Chapter 2: The Siren’s Tide

The beach was lively as always. Kids screaming and chasing the waves crashing with a salty roar. Gulls wheeling overhead with their ringing cries sharp against the wind. A pack of college kids throwing frisbee. I’d been to this Oregon coast stretch before. Sketching strangers was my way of keeping my ghosts at bay. However, I had a different destination in mind for today.

Claire had ignited the spark within me. I was not sure if visiting a semi-nude beach would resolve my issues, but I wanted to break my routine. Her promise of freedom has grown in my thoughts since yesterday. I wanted to feel alive today.

I wasn’t here to strip. My faded Metallica tee and cargo shorts clung to me like armor. I just wanted to see what Claire saw in this place. My first impression was chaotic. This place was just noise. There were cliffs on the far end of the beach. The sound of crashing waves against the cliff overlapped the display of skin.

I saw sunburned tourists, string bikinis, and equally tiny speedos. Some drunk guy was yelling about SPF. Looking at his red skin he must have forgotten the sunscreen. I don’t know what Claire had seen in this place. So far it was disappointing. Her face flickered in my mind. Her hazel eyes and raw kindness filled me again. Alas, she had a partner in shadows. There was no hope for me.

My sketchbook lay open on my lap. My pencil started scratching the horizon on the paper. The seascape was more appealing than the portraits here. Then a flash of emerald caught my eye.

She was like a goddess from the fantasy novels. Late twenties maybe, dark hair tied in a loose bun, long legs, taut stomach, healthy curves, and ample breasts that defied gravity. She wore her emerald thong with more confidence than the fabric. Sunscreen glistened on her golden skin. Her ass was completely bare against the thong straps. Her walk was a dare for every eye to linger. She owned the crowd with her commanding presence, and she knew it.

I shook my head and found a driftwood log to settle down on. This woman was trouble. Entitled, high-maintenance, and untouchable. Not my type. Or rather, way out of my league. Emma was a lie wrapped in silk. This woman was a storm. Unapologetic and raw. Could this storm be any truer? I hoped so. Emma was good at hiding her flaws while this woman owned them.

This line of thinking was not helping. I could not keep comparing every woman I saw with Emma. I forced myself to sketch the ocean and ignore the enticing view.

A sharp crack cut through the air—a slap. It was followed by murmurs and stifled laughs. Some overconfident, chiseled frat boy had approached the goddess. He had tried to flaunt a significant bulge in his tiny trunks. The goddess had punished him for his obscenity. She was not yet done, though. The goddess snatched his phone and smashed it against a rock. Then hurled the wreckage into the surf. Her arms were surprisingly strong as the pieces flew far away in the sea.