Not your fault
It’s the middle of the night and I’m feeling crappy, so I channeled. I feel a little better now. Unfortunately Virgil doesn’t. I’m so mean.
The beaches on Tracy Island were young. What sand there was consisted of ground coral and shell mixed with what little basalt the ocean had managed to pound out of the dead volcano.
It clung to his fingers.
The grains came in so many different shapes and sizes and colours, each caught on his skin, defying the casual brush off.
He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut a moment before forcing them open again. Forcing focus.
And flicking them off to join the myriad others on the beach.
With a hitched breath he returned to staring at the ocean, desperate to feel something other than sadness, desperate to connect to the breeze.
The waves mocked him.
He was sitting on the sand amongst the rocks and dry weed. His butt was getting damp as the seawater seeped up as the tide crept in.
He didn’t care.
He didn’t really want to feel anything.
He needed to connect, to let it go, but his mind wouldn’t let him. It was caught in circles of what if, why not and how could he.
His eyes closed and a single tear ran down his cheek.
The sand sighed and a finger gently brushed the moisture away.
“It wasn’t your fault.”
A hand cupped his cheek, soft skin catching on his neglected stubble, and despite himself, he leant in, desperate for support despite the fact he didn’t deserve it.
A soft kiss on his jaw. On his brow. And the anguish crumpled his face further.
Another wave crashed onto the beach and he was being drawn into her arms. “It wasn’t your fault, Virgil.”
His beautiful Kay.
The sharp snap of an electromagnet malfunctioning.
His head dropped to her shoulder and a broken sound issued from his throat.
“Not your fault.” She was rubbing his back, gentle circles.
“Not your fault.”
And with the crash of a wave, he broke, the sobs uncontrollable as her arms wrapped around him, holding him to her, holding him tight.
Her voice a whisper. “Not your fault.”