MIDNIGHT Sunburn

     Knotted ponytail in the glaring moonlight by Cole Canyon Lake.  He was already naked and swimming, breaking up the spotlight trail of pale moonlight.  She scanned every bush three times before he impatiently cooed, "come on" and she unvested and dipped in.  They splashed and for the most part didn't know what they were doing.  They took turns professing their movie scene love.  You're beautiful, he said to her.  And he touched her kindly.  She smiled nervously and felt the mess of her hair.  It wasn't a good line -- maybe it was.  He drifted and watched her expectedly, and put his hand to her breast but lost the strength in his kick, grabbing her side and pulling her down a foot or two, them both exclaiming in surprise.  When they found themselves upright he didn't know what to say, so she tried her best Nicholas Sparks line.  You're glowing.  You make me so happy, like bringing me light.  You're my sun, she professed.  And he touched her kindly, but not lovingly.  Her skin tingled like being touched by something too hot.  Even in the cold water.  His presence felt more like a tanning bed than a fireplace.

     The next day she was slumped over in the kitchen.  A clomping came down the stairs.  "Ugh.  Go back to where you came from," he older sister jabbed, unpeculiarly hostile.  She slumped on the couch and turned the television up loud and ate directly from a box of Cheerios.  "You look disgusting," she continued to jest from the couch.  "What have you been doing all night?"

     Kelsie tried not to stare at her cellphone before, but now she felt she needed it.  Like ointment to a sunburn.  Even with the fish and the water and the open-window car ride home she smelt his skin on her.

     Her dad came out of the master bedroom door, which exited into the family room.  "Morning," he offered unaffectionately and hefted onto the couch.  "Kelsie, make your old man some eggs."

     But she couldn't move.  She stared at her phone so hard she thought she might burn a hole through it.  She texted him less than ten times, but not much.  Her father called again angrily in a tone that resonated like a slap.  But she felt that if she moved her skin would shout at being pulled.  Everywhere he touched felt warm still, but not in a fuzzy way, more like an ugly bright red glow.  Her eyes glowed and were swollen for lack of sleep, still staring at the cold, black screen.  Her fingerprints were shriveled up and her hair was darker from the water.  She sat there with her clothes from the day before irritating her skin, her skin emanating a warmth and a creeping bright pale glow, her, staring at the screen of her phone for an antiseptic text she knew wouldn't come.