Waves and Wounds

Film's movements were sharp and erratic as she swam further into the water, the waves crashing around her with each stroke. The saltwater stung her skin, but she welcomed the sensation, needing the discomfort to distract from the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside her. Her chest burned with anger, frustration, and hurt. The sting of Namtan's words echoed in her mind, replaying over and over like a broken record.

"It's just not proper because you're Faye's ex."

She could still hear the tone in Namtan's voice, the hesitation, the awkwardness, as if she were being forced into a corner. The words cut deeper than Film had expected, and for the first time that day, she felt betrayed. She had let herself believe that maybe, just maybe, Namtan was different. That despite everything, they could be friends. She had let her guard down, had felt the kindness Namtan had shown her – cooking breakfast, bringing her to the beach, buying her food, even taking the time to prepare sunscreen and towels. All of it had felt genuine, like Namtan actually cared about her. But now it felt like a facade, like all of it had been an obligation, a duty.

The anger burned hot in her chest, but mixed with it was a sting of hurt that she couldn't shake. How could Namtan act like that? As if she couldn't touch her, as if there was some invisible line that couldn't be crossed just because Film had once been Faye's ex. Film couldn't even figure out what hurt the most—the fact that Namtan had said she didn't have malice, or the truth behind her actions. The subtle way she would glance at Film, her eyes lingering just a moment too long, the unsaid things hanging in the air. Film had thought maybe they could be friends, but the mention of Faye—the reminder that she was the one who had almost ruined Faye's love life—had placed a barrier between them that made everything feel impossible.

Frustrated, Film swam harder, faster, as if the water could cleanse her of all the emotions that were too heavy to carry. She pushed herself farther, farther from the shore, until her arms began to burn and her breath grew shallow. But she didn't stop. She didn't want to stop.

When she finally paused, exhausted, she floated in the water, letting the waves gently rock her body. She gazed out at the horizon, where the sky kissed the sea. The view was calming, soothing even, and for a moment, Film could almost forget about the storm inside her. There weren't many people around, and the few who were didn't seem to care about her presence. She relished in the anonymity, the peace of being somewhere no one recognized her, somewhere she could just be without the constant intrusion of eyes and questions.

It was one of the things she had come to love about the beach. It was her escape. A place where she didn't have to worry about being Film—the ex, the public figure, the person everyone had an opinion about. Here, she could just be herself, without anyone invading her space.

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the salt-kissed air, when the sound of footsteps on the sand caught her attention. She turned her head, not expecting anyone, but when her eyes landed on Namtan, she felt her heart skip a beat.

Namtan was walking toward her, confidently and with purpose. Her usually composed demeanor was relaxed, and her appearance was striking. She was wearing only a bra and shorts, her sunglasses perched on her head, and her gaze was locked firmly on Film. Her bare skin glistened in the sunlight, every movement exuding a quiet strength and grace. Film felt as if the breath had been knocked out of her lungs. She had seen Namtan in various outfits, but this—this was different. This was something that made Film's mind go blank, her body frozen in place as she watched Namtan approach.

She was two feet away now, and Namtan stopped, standing there, looking at Film with an intensity that was almost too much to handle. The air between them seemed to crackle with something unspoken, something that made the moment feel suspended in time.

Film opened her mouth to speak, but the words caught in her throat. The anger that had fueled her just moments before seemed to dissipate in the presence of Namtan. She didn't know whether to yell at her or stayed silent. The confusion was overwhelming, and in the face of Namtan's quiet power, Film felt utterly vulnerable.

Namtan stood there, her gaze never leaving Film, and for a brief, surreal moment, the world around them seemed to fade away. The sounds of the waves, the distant chatter of beachgoers, all seemed to be drowned out by the weight of the silence between them.

Film swallowed hard, her heartbeat pounding in her chest. What did Namtan want from her? What did she want from this? The question burned in her mind, but she was afraid to ask it out loud.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, Namtan spoke. Her voice was low, carrying an undertone of something more—something deeper. "Film..." she began, her tone tentative but weighted with something that made Film's heart skip a beat. "I'm sorry if I upset you earlier."

Film's breath hitched in her chest, her mind scrambling to process what she was hearing. She had expected an apology, but not like this—not so genuine, so real. It was like Namtan had shed the layers of formality, the walls she had built around herself, revealing something raw and vulnerable. The woman who had seemed so composed, almost untouchable, was suddenly human, and it left Film reeling.

Film opened her mouth, wanting to say something, anything, but no words came. She just stood there, her heart pounding in her chest, her thoughts a tangled mess.

Namtan continued, her voice tinged with frustration, as though she had been holding this back for far too long. "I'm sorry," she said again, the weight of her apology settling between them. "I'm sorry for saying you're Faye's ex and that's why it's not proper to touch you. It wasn't that—I never meant to make you think that I wouldn't want to touch you. Because... I do. I honestly do." Her words came out in a rush, raw with emotion, and the intensity in her eyes was enough to make Film's breath catch in her throat.

Film's eyes widened, her mind struggling to catch up with what she was hearing. She had never expected this—had never imagined that Namtan, of all people, would admit something like that. Her gaze flickered between Namtan's face and the horizon, trying to make sense of the words that hung in the air.

"What do you mean?" Film whispered, her voice barely audible, as if afraid to hear the answer but unable to stop herself from asking.

Namtan let out a shaky breath, her gaze shifting away from Film, instead focusing on the horizon beyond her. "You know what I mean, Film," she said, her voice soft but tinged with a quiet urgency. "You're a beautiful woman, and although I've never been in a relationship before, I've known for some time now that I like women." She paused, as though weighing her words carefully before continuing. "But I also know that not all women are meant for me. Some women are unavailable, unreachable... or forbidden to love because of the past. And you..." Her voice faltered, and she didn't finish the thought. Her eyes were distant, her expression unreadable.

Film stood frozen, her mind racing to catch up with the weight of Namtan's confession. The words were still echoing in her mind, but they didn't seem to make sense at first. And then, as the full scope of Namtan's admission sank in, Film's voice cracked.

"Are you saying... you like me?" The question hung in the air between them, fragile and uncertain.

Namtan's gaze locked onto Film's, and for a brief moment, time seemed to stop. The air between them was charged, crackling with an unspoken intensity that neither of them could deny. Her eyes, deep and stormy, carried a weight that Film could feel in her chest—a turbulent mix of longing, regret, and restraint.

"I can't like you, Film," Namtan said softly, her voice cutting through the thick silence like a blade. Though her words were quiet, they carried a finality that settled heavily in the air.

Film's heart lurched, twisting painfully at Namtan's confession. Before she could stop herself, the words spilled out—sharp, raw, and unrestrained. "You can't? Or you won't?" Her voice trembled, not from weakness, but from the sheer force of emotions she had kept bottled up for far too long. She took a step forward, fists clenched tightly at her sides. "Is that it? You can't like me, you won't touch me, because I was your beloved friend's ex? Because I'm somehow tainted by her?" Her voice grew harsher, rising with each word. "What is this? Some unspoken rule—'don't touch my ex because I already marked her'—is that it?"

Namtan shook her head slowly, the movement heavy with anguish, her expression etched in shadowed pain. "That's not it, Film." Her voice trembled, thick with emotion, every word weighed down by the chaos brewing inside her. "You thought I couldn't touch you because I was disgusted by you?" She let out a breath, a bitter laugh escaping her lips, devoid of any humor. "That couldn't be further from the truth."

She stepped back, as if the weight of her own admission threatened to crush her. Her gaze softened, though the intensity in her eyes never wavered. "Because every part of me—every single part—wants to touch you, to kiss you, to make you mine." Her voice faltered, cracking under the strain, but she forced herself to go on, driven by a need to be understood. "But I can't do that, Film. I can't do that... to Faye."

The mention of Faye hit Film like a blow to the chest. Her breath caught in her throat, her pulse quickening as Namtan's words hung in the air, each one striking her with a painful clarity. A bitter truth laid bare, impossible to ignore.

Namtan's voice grew softer, but the pain in it was sharper than ever. "Even though she's with Yoko now, even though she says she's moved on, I know... I know it would still hurt her to see me with you." Her eyes shimmered, unshed tears pooling, threatening to fall. "I know it would be hard for her to accept that I... that I'm falling for the woman she once loved.

She inhaled deeply, as though the weight of her own words were suffocating her. "I can't do that to her, Film. Not after everything she did for me—after everything she was to me. I owe her that much."

The silence that followed was deafening, punctuated only by the sound of their uneven breaths. Film's mind raced, trying to process the flood of emotions Namtan had unleashed. Anger, confusion, and a flicker of something she wasn't ready to name warred within her. But more than anything, she was overwhelmed by the raw vulnerability in Namtan's eyes—a vulnerability she had never seen before.

Film's chest tightened, her heart pounding in her ears. The emotional weight of Namtan's confession was suffocating, like waves crashing over her, dragging her down into a sea of confusion. She had never imagined that Namtan, who always seemed so composed, so distant, could harbor such intense feelings—and for her. But now, standing here, hearing Namtan admit it, Film felt like the ground beneath her feet had shifted.

She tried to find the right words, something that could make sense of the mess they were in, but her mind was spinning. Her lips parted, but no sound came. All she could do was stare at Namtan, her chest heaving with each uneven breath.

Namtan didn't look away. Her gaze remained steady, unwavering, as though she needed Film to understand the depth of what she was feeling. The air between them grew heavier, the tension palpable, yet neither of them knew how to move forward from this moment.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Film exhaled a shaky breath. Her voice came out hoarse, strained by the turmoil inside her. "Well, you don't have to worry," she said, her tone biting but brittle. "Because for this to be a relationship Faye might hate, I'd have to like you first." Her fists trembled at her sides, but she forced herself to continue, her voice cracking despite the conviction she tried to project. "And I don't like you, Namtan. So it's not my problem that you felt that way for me."

The moment the words left her mouth, she saw it—the flicker of hurt that crossed Namtan's face. It was brief, but unmistakable. Namtan's expression softened, tinged with regret. Her lips parted as if to say something, but for a moment, no sound came.

"I understand, Film," she finally said, her voice quieter, gentler. "I'm not asking you to feel the same. I just... I needed to explain. I didn't want you to think I couldn't touch you because I didn't want you. It's the opposite. Every part of me wants to be close to you. And I didn't want you to feel like nobody could ever want you—because that's not true."

Film blinked, taken aback by the raw honesty in Namtan's words.

"Have you seen yourself, Film?" Namtan continued, her voice soft but unwavering. "You're everyone's dream girl. Beyond your beauty, there's something... something so real, so good about you. I know it because I'm still standing here, not in jail, after what I put you through." Her voice caught slightly, and she looked down for a moment, as if ashamed. "I'm sorry Film, I really am."

Without waiting for a response, Namtan turned and began walking back toward the cottage, her figure illuminated by the dim glow of the setting sun. Her steps were steady, but there was a heaviness in the way she carried herself, as though the weight of her own words was too much to bear.

Film stood frozen, watching Namtan retreat into the distance. Her mind was a whirlwind, her heart racing with a confusing mix of emotions—anger, sorrow, longing, and something she couldn't quite name.

As Namtan disappeared from view, Film realized her fists were still clenched tightly at her sides. Slowly, she relaxed her fingers, exhaling a breath she didn't realize she had been holding. But even as she tried to calm herself, her heart continued to pound, echoing the truth she wasn't ready to face.

She didn't like Namtan. At least, that's what she told herself. But the way her heart reacted, the way her body trembled at the thought of Namtan walking away for good—it told a different story.

A story she wasn't ready to admit. Not yet.