Page 11 of The Last Sunrise

“Thanks for your help, Mr. No Name.” I turn around to my surprising saving grace tonight.

Not only for the walk back but for the delicious snack. I try to remember what the name of it was as I wait for him to respond.

“Have a good night, Miss America.”

I want to tell him that his nickname is starting to piss me off, and part of me, a really random and out-of-character part, is a bit bitter that our time’s ending and that I’ll never see him again. This is what happens when people travel: they have unrealistic and whimsical fantasies of a whirlwind romance that changes the course of their lives. But I, Oriah Pera, live in a completely different reality, one that suffocates daydreams until they lose their breath.

“You know, Miss America is a really sexist, degrading competition for the most part, and the men who own, profit, and run it are absolute pigs,” I tell him as I walk closer to the lobby door. My feet ache with every step.

I hear him make a noise. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. And I grew up in a house that didn’t sexualize women’s bodies but focused on their minds, so that nickname is insulting.”

He studies me for a moment. “Hmm, well, it’s also insulting that the chemicals used to keep this grass so green leak into the water canals we use for fishing. It’s insulting that you intruded on our local beach and probably left a plastic water bottle or glass there without thinking. The price for your hotel per night is more than most of us make in two weeks of work, and the skyline and working class have been destroyed by your American greed. I could go on and on.”

“My American greed? My mom and I are here for a charity event and to build an Arts Center for the children in Mallorca. You have no clue what you’re even talking about. Judgmental without having a clue of the context. You don’t know me,” I snap, thinking this isn’t the time to mention the Arts Center is tied to a new luxury hotel…

“Good for that,” he replies, his lips twisting into a snarl.

What a hostile turn of personality from the guy who just helped me get back to my hotel. He’s confusing and I’m tired, my head aches, and my stomach is dying for food. My fuse for rude locals—hot as sin or not—is running out.

“Yeah, good for that.” I straighten my back. “Have a good night. Actually, don’t. Have a shitty night,” I say as rudely as I possibly can.

I hope it starts raining before he gets home. Or his stupid sandal breaks or his pants rip and fall to his ankles or those sprinklers he complained about turn on and spray the crap out of him. Asshole.

I turn on my heel and the friendly bellmen wave to me. I manage a smile for them as I cross into the air-conditioned lobby. I jerk in surprise when a hand grabs my arm as I press the up button on the elevator.

“What are you doing?” I yank my arm away from him. Somehow I knew it would be him. “And what could you possibly want? To berate me more? Look, I appreciate you helping me get back, but I’m over your attitude and I’m too tired and literally starving. So if you could leave me alone, that would be great.”

His face bunches up, and his dark lashes are so thick on the bottom rim that it almost looks like he’s wearing makeup. Under the bright lights, I can see a series of dark freckles across his arms and neck. It’s beyond annoying that I can’t stop noticing the details of his physical appearance.

“I want nothing more than to leave you alone, Miss America,” he mocks meagain.

Anger bubbles up and I briefly think about slapping his arrogant, beautiful face, but I don’t want to get arrested for assault on my second day here, and this isn’t a nineties rom-com where we let physical abuse slide for the sake of comedy.

“Then why the hell are you still here?” The elevator dings and opens in front of us. The interior is covered in mirrors, making four of him. One is enough.

“You have my phone. Or is stealing another one of your many charming American traits?” His eyes move to the phone in my hand.

Ugh, if he hadn’t been so obnoxious and distracting, I would have realized earlier that I hadn’t given his phone back.

“Here.” I push it into his hand, just a bit too hard, but he doesn’t react at all. His hand wraps around his cell phone and he pushes it into the pocket of his shorts.

“Adéu, let’s not see each other again, okay?” His words press into my chest, though it’s ridiculous.

The elevator closes and I turn to face him. “Gladly. This island is big enough; I don’t think that will be a problem. And I’m sure you don’t spend your time at tourist hotels that ruin your homeland.”

“And I’m sure you don’t spend your time anywhere but here. Have a shitty night.” He grins and my vision goes red.

I press the button again, harder this time. My eyes burning, struggling not to cry. Not out of sadness, but out of anger. I have my mother’s temper, and I’m trying my hardest not to lose it on this asshole; it wouldn’t be worth the energy. Finally, the elevator opens and dings, signaling my escape.

I step into it and turn around to look at him one last time.

“Adéu.” I repeat his goodbye, waving, when what I really want is to flip him off, but I don’t want to give him the satisfaction.

He watches me with intensity as the seconds pass, and the tension in his stare makes me press the close-door button as many times as I can. He begins to disappear as they shut between us, and I can’t shake this tight feeling in my stomach as I make my way to the top floor, to my expansive suite.

I go through most of my nighttime routine distracted, brushing my teeth but forgetting to put the toothpaste on first, using body wash instead of shampoo, and nicking my legs withmy razor more times than I can count. My mind is all over the place but ignited, awake in a way it hasn’t been before. I can’t find the explanation as I dig into my brain, wondering why he had such an effect on me. I’ve never, ever been the type of woman who is persuaded or blinded by an attractive man, and certainly not a rude one who hates people just for being tourists. Stepping out of the shower, I towel-dry my hair, Band-Aid my feet, pop my meds and some melatonin to shut my mind off, and tuck myself into bed with my hair still damp.

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