“I’m getting a drink. Is everything okay?”
She nods, standing up straight before immediately starting to sway on the spot. “Everything’s great. I love my life.” She doesn’t look like she loves her life. The way she says it is slurred and high pitched, unnatural and uncomfortable. I don’t know what happened between work this afternoon and now, when she looks one drink away from being the drunk girl that cries.
“Are you sure you’re oka—”
“You’re not joining in,” she stumbles forward, regaining her balance quickly and walking toward me until she’s close enough I could touch her if I wanted to. The smell of the fire lingers around us and it’s a welcome change from being assaulted by my own memories of her shampoo. Her lip wobbles as she takes a sharp intake of breath. “Is it me? Did I do something wrong?”
“No. I don’t want to get into trouble by drinking,” I explain honestly. “And you’re really, really drunk. You should probably go to bed, we have water safety training tomorrow and it’s late.”
She’s still swaying and I can practically hear the cogs in her head turning while her brain wades through the tequila she’s tried to drown it with.
I recognize the familiar sounds of dog collars jingling and paws against gravel. Deciding not to wait to find out who they’re with, I grab Aurora’s arm, quickly pulling her toward the darkened space between the cabins. “Someone’s coming,” I explain when she looks up at me alarmed.
This would be a really bad time to discover some of the less cute creatures that no doubt roam this camp at night.
I pull us into the shadows as quickly and quietly as I can, practically carrying Aurora as she giggles. Yes, she thinks it’s funny. “Stop laughing,” I whisper. She leans forward, burying her face into my t-shirt in an attempt to smother the amused noises escaping her. It’s not enough and when she lets out a little snort, I put my hand over her mouth gently. “Shhh.”
Fish stops at the spot Aurora and I just vacated, staring toward the darkness and, therefore, us. I’m holding my breath, my heart hammering so hard I’m surprised Aurora can’t hear the thud, thud, thud. I’m mentally running through all the excuses I could possibly give, realizing that being in a dark corner of the camp alone with a drunk girl is far more alarming than talking to one. Then Fish barks and I swear my heart stops beating all together.
“Stop it, noisy girl,” Jenna chastises, clicking at the puppies to follow her. “Fish, come on,” she says with a whistle. I wait until I can no longer hear the gravel before finally letting myself breath properly again.
“Ow, fuck,” I snatch my hand away from Aurora’s mouth. “Did you just bite me?”
“You forgot I was here.” Like that could happen. “You’re good at that.”
How did I end up here when I was purposely trying to stay out of the way?
“Come on, Edward Cullen. Back on the path before something bigger and scarier than you decides to bite me.” It’s like guiding a toddler as I hold both her arms to lead her through the dark and back into the lit-up path.
“Russ, I feel sick,” she mumbles.
“Do you need some water?” She nods and there’s a very real possibility she’s about to barf on me. Guiding her toward the porch steps of the cabin labeled “racoon,” I sit her down and jog toward the main building. It doesn’t take me long but she’s paler by the time I get back. “I don’t feel good,” she moans into her hands.
“I’m not surprised. You drink like a fish. Here . . .” I joke, handing her my water bottle.
She looks up, her green eyes fixed on me between slow, long blinks. “I drink like a dog?”
“What? No, I didn’t mean—never mind.” She guzzles the water, wiping the excess from the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand and offering the bottle back to me. “Do you want me to walk you to your cabin?”
Nodding, Aurora holds out her hand and I gently tug her to her feet; her fingers intertwine with mine and she begins to lead me toward her cabin, which is in a different section to mine.
We’re halfway there when she suddenly stops, pulling me to a stop too. “Do you want to go skinny dipping?”
Jesus Christ. “You need to go to bed.”
“I don’t want to go to bed.” Her bottom lip pouts out and, in this moment, she reminds me of Stassie and Lola when they’re drunk. It’d be cute if I wasn’t so stressed.