Enjoy my new short story

Copyright 2021 Kristy Kamin

Cassandra’s Desire

The sand beside my cheek is damp – not water from the ocean, but saltwater all the same. I groan as I roll on to my back, my blonde wavy hair now stuck together in straw-looking clumps. The sky above me is black, like my mood. It would make sense to find shelter before the storm hits, but I wait a little longer, thinking about her.

I never believed in love at first sight until I met Deanna. Her ocean-blue eyes, fiery auburn hair, and the way her right upper lip refused to move when she smiled. Some people may have seen the remnants of her cleft lip as a flaw – but to me, it just added to her extraordinary beauty.

Deanna and I met at a charity ball. She was in a long body-hugging aquamarine-coloured dress, me in my favourite navy suit with the red tie. Our complimenting outfits a sign we were destined to be together. Neither of us believed in small talk and instead loved to chew over climate change or inequality issues. We were both obsessive over cleanliness, almost to the point of OCD, and in bed – well, let’s just say we were seamlessly in sync. We were perfect for each other, except for one small but significant problem – I was a homebody, and she was a sailor.

Our affair, although spectacular, was incredibly brief. Only three weeks after we met, Dee was ready to move on to her next seafaring adventure. I begged her to stay, but she told me she was born for the ocean. Dee felt a part of it. When on land, she sensed a continuous pull to the sea. Once I asked her if it was more important than me, all she did was turn away, but not before I saw a tear land on her satin cobalt-coloured top, a growing spot of navy where it landed.

The following day I arrived at the front door of her unit, smoothing down my floral dress and rechecking my red lipstick in my pocket mirror. I had been up all night, and the ounces of concealer plastered under my amber eyes wasn’t doing the best job of hiding it. I closed the compact, returning it to my black clutch and raised my hand to knock, but instead almost fell forward as the door opened.

‘Cassandra?’ she had said, unsuccessfully hiding her smile.

We had stood there a beat, just staring at each other. A million thoughts, a hundred emotions, the energy bouncing between us, making my body pulsate with longing. I was still uncertain of my decision, but not uncertain of us. Deanne opened her beautiful mouth to say something, but I interrupted,

‘I’m coming with you.’

We spent many months on her sailing boat together. Being a double-hull catamaran, it was actually quite a comfortable place to live. And to share it with Deanna made it all the better. She taught me to sail, and she taught me to drink, and she taught me how to love. It was as though we were living in a dream.

But it was when my sister sent me a message saying how much she missed me, that my thoughts of my home returned.

Our parents were already in their late fifties when they adopted my sister and me. I figure they must have been too busy with their extravagant lifestyle to think about kids of their own. They must have become bored of all the parties and excess money – so they adopted my sister and me from Cambodia to spend their money on.

Father died when we were in our early teens, my sister left home to marry, and I stayed on with our mother. Sis and I were spoilt rotten, so it had only seemed fair that I took care of mother at the end. She wanted to die at home, with her Cavoodles and Sis and me. Sis stayed for the final two days, and after we buried our mother, I simply never left.

I’m not exactly sure why I have such a longing to stay in one place. Maybe it’s a safety thing? According to UNICEF, Sis and I were taken from our parents not long after our birth. Perhaps it’s the stability? After Sis and I were rescued, we were adopted by a young couple in Los Angelos, who unfortunately soon divorced and gave us up to Foster care. We were bounced from home to home until Mother and Father had finally adopted us on our thirteenth birthday.

I don’t remember much of the time before our adoption. I have always considered my thirteenth birthday as the start of my life. Anything before then is dead to me now.

Deanna knows. My story, that is. She is the only one I have completely opened up to. It is like she is my soul mate – if you believe in such a thing. I didn’t. Until I met Dee.

Seeing my sister’s message had set off that profound sense of longing again. A strong desire. A desire which outweighs even my desire for Deanna. And my desire for her is deep.

I had scanned the ocean before me; the teal water was calm with only the occasional ripple as creatures of the sea touched the surface. The warm breeze pushed some of my curls against my face, and I resisted the urge to itch my cheek. The leather chair on which I sat was so comfortable that I had fallen asleep there in times past, listening to the water lapping against the boat. I used to hate the smell of the ocean before I moved onto Dee’s catamaran, a cocktail of salt, fish, and rotting seaweed. But right then, it smelt like home. Almost.

Because the boat isn’t my home. My home is back in the three-story mansion, with the tennis court I played on in my college years and the shell-shaped heated swimming pool I did laps in every morning. The massive Ballroom which I used for parties with my friends. Hundreds of people filling the house on most weekends, sipping margaritas, munching on hors d’oeuvres and laughing. The parties would stop me from thinking. Thinking about my lack of genuine friendships and family and the fact that I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.

But on her boat, I realised the problem. I was finally able to pinpoint it. Out on this expanse of the sea, there was too much room for thinking. Deanna has found her passion – sailing the waters, meeting new people, discovering new places, investing in new businesses, and finding charities where she can donate.

These past few months, I had felt so – empty. I thought Deanna could fill that hole, but nothing can… no one can – except me. So, I had set my wine glass on the table beside that leather chair and did the only thing that made sense.

I jumped out of the boat and swam for shore.

And that is how I ended up on some random island in the middle of the Caribbean. Staring at the storm building above me and reminiscing over the past few months with Deanna. A cold breeze starts up, forming goosebumps on my skin, and I sit myself up to look out from where I had come. Sure enough, I can see it – the ship on the horizon, which carries Deanna, and any chance of a future I had with her.

I wipe my eyes, sand on my wet skin scratching at my face, and push back my shoulders. A smile starts to form on my face. I have lived without Deanna before. I can do it again. But this time it will be different. I will look deep inside of myself to discover my deepest desires. There is a purpose for me on this planet. I know this now.

I rummage around the pocket of my dress, breathing a sigh of relief when I find my mobile phone is still inside. I enter the passcode while sending a silent prayer to the person who developed waterproof phones. I type a message—my last words to Dee.

‘Thank you for opening my eyes.’

Cassandra’s Desire

The sand beside my cheek is damp – not water from the ocean, but saltwater all the same. I groan as I roll on to my back, my blonde wavy hair now stuck together in straw-looking clumps. The sky above me is black, like my mood. It would make sense to find shelter before the storm hits, but I wait a little longer, thinking about her.

I never believed in love at first sight until I met Deanna. Her ocean-blue eyes, fiery auburn hair, and the way her right upper lip refused to move when she smiled. Some people may have seen the remnants of her cleft lip as a flaw – but to me, it just added to her extraordinary beauty.

Deanna and I met at a charity ball. She was in a long body-hugging aquamarine-coloured dress, me in my favourite navy suit with the red tie. Our complimenting outfits a sign we were destined to be together. Neither of us believed in small talk and instead loved to chew over climate change or inequality issues. We were both obsessive over cleanliness, almost to the point of OCD, and in bed – well, let’s just say we were seamlessly in sync. We were perfect for each other, except for one small but significant problem – I was a homebody, and she was a sailor.

Our affair, although spectacular, was incredibly brief. Only three weeks after we met, Dee was ready to move on to her next seafaring adventure. I begged her to stay, but she told me she was born for the ocean. Dee felt a part of it. When on land, she sensed a continuous pull to the sea. Once I asked her if it was more important than me, all she did was turn away, but not before I saw a tear land on her satin cobalt-coloured top, a growing spot of navy where it landed.

The following day I arrived at the front door of her unit, smoothing down my floral dress and rechecking my red lipstick in my pocket mirror. I had been up all night, and the ounces of concealer plastered under my amber eyes wasn’t doing the best job of hiding it. I closed the compact, returning it to my black clutch and raised my hand to knock, but instead almost fell forward as the door opened.

‘Cassandra?’ she had said, unsuccessfully hiding her smile.

We had stood there a beat, just staring at each other. A million thoughts, a hundred emotions, the energy bouncing between us, making my body pulsate with longing. I was still uncertain of my decision, but not uncertain of us. Deanne opened her beautiful mouth to say something, but I interrupted,

‘I’m coming with you.’

We spent many months on her sailing boat together. Being a double-hull catamaran, it was actually quite a comfortable place to live. And to share it with Deanna made it all the better. She taught me to sail, and she taught me to drink, and she taught me how to love. It was as though we were living in a dream.

But it was when my sister sent me a message saying how much she missed me, that my thoughts of my home returned.

Our parents were already in their late fifties when they adopted my sister and me. I figure they must have been too busy with their extravagant lifestyle to think about kids of their own. They must have become bored of all the parties and excess money – so they adopted my sister and me from Cambodia to spend their money on.

Father died when we were in our early teens, my sister left home to marry, and I stayed on with our mother. Sis and I were spoilt rotten, so it had only seemed fair that I took care of mother at the end. She wanted to die at home, with her Cavoodles and Sis and me. Sis stayed for the final two days, and after we buried our mother, I simply never left.

I’m not exactly sure why I have such a longing to stay in one place. Maybe it’s a safety thing? According to UNICEF, Sis and I were taken from our parents not long after our birth. Perhaps it’s the stability? After Sis and I were rescued, we were adopted by a young couple in Los Angelos, who unfortunately soon divorced and gave us up to Foster care. We were bounced from home to home until Mother and Father had finally adopted us on our thirteenth birthday.

I don’t remember much of the time before our adoption. I have always considered my thirteenth birthday as the start of my life. Anything before then is dead to me now.

Deanna knows. My story, that is. She is the only one I have completely opened up to. It is like she is my soul mate – if you believe in such a thing. I didn’t. Until I met Dee.

Seeing my sister’s message had set off that profound sense of longing again. A strong desire. A desire which outweighs even my desire for Deanna. And my desire for her is deep.

I had scanned the ocean before me; the teal water was calm with only the occasional ripple as creatures of the sea touched the surface. The warm breeze pushed some of my curls against my face, and I resisted the urge to itch my cheek. The leather chair on which I sat was so comfortable that I had fallen asleep there in times past, listening to the water lapping against the boat. I used to hate the smell of the ocean before I moved onto Dee’s catamaran, a cocktail of salt, fish, and rotting seaweed. But right then, it smelt like home. Almost.

Because the boat isn’t my home. My home is back in the three-story mansion, with the tennis court I played on in my college years and the shell-shaped heated swimming pool I did laps in every morning. The massive Ballroom which I used for parties with my friends. Hundreds of people filling the house on most weekends, sipping margaritas, munching on hors d’oeuvres and laughing. The parties would stop me from thinking. Thinking about my lack of genuine friendships and family and the fact that I had no idea what I wanted to do with my life.

But on her boat, I realised the problem. I was finally able to pinpoint it. Out on this expanse of the sea, there was too much room for thinking. Deanna has found her passion – sailing the waters, meeting new people, discovering new places, investing in new businesses, and finding charities where she can donate.

These past few months, I had felt so – empty. I thought Deanna could fill that hole, but nothing can… no one can – except me. So, I had set my wine glass on the table beside that leather chair and did the only thing that made sense.

I jumped out of the boat and swam for shore.

And that is how I ended up on some random island in the middle of the Caribbean. Staring at the storm building above me and reminiscing over the past few months with Deanna. A cold breeze starts up, forming goosebumps on my skin, and I sit myself up to look out from where I had come. Sure enough, I can see it – the ship on the horizon, which carries Deanna, and any chance of a future I had with her.

I wipe my eyes, sand on my wet skin scratching at my face, and push back my shoulders. A smile starts to form on my face. I have lived without Deanna before. I can do it again. But this time it will be different. I will look deep inside of myself to discover my deepest desires. There is a purpose for me on this planet. I know this now.

I rummage around the pocket of my dress, breathing a sigh of relief when I find my mobile phone is still inside. I enter the passcode while sending a silent prayer to the person who developed waterproof phones. I type a message—my last words to Dee.

‘Thank you for opening my eyes.’