possible so as not to disturb her and whoever she’sentertaining.

“Scar, is that you sweetie?”

I jolt, realising that my attempts to be quiet were unsuccessful.

“Yeah Mum.” I call back, cringing at my not so subtle attempt of getting inside unseen.

“Can you come into the lounge room for a second? There’s something we need to tell you.”

We?Weird.

Her voice has a slight edge to it that instantly puts me on guard.

As I walk into the room, my attention is instantly drawn to the blonde man sitting on the couch next to a much older man. The two of them look almost identical. The man who I assume is the father, is quite literally built like a brick shithouse. His blonde hair that’s slowly darkening in age is effortlessly styled on his head, like he just brushes his hands through it in the mornings. A beard of short stubbled greys, kept short on his face.

He's dressed casually, or from what I gather from the brand name I can see on his shirt, as casually as he can.

Blondie beside him is staring back at me with a shocked look on his face.

His hair is tousled effortlessly on his head, like he woke up, shook is head and said fuck it.

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