Heat
She pushed her toes under the hot sand, feeling the heat around them as the grains buried them. The heat was everywhere: behind her back and where her palms lay flat on the ground, the sand warmed her, teetering on that line between pleasurable and painful; on her front, the sun throbbed, brushing on her stomach and her kneecaps, thrust towards the sky as she bent her legs, and burning through her eyelids. She sank her head further into the sand, smiling. She let the sun into her mouth, the hot air of the beach gathering behind her teeth. She could think of nothing but the warmth, the smell of salt and burning yellow of the sun turned peach by the skin of her eyelids.
It was not in her nature to be still and let herself be. She tried to keep her mind on the beach, in the heat, but it slipped. She couldn't help reliving it all. The sand was gone and she was standing behind the doors in the church, wearing a ridiculous gown and waiting to walk down an aisle she had been forced into approving. She had just accepted the ceremony and was, for the first time in the past three months, prepared for this. She wanted it. She wanted this dress, and this aisle, and this man. So when he walked through the doors and told her it wouldn't happen because she didn't want it enough, she almost laughed, because she had just spent months working herself up to the idea that this was all she wanted.
She'd gone home, left the dress in a pile on the floor, walking through the rooms and looking through each cupboard. It was all half-empty. His half was gone and hers was left alone. His trumpet wasn't sitting in the corner of the living room; his pyjamas weren't under the pillow on his side of the bed he always insisted on making because she was too messy to bother. She climbed into the middle of the bed and curled up, still in her white corset. She reached up to pull her something blue out of her hair and unclipped her something old from her wrist. She pulled her knees up to her chest, staring at the blank section of wall where his favourite painting had been hanging that morning.
She opened her eyes and turned her head from the sun. She couldn't think of that any more. She didn't want to be crying on the beach on their honeymoon, all alone in the sand. She curled her fingers into her palms, trapping some of the hot grains. She watched the space beside her, thinking he might just appear there. She tried to imagine him relaxing in the sand, but she couldn't see it. They had never been to a beach together. They had never even left the city together.
She sat up. Some of the sand stuck to her back and in her hair. She looked at the water and let the regular rhythm of the waves distract her. She watched it flow in and out, in and out, swash and backwash. She stood up, her feet sinking deep into the soft surface. She walked towards the water, the steps a little more difficult than on hard ground. The sand would move around her, trying to pull on her feet, but she just wanted to touch the water. It was intoxicatingly blue and the sun glistened on it in a way she had never seen. She stopped as the sand turned dark and wet and waited. After a few seconds, the water lapped across her toes and drew away again. She smiled and stepped further in. The water wrapped around her ankles and pulled back. She felt like it was cleansing her. She didn't have to think because the water was taking the memories she did not want to see. She walked even further, the water pushing against her legs, until it was up to her waist. Each wave lifted her a little off the sea floor so she was hanging on by her big toe. She lifted her arms to rest on the surface of the water. She laughed, feeling utterly weightless. She was finally free.