Down to the Riptide

| T W O |

"White lips, pale face,
      breathing in the snowflakes,
      burnt lungs, sour taste.
      Lights gone, day's end,
      struggling to pay rent,
      long nights, strange men."
                  -A team, Ed Sheeran.

     He jumped up from his fetal position on the sand, and turned to see a girl, standing at the entrance to his alcove.

     She had a camera in her hands, and a black backpack that hung on to her slim shoulders. She was small, with black skinny jeans, cheap army boots, and a denim jacket over a black hoodie. Her carrot colored hair, matched the orange freckles across her rosy cheeks and nose.

     She looked as shocked to see him, as he was to see her.

     Neither knew what to say. Thunder rumbled in the distance, and the wind picked up speed, making the girl stumble slightly. For a moment she forgot about him and snapped a few pictures with her camera, but was reminded again of his presence when he shivered.

"Hi."

     She had to shout to be heard above the wind and the thunder, lightning streaked across the sky, like a dagger slicing through the dark blanket of the clouds.

He didn't say anything.

     She watched him. "Do you know the best way out of here?"

He nodded. His throat opened up, and he was able to shout to her; "This way!"

     He then turned on his heel, and trudged through the sand, and up the side of the rocks, he wiped his tears from his face, hoping she hadn't noticed them. She would probably make fun of him.

     When they reached the forest that hugged the rocky cliffside, her truck could be seen. And it began to rain.

They ran.

     She jumped into the truck, he kept going, she called to him. He joined her in the truck.

     "Where do you live? I'll drop you off."

He shook his head, "I'm not going to go home right now, just drop me off at the gas station."

     "Nonsense, if you're not going home, you can come to my apartment, I'm Angela." She stuck out her hand, smiling widely, her eyes crinkling, and the dark bags under them, seemed to lessen.

     "I'm David."

The drive was silent aside from the howling of the wind. He didn't know what to think about the current situation, he was wary of her, even as she hummed to the music that floated above the noise of the storm.

   Her apartment was small, and smelled like men, and cigarettes.

    Angela's apartment wasn't meant for her, and her smile never reached her eyes.
         They were the same stormy gray that the clouds outside were.

     He felt awkward, so did she, even though she was used to men in her apartment, and in her  b e d.