Chapter fifty

There's a disco tonight. I've heard it's going to be wild. And, well, I'm guessing that this is the calm before the crazy. And what's worse than the eardrum-blasting music, rhythms in toes, and the company of a hundred drunk-looking smiles? The exact opposite.

Silence. The feeling that even though there is someone nearby, they aren't there at all. And all you can hear is slowing breaths in tandem with your quickened heartbeats. The steady blaring of an ear-splitting silence, louder than any celebrity party, and more terrifying than any epilogues to horror stories. And the unfathomable truth that no matter where you go afterwards, the loneliness will cling, and so will the unmistakable blaring of a tumultuous silence.

What's even more terrifying is that I don't think anyone understands that sensation. So, in a way, it's both a blessing and a curse.

I've always despised silence.

Silence emerges to me like you would come across a cave in the middle of the jungle. Dark, deep, dank, and eternally unpredictable. But it's bucketing down with cold rain the size of golfballs and you have no choice but to venture in for shelter. And the first few steps are the most unsettling, because candlepower drops to zero, and the jarring siren of silence slams down with the same ferocity as would a titan's fist upon the earth.

Years ago, Mum wished for me to discover a new way to live my life… without her. She handed me the tickets, and after she was gone, the silence that fell was the worst I ever felt in my life.

I'm sorry, mum.

This morning the idea of visiting an island, a typically quiet place, was a bad dream in itself. It was lucky that it was particularly busy there. Bustling streets, the scent of fresh food, and sunburnt shoulders rubbing against mine and Tasmin's. She looked as if she wasn't enjoying it at all, but there's something about being surrounded by others that's somewhat comforting.

The cruise ship's top deck has a DJ and loud speakers that blast bone-shaking music almost all day and long into the night. And despite the island's lack thereof, it was enough to keep the blood coursing through my body. Or I may have collapsed, and Tasmin and I would've been laying side-by-side against the old walls of the shops.

She's beside me now, staring confusedly down at the doll I gave to her. Well, sort of gave to her.

"Do you like it?" I ask her, waiting for the reassuring words she always has on offer for me.

"Huh?" Eyes wide, puzzled expression.

"The doll." I nod towards it. She's staring at me as if I asked her if she liked watching a tap drip. "If you don't, maybe I can –"

"No!" she exclaims. A few beady eyes turn our way. Tasmin's eyebrows relax slightly. "No… Of course I like it." Then she tells me, "You don't have to get me anything." A beautiful smile, twinkling bluebell eyes, conquering the reflection of the sea and the invisible horizon beyond.

I return the smile, or at least try to, but the smile's been feeling a little more unnatural recently. Well, more unnatural than usual, to be exact. Smiling was something that felt natural back when there was nothing but soccer and perhaps the occasional disagreements my parents had to worry about.

"You good, dude?" Ben asks me, eyeing me cautiously, as if my smile might transmit some sort of disease with a ridiculous name, like: The You-Can-No-Longer-Smile-Properly disease. "You look unusually happy."

"I'm always happy, what are you talking about?" I say, voice dry as ever.

"Ha," Ben replies, turning away and grinning a knowing look at Emily.

Pristine blue whizzes past the open window, and when the hull of the boat comes crashing down on the undulating waves, the sea spray feels heavenly against my scalding skin.

The ride back to the ship feels shorter and a lot bumpier; perhaps they are behind on schedule, and the idea of having to return, back and forth, to the island another thirty or so times for similar rowdy tourists, well, I'd speed a little faster too.

Security checks as we head back through the lower decks, lugging our tired and sweaty selves up the carpeted stairs. An elevator ride up to Deck ten and the removal of our sandals and thongs on the much-anticipated walk of heat exhaustion back to our cabins.

It's rare, almost unheard-of for me to feel this way. Visiting the beach was an occasion that occurred less and less as I grew, hence the unfamiliarity and bitter-sweet nostalgia I feel from it. But I'm the least tired out of all six of us.

Tasmin turns to me, doll still in hand. "See you later, Harry," she says to me, and I can't help but give her a stupid grin in return.

I barely find my words as she's closing the door. "There's a disco tonight!"

Leaning her chin on the door frame, she examines me with tired eyes.

"But, um, if you're too tired to come, then –"

"I'm coming." Her smile is weary, but my guess is that she's too exhausted to give any other expression. I feel the sudden urge to pull her into my arms, but that would be too unexpected. Too forward of a step. "I'm not missing it for the world," Tasmin concludes.

I don't say anything, my stupid brain.

"See you soon," she breaks the awkward silence and gently slides the door closed. I shuffle back to the cabin, cheeks red, and not from the heat.