Close Enough to Touch

Close Enough to Touch
ROMANY

Pedalling up to the backside of my house which, oddly enough, is the side that faces the street, I take a fond look around and try for a smile - something that I've been doing lately just to keep myself from shattering completely.
I won't think of them.
I can't.
But too often... I do.
Shake it off, Ro. They're gone and they aren't coming back.
The street that I live on is not exactly quiet, but it's peaceful. With handsome older couples that walk along the path each evening and lively children that saunter off to school each morning, it's blissful and quaint. Mellow and ripe with a sort of old world country vibe. The way I imagine some towns along the Italian coast might be.
The Italian coast... ha... maybe that's where I should have settled. Then again, the color of the water might have set me off.
I spend a lot of my time these days reading on my front porch swing, or glaring at the stairway that leads down to the beach and the white tipped caps of the deep navy blue Pacific Ocean.
The waves are different here. Calm, yet choppy. Turbulent, yet serene. Dark as a starless sky on most days, and a near fathomless gray on others.
You'd think living on the beach would remind me too much of what happened in New Zealand, but it actually does the opposite. There are enough differences in the water and the shore that I can usually force the memories of that day from my mind with just a glance into the sea. Blotting thoughts of Mickey and Alex out of my head before the sting of their absence begins to burn too hotly.
It's like I intake just a little of the pain within the view of a different ocean, the view of a different beach. Keeping them near to my heart yet far from my mind. Forever out of reach, but never replaced and never forgotten. It feels somewhat like I am honoring them with my solitude. Choosing to remain as alone as they are. Wherever they are.
There are no docks on this side of the island. No rolling grass hills or teal waters. Or naked hillsides devoid of evergreens.
Here, there are pebbled shores on dark sands beneath the surf and the water is as cold as death.
With a hefty sigh, I lean my new bike against the upper level garage door and retrieve my groceries from the wicker basket over the rear tire. The time is coming for me to call Ruby and let her know that I'm okay. That I'm safe. I should do it before she manages to find me, because I'm still not ready to see her.
I hate what she and Tiny did and forgiveness for my cousin might never ever come. I love her with all my heart. But she walked away with her man and her heart. I was forced away with only half of mine.
I have seen her only once since then. She and Santos came to see me in Spain, but I refused to so much as ackowledge her presence and after an hour of yelling in my face, she finally seemed to understand that nothing she could say or do was going to fix what she had destroyed.
Santos stayed silent the entire time. Remaining indifferent for the endurance of the visit. So unbothered was he, that I actually started to hate him too. But after they left, I noticed something small and black resting in the center of his chosen seat.
It was a watch.
A watch exactly like the one that he left for me that night I traded myself for my cousin's freedom.
A smartwatch with only one phone number on it. Ruiz's.
My cousin is one lucky bitch, because that man? He is a motherfucking keeper.
As far as Damien goes, I resent him as well, but not for the same reasons. Even though he had nothing to do with the explosion, the bomb that was set to rock the entire fucking beach, he still kept me locked up for the memorials. Refusing to allow me to attend. I cried and cried. I begged him. BEGGED HIM. Still... he denied me my goodbyes. Denied me my closure.
So fuck those three.
They can eat my asshole.
Wandering around to the front of the house, the side that looks onto the beach, I spend a long moment staring at the sunset over the water. Out here, it always feels close enough to touch, appearing like flames across the ocean in its last moments. Like a golden crown resting on top of the edge of the world. It's beautiful enough to put an ache right in my chest and before it can do that I turn away and face the front door, my eyes skimming over the porch swing as I do and-
"What the fuck?" My eyes fix on something sat upon the pillowed seat.
When I realize what it is that I am looking at, I release a sharp gasp, my heart thundering in my chest.
It's a porcelain doll.
With eyes as teal a blue as the tropical sea.