The sand tumbles, thousands of multicoloured shards scraping and shifting together, creating the semblance of one colour, unity. A wind picks up along the bay and the sand is thrust upward, frigid air pushing the grains inland.
They rain down on a cottage, mossy stone bricks so ancient they seem melded to the ground, oak window frames bubbled and warped from endless sea spray that pelts the cove, rising up from the rocks, as elusive as a long gone deity.
Sand hits glass. Collision.
And it disturbs the young man inside. He frowns, watching the sand disappear from sight once again, perhaps to disturb other people up at an ungodly hour, the sun barely stretching from its slumber, warmth doing little to combat the icy winds.
Remus sighs, tears his world bleary eyes away from the window and down to the papers in his hand. He clutches them tightly, in a feeble attempt to calm his nerves, beating aching heart always going too fast.
This was why he left the big city, the gritty suburbs of London proving too loud, too intense, the endless chatter from the cars, the cheering of the pubs old men sloshing ale, words intelligible, the babble of uni students bumping people off the path, their ambition exuding from them.
It was all too fast. He longed for tranquillity in those three years of uni life, those three years of chaos, seemingly unending. So the end of his third year saw him packing bags, saying goodbye to his roommate, a kind yet distant fellow and setting his sights back home, to a minute town in the corner of Pembrokeshire, to Lily and her smile, her irish lilt.
It hurt a bit, to leave so soon, “giving up” as his father would say” - but all apprehension and lingering regret ebbed away when the train pulled in, the view of the coast mysterious and mist filled, the call of the baker ringing out with the scent of fresh loaves.
And Lily. She had been waiting at the platform, her hair more vibrant than the setting sun, orange waves rippled, exuding. He had stepped off the train, barely hitting the concrete before he was enveloped, her warmth radiated into him, and it was so glorious to be home.
She had ruffled his curls, making them stick up on all ends, teased him lightly, they fell back into comradery, their steps synchronised, albeit comically wonky with him being 6,4 and she 5,3. They had returned to Lil’s cottage, made cups of steaming tea that scalded your throat yet made the cold bearable.
And it felt ok, it felt warm. It felt like contentment.
And now he’s up at some ungodly hour clutching his manuscript in his hand, staring at it as if it's the devil reincarnate.
“Lils!”he called, panic rising up into his chest, heart, still beating too fast.
The light switched on Remus heard footsteps approaching, Lily walked into the room her hair an explosion, escaping from her messy bun. She folds her arms and blinks hard to shake the clutches of sleep off her.
She glared at him.
“It’s 5 am”.
“I know”.
“So why for Christ's sake am I awake?”.
Remus fiddles with the ends of his sweater, and Lily glares even harder at him.
He groans, pushes his hair back, “I don’t want to go into town”.
Lily sighs, “ Remus…”
“ You know I’m going to make a fucking fool of myself”.
Remus crosses his arms and looks straight at Lily, begging her to agree with him, even though he knows exactly what she’s gonna say.
She takes a deep breath, as she usually does when trying to assuage Remus.
“ I think, that maybe you should stop- “
“I’m not panicking!”
“Lily looks at him, steady on. “Yes you are. Go to bed, sleep for god's sake and bother me once I've had coffee because I know you'll be fine. “
Remus sighs, he knows she’s right, and that maybe, waking up at 5 am to panic about a meeting happening at 2 pm isn’t the best idea. But he can’t shake the feeling that it’s all gonna go haywire, the growing inescapable fear that the editor will rip his paper up to shreds, scatter them to the floor.
Rejection.
“Hey!”
A hand on his shoulder snaps him back to reality, he looks up and Lily’s still standing there, worrying pinching her brow - replacing the glare she wore moments before.
He leans in and she hugs him, tugging him close, his chin resting on her head and they slot together, he breathes in and she feels like hot steam, relaxing nerves - her steady heartbeat a metronome, safe thuds to his quick palpitations.
“You're gonna be ok”.
He pulls back and sighs, “you don’t know that”.
Lily grins, her eyes lighting up with mischief, “ You see, that, my dear friend is where you're wrong. “ She taps her forehead with the tips of her finger, “My brain can predict things…”
“Oh really?”
“Honest, and it seems to be telling me…. That you're gonna rock it” .
Remus rolls his eyes, but he can feel a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and he feels maybe, possibly a bit better.
“Thanks Lils.”
“You can thank me by going back to bed, asshole.” Lily pushes him towards the door and practically shoves him into his room, and then he’s alone.
He only feels slightly guilty about waking Lily up before the anxiety hits again. A wave of icy panic washes over him again and again and he stares listlessly at the cold, white rafters for what seems like hours, until he thinks he might be sick.
He barely has time to lean over before it all comes out, rushing into the trash can. Great, because even though last night's dinner has come and went into the trash, the stress lingers. A cobweb that won’t get off your clothes no matter how hard you try.
Remus doesn’t quite know why he’s like this. Of course, he knows he has anxiety, if the countless doctors appointments and missed school days are enough to show for it, the library being the only option until Lily went to his school, in all her feisty glory.
He knows he gets sick at the prospect of new and uncertain events, things he can’t think his way out of. He knows sometimes the world feels like one big endless scream ready to needle his fucking eyes out.
But he just doesn’t know why. Why he feels like this. Why he is so goddamn afraid of the world.
Why he pukes at the thought of going into town to meet his editor, even though he said on e-mail that his work was ‘transformative’.
But he doesn’t know why, so he flops down on his bed, pulling his comforter up to his chin, hoping the weight will compress all…of this. He doesn’t know why so maybe sleep will be his remedy.
As he dipped down, sleep brushing his shoulder, deep slow and comforting, his last thought was that if only the sea could swallow him.