Page 71 of The Surfer

Cove stands then. He’s unsteady on his feet, but he still manages to stand upright. I rush over to grab him in case he falls again but he pushes me away. I don’t know what to do. I’m left shaking, crying.

This man no longer wants me.

He’s so, so angry at me.

Cove blames me.

I continue watching him as he crouches down and picks up his surfboard. Then, in one painful motion, he swings it away towards the cliffs of the beach. The fiberglass board bounces into the soft sand far away from us with a sad thud.

It’s like he’s throwing away his life. His future. Our future.

Cove immediately begins to storm away, limping towards the bush away from the beach.

Away from me.

He no longer cares about me.

“Where are you going?” I softly ask him, afraid of the answer.

Cove turns around then, his face a snarl.

He’s no longer my Cove.

He’s no longer that surfer boy I fell in love with. It’s like the last few weeks have never happened, that they’re just a wild fantasy concocted in my head. A stupid fantasy dreamt up by a stupid American geek about a handsome Australian surfer who could never truly love her. A stupid dream, nothing more.

He throws something in the air towards me, something small. It loudly jangles as I catch it in my hands.

His car keys.

“You do whatever you want,” he tells me flatly. “I’m off to get high and drunk. Life would be better if you weren’t here anymore, so just fuck off back to America.”

No.

Fuck off back to America?

Without waiting for my response, Cove turns around and stumbles off towards the trees.

I’m left standing there on our secret beach completely destroyed as Cove disappears.

I’m left here, crying.