gone . They’re never coming back . I’ll never see them again . Never . Her shoulders crumpled and she writhed with gasping sobs.
When can I wake up? When can I wake up from this nightmare?
When can I go back to my real life?
The kettle kept whistling. The tap kept dripping. The world kept spinning.
The room stayed empty.
Chapter 8
April 15, Thailand
I T WAS HOT.
Though not an especially deep or descriptive sentiment, it was the only one Kayla could focus on: it was hot. There was nothing else. The heat seeped into every orifice, every pore in her body. If ever there was an apt time to use the adjective “stifling,” it was now. It stifled movement, it stifled thoughts, it stifled feelings. Which, in all fairness, was rather nice. If only temporary.
“Jesus. What is this? What actually is this heat?” Even Dave’s usual shrieks and splutters had been dulled to a murmur by the oppressive temperature. Every sentence was half yawn, half incoherent muttering.
“I feel like I’m trapped under a hot air vent,” Russia mumbled. “You know when you walk into the supermarket and just outside there’s a vent that hurls baking hot air at your face, but it’s all right cause it only lasts a second? Yeah. That. Except I can’t escape it.” With as much energy as she could muster, she fanned her face with the intricately painted fan she’d bought from a stall on Khao San Road. Two of the flimsy wooden toothpicks holding it together had already snapped. Like most of the group, it was on its last legs. She discarded it with a sigh, letting it drop onto the patchy grass next to her.
It was mid-April, and two weeks of intense partying and adventuring in the hottest time of the year had started to take its toll. They’d soaked up the dynamic party scene of Bangkok—Ralph and Thomas had enjoyed the “massage parlors” in particular—explored Lampang’s enchanted ruins by bike, eaten fried bugs at the Sukhothai night market, and taken a canal boat trip that resulted in most of its hungover passengers hurling over the side into the water. Kayla could hardly believe they’d only been here two weeks. It felt like these people, these near strangers, were the only friends she’d ever had. It was relentless, sure, with no alone time. But that’s exactly what she’d been looking for when she booked the trip. No time to think meant no time to sink into the deep depression that was looming on her horizon.
Today was the last day of the Songkran Festival and, incidentally, their last night staying on Khao San Road before traveling to Kanchanaburi for the next leg of their trip. Songkran marked the Thai new year, and their adopted home street had been transformed into a flurry of flags and festivities.
One of her favorite Songkran traditions—in no small part due to the climate—was the mammoth water fight that took place, with officials and visitors alike roaming the streets and drenching each other with full containers, water pistols, and water bombs. Khao San Road sang with a chorus of unfaltering laughter, almost like birdsong in perfect harmony. There was no time for sadness here.
The practical problems? The sheer volume of water had rinsed their skin of sun cream, leaving the group burnt, uncomfortable, and irritable. Sam, Kayla, Russia, Dave, and Bling were currently seeking respite in Lumphini Park. They were laying on a small grassy bank next to a green-tinted lake, a grand old tree providing them with some delicious shade. The intoxicating scent of pink lotus flowers clung to the air. The faint sound of traffic was distant.
Bling lay with her eyes closed, her hands behind her head and her eyelids twitching as she succumbed to the wave of fatigue enveloping her. Sunstroke, really, though she’d insisted otherwise. Bling did not show weakness. Russia had her head in Dave’s lap, grabbing clusters of grass with her hands and wrenching them out of the soil to throw over Bling’s face like
When can I wake up? When can I wake up from this nightmare?
When can I go back to my real life?
The kettle kept whistling. The tap kept dripping. The world kept spinning.
The room stayed empty.
Chapter 8
April 15, Thailand
I T WAS HOT.
Though not an especially deep or descriptive sentiment, it was the only one Kayla could focus on: it was hot. There was nothing else. The heat seeped into every orifice, every pore in her body. If ever there was an apt time to use the adjective “stifling,” it was now. It stifled movement, it stifled thoughts, it stifled feelings. Which, in all fairness, was rather nice. If only temporary.
“Jesus. What is this? What actually is this heat?” Even Dave’s usual shrieks and splutters had been dulled to a murmur by the oppressive temperature. Every sentence was half yawn, half incoherent muttering.
“I feel like I’m trapped under a hot air vent,” Russia mumbled. “You know when you walk into the supermarket and just outside there’s a vent that hurls baking hot air at your face, but it’s all right cause it only lasts a second? Yeah. That. Except I can’t escape it.” With as much energy as she could muster, she fanned her face with the intricately painted fan she’d bought from a stall on Khao San Road. Two of the flimsy wooden toothpicks holding it together had already snapped. Like most of the group, it was on its last legs. She discarded it with a sigh, letting it drop onto the patchy grass next to her.
It was mid-April, and two weeks of intense partying and adventuring in the hottest time of the year had started to take its toll. They’d soaked up the dynamic party scene of Bangkok—Ralph and Thomas had enjoyed the “massage parlors” in particular—explored Lampang’s enchanted ruins by bike, eaten fried bugs at the Sukhothai night market, and taken a canal boat trip that resulted in most of its hungover passengers hurling over the side into the water. Kayla could hardly believe they’d only been here two weeks. It felt like these people, these near strangers, were the only friends she’d ever had. It was relentless, sure, with no alone time. But that’s exactly what she’d been looking for when she booked the trip. No time to think meant no time to sink into the deep depression that was looming on her horizon.
Today was the last day of the Songkran Festival and, incidentally, their last night staying on Khao San Road before traveling to Kanchanaburi for the next leg of their trip. Songkran marked the Thai new year, and their adopted home street had been transformed into a flurry of flags and festivities.
One of her favorite Songkran traditions—in no small part due to the climate—was the mammoth water fight that took place, with officials and visitors alike roaming the streets and drenching each other with full containers, water pistols, and water bombs. Khao San Road sang with a chorus of unfaltering laughter, almost like birdsong in perfect harmony. There was no time for sadness here.
The practical problems? The sheer volume of water had rinsed their skin of sun cream, leaving the group burnt, uncomfortable, and irritable. Sam, Kayla, Russia, Dave, and Bling were currently seeking respite in Lumphini Park. They were laying on a small grassy bank next to a green-tinted lake, a grand old tree providing them with some delicious shade. The intoxicating scent of pink lotus flowers clung to the air. The faint sound of traffic was distant.
Bling lay with her eyes closed, her hands behind her head and her eyelids twitching as she succumbed to the wave of fatigue enveloping her. Sunstroke, really, though she’d insisted otherwise. Bling did not show weakness. Russia had her head in Dave’s lap, grabbing clusters of grass with her hands and wrenching them out of the soil to throw over Bling’s face like
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