Untouchable |h.s|

Seven

Harry Styles

"Damn it, I forgot to put on sunscreen."

Aubrey's voice breaks me from my previous daze, my stare at her as a whole centering solely on her face as she lays beside me on her towel atop the sand, the short remains of our shared joint between her fingers as she takes what could easily be the final puff of the intoxicant.

We've been laying out on the beach behind our temporary house for nearly forty minutes, and I know she'll be as red as a lobster if we don't put something on her right away. I don't burn as easily as she does, but I still put it on by default at this point since she harps about potential cancer and other things of the sort.

Aubrey and I are alone today, Niall, Ruby, and Elora making themselves busy with other activities throughout the island since they know Aubrey isn't very happy about the fact that they now know about her dreams due to hearing her last night. They wanted to give her space, and she's definitely needed it.

In a last-minute decision, while packing for the trip, Aubrey thought it would be a good idea to pack a couple of joints in the event of a high-stress moment or need to take a beat. That choice of hers is now coming in handy. These rolled joints aren't like our usual, though, they're special.

I was unaware of the fact that strawberry weed even existed, but it's apparently what she and Elora used to indulge in by default. They somehow got ahold of it with the help of Zayn and his many connections with this type of thing, and now we're putting it to use.

The weed along with the alone time on the beach is a method of calming as everything else has been for the duration of this vacation, but there seems to always be something putting a stop to the serenity. No matter what, though, we keep trying.

I fight through my guilt for my part in her nightmares along with my immense empathy for her and all she has to deal with, and she fights through her intense dreams and immeasurable anxieties about going home. These things are dealt with on top of the anticipation of Aubrey starting work and the knowledge of the fact that we've most likely been sent another childhood photo of myself with a cryptic message scribbled onto the back.

It would be amazing to catch a genuine break, and we're attempting to do so today.

She takes another hit of the lit cannabis, inhaling it completely and letting the burn coat her lungs for a while before blowing it into my face with a giggle, watching me shut my eyes in reaction with raised eyebrows as I draw my head back a little. The puff of the smoke in my face makes me blink a couple of times, laughing at the look she has on her face with the action.

"There should be some in the bag you packed." I respond to her statement about sunscreen, looking at the very full bag beside her.

She nods and lazily reaches for the bag to her left after discarding the small amount of remaining paper with nothing left inside of it to be smoked, removing the yellow tube of lotion we've been using for this holiday and ensuring that it's the correct type, not the one with a higher SPF for Ruby.

She then opens it up and squeezes some of the white substance into her hand, dropping the tube once she has enough and rubbing her palms together. She stays in her laying position, her body glistening with a sheen of sweat from already being out here for this amount of time, and places her sunscreen-covered hands on her bare stomach.

It's another bikini day, and I'm insanely proud of her for it.

She winces at the chilled temperature of the lotion, her muscles flexing without her control as she lathers the front side of her body in it from head to toe. Each movement of her hands is slow, calculated like she knows I'm looking at her. She gets a thrill out of things like this, and that's been proven more frequently recently.