Page 6 of No Strings
I hate that fucking nickname. But my anger at hearing it can’t hold off the panic attack. I turn on my heel and rush to the bathroom, hearing Shane say, “She’s a bit jumpy.”
A bit jumpy? No shit asshole. I walk into the toilet and hide in a cubicle, focusing on my breathing. “Come on Morgan, you’re kilometres away from him, state lines separate you.” I take a deep breath in through my nose and slowly exhale through my mouth. “He isn’t here.”
I refuse to let myself be a victim. But in moments like this, where fear and panic take over my body, I can't help but feel like a victim.
“Mo, you okay?” Shane calls through the door.
I exit the cubicle feeling more myself, “Yeah, yeah coming.”
I splash water on my face, and steady myself with my hands on either side of the basin. “You have this Morgan” I look up and take in the different shades of bruising. Standing up I pull my shoulders back, take a deep breath, exhale, and exit the bathroom where my brother and his best friend wait for me.
I meet them back at the carousel and when I see my bag I go to grab it, but Rhys grabs it before I can get it. “Don’t, I can get it.”
“Suit yourself.” Then he puts it back on the carousel, looks down at me, and gives me a smirk. We have a very love-to-annoy-each-other sort of relationship. And by the looks of it, that hasn’t changed.
“Prick.” I mutter and chase after my bag.
I’m about to catch back up with them and realise they are deep in conversation.
“I’m not going to treat her as if she’s fragile, you think she would want that?” I wouldn’t and I’m grateful he knows that. Shane on the other hand…
“No, I guess not, but seriously no fast movements, make sure she sees you before you touch her.”
I don’t let Rhys reply. “I don’t need an instruction manual, Shane.” And with that I exit the airport, not quick enough because I hear Rhys’ little quip.
“I think she heard you, mate.”
Rhys laughs, Shane doesn’t but I can imagine the scowl.
When I get outside, I’m once again hit with a wall of heat.
“Is it always this hot?” I ask the void, but of course Rhys hears and answers.
“Yes.” He walks past me while racking his hands through his hair and places his cowboy hat atop his head.
I mouth his “yes” back while making a face and rolling my eyes.
Argh. I don’t know how long I’m going to be here for, but these last ten minutes have been enough. With a sigh I follow Rhys, we walk past a row of the same ute.
White, covered in red dirt and land cruiser.
We get to a, you guessed it, white, covered in red dirt, land cruiser. Except this one isn’t a ute.
Thank God, because I don’t want to be sandwiched between Shane and Rhys. The thought of any man touching me causes goosebumps to skitter over my body, and not the welcomed kind.
Once our bags are in, we all climb in. Which is where Rhys tells us we have to grab a few things for the station. Something about a bus of tourists arriving in the next couple of days.
Three hours later. Three fucking hours.
The back of the car is full. Beer takes up most of the room. Supplies. He’s a moron. We got other things as well. Fishing gear. Meat, which is ironic since it’s a working cattle station, fruit, veg and just pantry items.
I do take the opportunity to stock up on tampons, Panadol and lollies. I should probably get other snacks, but nothing beats sugar and artificial colouring.
“How long does it take to get out there?” I ask as I buckle in my seat belt.
“Ah, two hours or so.”
“Fuck me, are you serious?”
