Falling Away by Allie Little Read Free Book Online Page A

a sinuous wave, curving and pushing toward the dune. I sit here motionless in the sand, wondering if I should have let him. Wondering why I didn’t. And I’m not sure I know.
    My wettie is pulled only to my waist. With my face bathed in sunshine I need to feel waves course coldly over my skin. I want to wash away the memories. Of him. The memories that cause me to cringe when I breathe them in, soaking every part of me with burning intensity.
    I scrape my hair back roughly into a ponytail and rub my hands wearily over my face. Pulling my wettie up I zip it, tight across my skin. Holding me in. Keeping me from falling away, because the thought of never resurfacing is pleasant.
    “Hey, why didn’t you wake me?” Ben says, throwing his board onto the sand beside mine. “Solo surfing this morning, huh?” he asks, way too cheery.
    I breathe out and look around. “That was the plan. I guess that idea’s just flown out the window.”
    He laughs. “Yeah, bad luck Sis. I’m only here another few days so you’re stuck with me.”
    “Great,” I mutter grumpily.
    Ben studies me in the glare of the early sun. I hold my hands above my eyes like a visor to shield me from the dazzle and his brotherly scrutiny.
    “Had a big night?”
    I nod. “I guess.”
    “So, what did you do?” he persists, rubbing sunblock over his face and down his arms.
    Without answering I grab my board and head to the water, leaving him abandoned on the beach. Throwing myself on I paddle out, squinting into sharply fractured light. The exhilaration when I catch a curling three footer raises me above the quagmire of the night before. I cut across the face, riding until it levels out to whitewash close to shore. But it doesn’t last, and as soon as it ends I feel crappy, embarrassed and stupid, like a naive, lost little girl. Awash in a nightmare that’s not going to end. Not for a while at least, anyway.
    Ben props right alongside me on the line-up, shoring himself up for the next big wave. But the surf flattens out and we’re adrift on liquid hills. He pushes himself upright, balancing in the water on his board.
    He ruffles the water from his dark hair. “So what’s up with you?”
    “Nothing,” I say, my interest in the horizon suddenly piquing.
    He pauses a moment. “Sam, from personal experience, I now realise that when a girl says nothing, they don’t actually mean nothing. There’s always something .”
    I glare at him. “Yeah? Well in this case Ben, it’s nothing.”
    “Yeah? Well I don’t believe you,” he answers childishly, just like he used to when we were kids, fighting over some silly toy, or who’d go first in a game.
    “Just leave it, Ben. It actually is nothing, so you may as well forget about psycho-analysing me.”
    “ O-kay ,” he says, hurt. “Jeez Sam, I just wanted to help.”
    An uncomfortable silence hangs between us. One that we don’t often experience. And I hate it, because it’s Ben.
    “Sorry,” I say, but he’s already paddling. Out past the farthest line of waves pushing glassily to the shore.
    Suddenly I don’t want to be here anymore, here in the glare and the green glassy waves. I want to be home, cocooned in my room where the world won’t touch me. I paddle belly-down to the sandbar, stumble across the bridging sand and wade out with my board tucked under my arm. I shove my stuff messily into my bag and head uphill over the dune beside the surf shed. I’m dripping with seawater but it’s a good time to go.
    The car park is filling quickly. I tie my board on the racks and fumble my key in the door. It’s stiff and needs attention but I manage to open it, slide into the seat and kick over the engine. Dizzying emotion coils through my chest, rising like a surging swell in the sea. The car feels hot and stifling so I switch the air-con to freezing and reverse swiftly into the parking lot.
    Suddenly there’s a jolt that splinters silence, throwing me and my belongings around the interior. It