WATER.
It’s the first thought in my head when the blinding sun beaming through the large windows wakes me from my twenty-feet-under sleep. Why is waking up with a hangover so abrupt? It’s like being shot out of a canon and landing in an active volcano.
I need water.
Opening my eyes, I try to replay the events of the evening. I don’t know how I ended up so drunk. I don’t even remember drinking that much.
“Clint,” I croak, reaching for him without moving my head. I’m afraid if I move at all, it will just split in two. The other side of the bed is empty. He must be in the shower or down at breakfast already.
He came back to the room with me last night. Didn’t he? I remember him having to help me down the street because my wobbly legs couldn’t fight the gravity that wanted to pull me onto the cobblestone ground.
God, I hope I didn’t make too much of an ass of myself. I have a way of getting a little too friendly when I’m drunk. I do remember dancing with him, kissing him by the bar, resting my head on his shoulder in the booth. I’m still dressed, so I doubt we did it when we got back.
After a long waking process, I finally peel my body off the bed and look for any sign of Clint. Glancing around the cozy room with its ornate furniture and cozy armchair in the corner, I search for literally anything that belongs to me or Clint. We left our bags in the car last night before we went out. I figured we’d just get it all when we got back.
Maybe he’s bringing it up now.
I need my phone. I don’t know why, but I just want to check it. But I don’t see my purse either. Fuck. Did I leave it at the pub? I wouldn’t be surprised, although I’ve never managed to do that before.
God dammit, Clint. Where are you?
Convinced a shower will help make me feel normal, I climb out of bed, but first I stop at the window to look for Clint outside. Peeling the curtain back, I let out a gasp and not just because it’s so bright it feels like knives in my skull, but I’m finally seeing what I missed last night when it was too dark to see the landscape around the hotel. The front of the building faces a broad, long beach. But it’s not like the beaches I’m used to in California. The beach is vast, stretched far from the water to the shore, like a glistening floor of heavy dark sand that shimmers like glass.
Just to the right of the hotel, I can make out the parking lot where we parked the car. Now there are only two cars sitting out there, and neither of them is our red rental.
Heat crawls up my spine as I stare at the spot where our car used to be.
Where did they go? Without me.
That would be so strange for them to go somewhere without even waking me up. Maybe he tried, and I just drank too much. They’re probably out sightseeing or getting something they need.
I force myself into the shower, but I can barely focus on the task of washing my body. My mind won’t stop running through possibilities that don’t result in something terrible.
But it still hurts that Clint would leave me behind. He’s probably just downstairs, and I’m being dramatic.
It dawns on me as I get out of the shower that I don’t have my bag, so I don’t have clean clothes. I’m forced to put back on my dress that smells like the pub. It makes me sick pulling it onto my body—degrading and disgusting—like how I feel.
Slipping my sandals on, I walk next door and knock on the door Clint’s friends slept in. There’s no answer, so I go downstairs and the silence makes me nervous. Where is everybody?
The house is exquisite, but I can’t enjoy that right now. Opposite the dining room, there is a sitting room with floor to ceiling windows that face the ocean. It’s full of dark wood and plush rugs, old looking decorations but clean and fresh smelling.
I find myself staring out at the ocean because it is literally all I have at this point.
“You missed breakfast.” A deep voice cuts through the silence. Spinning on my heels, I stare at the tall man from last night. Seeing his face suddenly brings back a flash of memory from the pub.
He was there. I remember him staring at me like he is right now. Like he doesn’t approve of me, and right now, I’m not in the mood for it.
“I don’t care,” I grumble. The thought of breakfast turns my stomach anyway.
“Would you like some coffee?”
God, that sounds good. I hate to admit it. “Yes, please.”
He turns away, and I notice he’s dressed in black again. Black slacks with a matching button-up long-sleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I find myself staring at his backside as he pours a cup of coffee from the tall silver machine. He really fills out those pants nicely, and I immediately feel guilt for thinking that. I should be thinking about Clint and worrying that he’s not hurt somewhere.
“Do you happen to know where my friends are?” I ask as he brings me a steaming cup with a handful of creamers and sugar packets.
“Have a seat,” he says flatly, placing the coffee on the round coffee table between two oversized arm chairs.
“Okay,” I reply with curiosity, dropping into the large chair. Something about this man is unsettling. The kind woman is nowhere in sight. It’s literally just us in this house.
“Your friends are gone.”
“I know,” I answer as I pour two packets of sugar in my coffee. “Do you know where they went?”
“No. They left last night, and they’re not coming back.”
I swallow, staring at him without letting any emotion show on my face. It’s like his words make so much sense and absolutely no sense at the same exact time. Why is telling me this? And why is he so calm about it? He’s wrong.
Finally, finding my wits, I shake my head with a forced smile. “No. Clint wouldn’t leave me. He’s my boyfriend.”
“You told me that last night.” He’s sitting in the chair opposite me now, and I feel like a child under his stare, that disapproving expression painted on his face.
“I did?”
“Yes. While I walked you back to your room.”
My spine straightens. He didn’t bring me back. Clint did. I scan my memory, trying to remember whose arm I was on while I stumbled back, but I don’t remember a face. Only an arm, and a sense of safety.
Oh, god.
It all comes crashing down on me like the ceiling just gave out. I’ve only known Clint for a few days. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s a complete stranger. And he has everything of mine. My money, my phone, my credit cards. My passport.
Oh, god. Oh, fuck. Oh, shit.
My eyes travel up to meet the man in the chair, and I can tell by the annoyed way his face twists in concern, he knows what I now know. I am royally fucked.
“But why?” I cry, placing my face in my hands.
“It’s a common scam. Let me guess, you paid for the rental car.”
“Oh my God!” I scream into my hands.
No, no, no. Clint cared about me. We had a connection. I let him come in me.
“I’ll phone the police,” the man says as he stands. “You can report the car stolen. You’ll need to contact your banks and the US embassy to request a replacement passport.”
His tone is almost scolding, and paired with the words coming out of his mouth, it’s like ignition for my tears. Suddenly, I’m sobbing into my hands. This can’t be happening. It’s all a bad dream. This kind of stuff doesn’t happen to me.
I keep waiting to wake up again, and the next time I do, I’ll be curled cozily next to the man of my dreams instead of facing Mr. Tall, Cold, and Stoic. I peek through my tear-soaked fingers long enough to catch the look he’s giving me before he stands up and walks to the desk. It’s the kind of look an adult gives a naive child who didn’t listen when they were told the stove was hot. It’s the same look my much wiser, younger sister gives me everytime I end up broken-hearted after she warned me.
What the hell am I going to do now? I have nothing. No money, passport, car, or clothes. Is this how I end up homeless in Ireland? Are they going to kick me out because I can’t pay them?
Anyone else in this situation might choose to toughen up, face the problem, and figure it out. But me, I choose to cry a little more and avoid looking at the asshole behind the counter.
The police woman has kind eyes, and she keeps touching my arm whenever I start to feel too frantic. She’s been sitting with me in the hotel for over an hour, asking me everything about Clint and his friends. Of course, I don’t know his last name or the names of his friends.
It almost irritates me how nice she is about it.
The woman who checked us in last night finally comes back and gets the story from the jerk in black. I watch from my chair across from the police woman as he tells her everything, and I find myself wondering if they’re married, and I try to imagine how they ended up together. Did she feel the same way I felt about Clint? Starry-eyed and dreaming about a future owning a hotel together? Is he dependable and trustworthy so that she never has to wonder if he really loves her? Is he good in bed or is he a boring fuck who only likes missionary and never makes her climax?
I bet he’s one of those hidden kink guys who likes to be called daddy and walks her around on a leash.
“Ma’am?” the police woman asks, grabbing my attention.
“Sorry, yeah?”
“You’ll need to go to the US embassy. It’s in Dublin. Here is the address. They can get you a replacement for your passport.”
“I…” The words get stuck somewhere in my throat. I’m the most helpless human being in the world. I can’t eat, sleep, or travel anywhere without someone’s help.
“Yes, dear?” she asks, leaning forward with her round blue eyes and freckled cheeks.
“I’ll take you,” a voice bellows from behind me. I turn to find Mr. Green Eyes standing there with his hands in his pockets.
“Ah, thank you, Fa—”
“It’s fine,” he says quickly, cutting her off. I realize at this point that I don’t even know his name, and he wants to take me on a road trip.
“You don’t have to do that,” I reply. I have literally no idea where Dublin is from here, but just the idea of traveling in a car down the road with that dark glare makes me want to cry.
“I know I don’t, but how else are you going to get there?”
He’s got me there. I am literally out of options.
“Thank you,” I say, looking up at him and noticing the way he’s focusing more on the police officer than me. I keep waiting for him to tell me his name, but he almost looks like he’s avoiding me on purpose.
After the police woman leaves, I stand awkwardly in the lobby. I need to call my sister, but I no longer have a phone. Asking to call another continent isn’t exactly an easy request, but even if they let me log onto their computer, I could DM her on Facebook or something.
Luckily, I don’t have to stand around awkwardly for long. The woman leans across the counter and takes my hand. “You poor thing,” she croons with her Irish lilt. “Do you want to call someone back home? Let them know you’re okay?”
“Can I?”
“Of course!”
As she hands me the phone, I hold it in my hand, mentally preparing myself to call my sister. My sweet, selfless, has-her-life-together sister. Three years younger than me and she’s already married with more potential in her future than I could ever dream of. This would never happen to Sunny.
The look on my face must be enough to clue the woman behind the counter in on the fact that I need privacy, so she walks away while I dial the number.
Within a few minutes, I hear Sunny’s sleepy voice as she answers. I forgot about the time difference. It’s only around noon here which means it’s around 4:00 a.m. there.
“Hello,” she croaks.
“Sunny.” My voice comes out in a choked sob. Something about hearing my sister’s voice breaks me. It’s a reminder that she’s so far away, and that I am practically on another planet.
“Cadence?” Her voice is full of concern, like she’s suddenly wide awake.
“I’m so stupid,” I say quietly, the tears finally cascading down my cheeks when I squeeze my eyes shut.
“What are you talking about? Where are you?”
“I’m somewhere in Ireland. I fucked up, Sunny.”
“What do you mean ‘somewhere in Ireland?’” she responds. I hear a deep voice in the background quietly asking her questions. Her husband, Alexander, always had me pegged for the least reliable of the two of us.
Taking a deep breath, I try not to sound as shitty as I feel saying these words out loud. “I met someone.”
There’s silence on the line. That’s all I need to say and Sunny knows that whoever this someone is, he’s the reason I’m crying, lost in a foreign country. “Oh, Cadence.”
“He took everything. My money, my passport, my rental car.”
“Jesus,” she mumbles. “Where are you now? Are you safe?”
I glance up at the cozy bed and breakfast. My eyes find the tall man who stands by the front door with the female police officer. He has ashy blonde hair and green eyes, weathered with a little age and a life of hard work. All things considered, I could be in much worse condition.
“Yeah, I’m safe,” I answer. “I’m at a B&B on the beach. I guess things could be worse.” A breathy laugh escapes my lips.
“Stay there,” Sunny answers. “Send me their info. I’ll send them money to cover your expenses while you figure out what you’re going to do next.”
My back starts to shake as another bout of sobs fight their way out. I’ve never felt like such an idiot in my whole life. My sister has to take care of me, why? Because I’m the world’s biggest fuck up.
Something about her words registers. While you figure out what you’re going to do next. Why wouldn’t I just come home? What else would I do?
“Cadence, maybe this is a sign. Maybe you’re alone right now because you need to be alone for a while.”
My tears stop and my brow furrows. “I don’t know how to be alone, Sunny.”
“I know you don’t, but you’re stronger than you think, Cadence. You just spend too much time focusing on someone else when you should be focusing on yourself.”
I have to bite my lip to fight off the tears again. She’s right. Before Clint, it was Fischer. Before him, Liam. A procession line of fuckboys that went back as far as the English monarchy.
I am never alone. The thought makes my skin crawl. It doesn’t just sound boring as fuck, but it’s terrifying. What am I going to find if I look in the mirror? What will I find out about myself if I spend the next two weeks alone? What if I can’t stand myself?
Just then I look up from the counter and see the nameless man staring at me again.
“Send me their information, okay?” Sunny adds before she yawns.
“I will. And I’ll pay you back as soon as I can.”
“Oh I’m not paying for it,” she says with a raspy giggle, and I know she means that she’ll be calling our dad when she’s off the phone with me. Sunny and Alexander have more money than a thousand dads, but she’s on a mission of retribution when it comes to the man who left us high and dry for a life with his secretary.
“Thanks, Sunny,” I mumble, feeling the effects of the hangover coming back.
“You’re welcome. Everything will be fine.”
Before I hang up, she calls my name again. Putting the phone back up to my ear, I wait for her to speak.
After a heavy breath, she whispers into the phone. “Just focus on yourself. Stay away from the guys.”
