The Girl Who Cried Boy - Part One

With the popularity of our short stories, we've decided to go one better, and bring you some novel extracts! Emily is sharing her novel in progress ~

The Girl Who Cried Boy

By Emily Simpson

One

Alone tonight—just how we like it—curled up together on the fringe of the tide. The rain beats down on us so hard that I struggle to see much of anything beyond the flickers of the waves out ahead and the jagged peaks and crevices of the rocks behind us, binding us in, but I don’t care, not when I can feel the heat of Freddie’s breath on the back of my neck. The wind is starting to agitate my cheeks, but he is already tucking me into his neck, hiding me expertly under his coat like contraband.

“Will you stay over tonight?” He whispers, directly into my ear so I can hear him above the shrieks of the sea and the wind.

I squeeze his hand in response. Of course.

We stay still for what seems like a long time, as the rain perpetuates and the waves pick up pace. To the world we are just little specks on the beach, huddled together on an old fleece blanket, but to me we are so much more; we’re infinite, the eye of the storm.

“Should we leave?” He asks eventually, near-shouting so I can hear him.

I twist around to face him, my nose scraping against the bristle on his chin, rain collecting in the corners of my eyes.

“Are you kidding? We’ve got ages yet.”

He looks out to the water, rapidly creeping towards us like inky black fingers, beckoning. A frown starts to form and he opens his mouth to speak, but then I nestle into the weak spot on his neck and he swallows his protests. I know we should be going before we’re swallowed up too, but the thrill of it is too exciting; the threat is what fuels this feeling of rebellion, sparking the tingles on my skin wherever he touches me.

This is our game: playing chicken with the sea. We always win.


We come here all the time, hiding in the caves when they clear the beach at low tide and sneaking out to see the night in until we’re chased away by the roar of the waves. There’s really only one exit; through the gully between the rocks and up the steps, all three hundred and forty of them back up to high ground. But I never worry. We’ve made our escape a hundred times, springing onto the safety of the car park breathless and giddy; getting carried away with urgent kisses up against the safety railings. That’s really why we do this. We come here just to escape it.

Freddie’s thumb finds its way to my cheek, skating on its wetness, tracing the tender skin along my cheekbone. I grab his hand, sticky and chilled and pull it to my lips, kissing it warm.

I don’t want to leave.

The water is metres away from us now and I feel my heart banging for acknowledgment. Freddie tenses up behind me, holding me a little tighter to him. I know he’s about to make us leave, but I’m rooted to the spot. I’ve been feeling a bit out of sorts all day; I’ve had a hunch that something’s not quite right—like when you think you’ve left the front door open—and now it’s chosen to show its face, just as the sea is ready to turn in. I can’t solidify it, but I know it’s real, and I know what will make it go away.

“Mya,” Freddie starts, but I’ve rolled over and pounced on him, knocking him off balance and smacking us both lightly onto the sand. I’m savage as I search for his mouth, lifting him by the jumper to reposition him directly underneath me, just where I want him.

“Mya…” he says again, his voice harder this time. I pause for a second and wipe the rain from his eyes, confusion emanating from them. I place my hands either side of his face and lift his head slightly up to me, wishing I could explain, knowing that the only thing that will make me better is his kiss. He’s looking helpless and worried and breathing heavily underneath me, but there’s something else there too, a fire lurking in his eyes, an irrefutable longing; a sign that he wants this just as much as I do.

And now we’re kissing with a new kind of heat, driving our bodies into each other with fury. The rain is pelting down, the clouds clogging up the last of the moonlight and all I can see are the whites of Freddie’s eyes, following me around intensely like dice in mid-roll. The noise of the sea is thrashing in my ears and I’m certain I can taste it in the back of my throat, but still I kiss and kiss, pressing myself onto Freddie with all of my weight.

It’s never been like this before. Not the first time we kissed in his car on Christmas Day, or when he held me against the rocks and brushed his lips up and down my neck until my skin was so charged it hurt. We’ve never been loaded with this much passion. And as I look at Freddie I know he’s thinking the same. As crazy as it is, we can’t leave now.

As the wave reaches us Freddie grabs onto me firmly, with a kiss so hard his teeth rip a neat gash in my lip.

And then the water recedes and we’re on our feet, falling over our shaky limbs, laughing wildly in spite of our stupidity. It’s freezing and I’m groping for my bag; sodden throughout. Freddie wraps his arms around me and cups my chin in his hand, wiping away the blood from my cut.

“Wow,” he whispers.

I look up at him towering above me, the rain ricocheting off his shoulders and squeeze him back. I know that in minutes we will fall into the back of his car, stripping each other of our wringing wet clothes, continuing where we’ve left off. I know it will be better than it’s ever been, the windows steamed, no need for the heaters.

We’re not quick enough.

“Freddie!”

The blast of the wave buckles me at the ankles. Freddie shouts for me and grabs my upper arm roughly, his fingers clamping around me. The sand is dissolving beneath me and I’m skidding about with no footing, and I hear myself scream as I see Freddie start to fall too.

The next one slams us both into the rock face and I feel the skin peel away from the back of my hand. The sea rises so quickly, like the beach has been plugged up and in seconds I’m treading water, gasping.

“Mya!” Freddie has my arm again and he’s swimming me towards the gap in the rocks. I can’t tell the difference between the rain and the sea. I’m swallowing so much water that it’s starting to weigh me down, to anchor me onto the beach.

This isn’t a game anymore. This beach is renowned for dangerous rip currents. People die here all the time. I was wrong; the sea is the infinite one, not us. I hear it pound and pound the rocks, a thousand cymbals in my ears. The water’s trying to slam us back into the rocks, but Freddie is strong, edging us closer and closer to the steps. I don’t know how he’s doing it.

There’s no time. I’m choking on the sea now, salt bombs in my throat. I start to throw up. It’s getting in the way of the air, there’s not enough of it and I keep getting dragged down.

Freddie has me. I’m ok. Freddie has me.

My body has gone limp, refusing to cooperate. It won’t swim. It won’t help. It just lets Freddie do all the work. My eyes don’t leave the back of his head and I flinch every time he goes underwater, holding my breath until he’s out again, or until I’m pulled down too. I want to shout out to him, but I don’t have any energy and there’s nothing but salt and dread on my lips.

This has happened in a heartbeat. That was all it took.

We’re here. We’re at the steps.

“Get up there,” he yells, swimming around to me, his grip still tight as iron. I look towards the next impending wave, choking on the thought of it as it slices along the beach; intent steaming out of its mouth, roaring with the unmatchable wildness of a broken heart.

“Mya! Come on!”

Freddie is trying to heave me onto the steps but I’m deadweight once more and all he can do is try and ram me upwards.

“Please, just try.” He’s crying now and the wave is coming and I hear it whistling, making all sorts of promises.

I manage to let Freddie roll me up but I’m still slipping around the stone with nothing to hold onto. I scream at myself to move but nothing is working, we’re both crying and the wave is the biggest so far—I’m so exhausted and I’m doing nothing to help either of us.

I look at Freddie as he clings to the steps beneath me, shaking uncontrollably. A sopping tendril of his red hair—darkened from wetness—hangs in front of his eyes and all I want to do is reach out and smooth it back.

“Come on!” He shouts, groping at my legs under the water, trying to get a proper grip of them.

There are seconds left.

“I love you,” someone says.

I feel myself flying through the air, he’s thrown me—he’s thrown me up the steps and it’s all I can do to watch as the wave finally reaches him, ripping him away, the whites of his eyes blending him into the blackness beneath me.

I can’t even scream his name.

I’m coming crashing down to land and my body still won’t work. I can’t break my fall. I don’t know that I even want to. But there’s no panic, no fear. I simply tongue the cut that Freddie made in my lip and roll the metallic taste over and over in my mouth, waiting for impact.

Click HERE for Part Two!