Beth isn't taking no for an answer. She's perched outside the hut in her bathing suit and a pair of baggy shorts swinging her legs. It's been easier, lately, since that night when she got drunk down on the sand. She still sleeps with her hand on Sarah, and it hasn't escaped her notice that Sarah's very still, and doesn't return her touch. But ( Read more... )

There's only so long that Beth can carry on smiling and nodding her head in a strange kitchen with people talking about magic fucking islands and her throat hurts and her head hurts and when someone finally points her in the direction of the bathroom, she realises how disgusting she is. The blood (her own blood) has dried thick and sticky on her ( Read more... )