I ruined it.

The thought swirled in my mind as I tried to bring myself back to life with black coffee, wincing as Logan tossed glass bottles into plastic bags.

I stood on the lawn barefoot, watching as the last of the smoke wafted up from the extinguished fire. The sun was rising hot, prickling the back of my neck as I stood in my silent despair. I'd sent Ingrid home. I told her it was over. But Cara had seen us arguing and Billie left before I had a chance to explain and now everything from last night was stamped out like fire, the smoke lingering but the warmth gone.

Billie..

The person who could banish the pit-of-my-stomach sadness. Stop it spreading from my gut to every other part of my body the way it did sometimes without warning. After meeting her, the sadness stayed away. Now it was back, and I didn't know how to fix it.

I weighed up my options. I could go back inside and mope. Tell Logan I had a headache and curl up in a ball for the rest of the day. Or I could hide under my duvet and marinate in sweat, beer and shame, mindlessly watching whatever shows Netflix offered me. I could let the darkness in. Let it take me prisoner. Punish myself.

I decided instead to stay outside. Tidying up the lawn would keep me busy and quiet the noise. I could get control of my thoughts. Distract my brain until it was ready for a reasonable discussion.

I finished the rest of my lukewarm coffee, riding on the caffeine, and grabbed a bin bag from a nearby pile. Without speaking, I joined Logan in the clean-up, sifting through the remnants of the party. We were both silent. Lost in thought. I needed space. Time to process. I didn't have to explain it to Logan. I knew he'd understand.

I picked up discarded bottles and cigarette butts, throwing the rubbish into sacks with increasing violence. Logan looked up from his work, watching me with concern.

"Someone's not happy," he observed. I glanced over my shoulder. Everyone else had left. We were alone.

"I'm tired, mate. Hungover."

I could feel without looking at him that he was cocking his head to the side, giving me the 'yeah, whatever' look.

I sighed.

"I just feel a bit weird about what happened with Ingrid."

I looked up as he threw his bin bag on the floor and crossed the lawn with purpose. He stood in front of me, folding his arms, his eyes burning into me like an x-ray.

"What did happen with her? I heard you guys talking earlier. It didn't sound good."

"She came into my room when I was asleep," I said, my voice detached from my body. "She got into bed with me and I let her. And then..."

Logan winced, his eyes dropping to the floor.

"You slept with her?"

"No. But..."

He held his hand up, stopping me from finishing my sentence.

"Say no more. So, how do you feel about it?"

I shrugged.

"Confused."

"Because of Billie?"

"I guess so."

"Alright," Logan sighed, straightening his back. "So, you flirted with one girl and ended the night with another. I don't think it's as bad as you think it is. You're Joe Eliot. Billie will forgive you."

"That's not the point," I threw a discarded packet of cigarettes at him. He caught them on his chest and pulled one out, pulling a lighter from his pocket. He lit up and inhaled, throwing the packet back.

"I don't feel good about what happened. I should be able to control myself. Me and Ingrid are played out. But with Billie, it felt... different."

Logan stared, pulling the muddy cigarette from his mouth and exhaling in a cloud of smoke. He looked pensive. I waited, praying he might understand. He shrugged his shoulders, staring across the garden fence to the fields beyond.

"Things happen for a reason. Don't blame yourself."

"Oh no," a voice called from behind us. "What's he done now?"

I turned to see Gracie barefoot on the lawn, her arm wrapped around the waist of her latest faceless, nameless boyfriend. She rolled up the sleeves of the black hoody that didn't belong to me and stared at me through mascara-smudged eyes.

I threw her the cigarettes and she took one, catching Logan's lighter in her other hand.

"Morning," said her boyfriend with a smile. Silence followed.

"Well?" Gracie probed me. "What have you done, little brother?"

"You know it's rude to eavesdrop." Gracie took a puff of her cigarette, her eyes telling me she didn't care.

"How can I not hear you? You two are so loud. All that testosterone." She took another puff. "Cavemen."

"Through and through," I said, trying to hide the bitterness in my tone. Was I caveman? A slave to my most basic desires. Is that why I didn't stop Ingrid last night? Is that why I let my body take control of my brain?

"I'm waiting to hear what you've done. Talk to me. What poor, unsuspecting girl have you upset?"

"Why do you assume that?" I said, careful not to meet her eye.

She shrugged.

"Balance of probability."

"Well, if you're to judge me, you could at least do something about your sex hair."

"Good deflection," she said, her boyfriend's cheeks turning red. "But this about you, remember?"

"Since when have you been so concerned?"

"I'm a very concerned sister," she protested. "I've always been concerned about you."

I gave her a scathing look, letting her see the humour in my eyes. No one else understood our silent language. She picked up on it straight away, her eyes flashing back in camaraderie.

"What?" she smirked. "We're always concerned about each other, aren't we, little brother?"

"The only thing that concerns me about you is how thin your bedroom wall is."

Gracie's jaw dropped as she held in a laugh. Her boyfriend went stiff beside her. Logan shook his head, his amusement breaking through his façade.

"At least you know I'm having a good time, unlike what I hear coming from your room."

"Witch."

"And proud." She wiggled her fingers, putting a spell on me.

"Don't worry," Logan said to her boyfriend, whose generic face had paled. "You'll get used to them."

"Will I...?" he said, his voice fading in the morning air.

"Anyway, you brutes distracted me," Gracie said, the playfulness in her eyes disappearing. "Maybe I can help you?"

"Doubt it."

She rolled her eyes.

"Just tell me. You know I'll get it out of you eventually."

"Alright," I said, taking the cigarette from between her fingers. I inhaled, blowing smoke into her face. She laughed, punching me on the arm.

"I met a girl last night," I said, nursing my injury.

"The brunette with the red lips. Green dress? Great legs?"

"That's the one."

"I saw you sneaking out the back gate. That's my trademark move, you know. You're not original, Joey." She dropped her cigarette on the floor and Logan, the only one of us wearing shoes, rushed to stamp it out.

"Maybe no, but I do it all so much better than you."

"Clearly not true if you've already messed up."

I looked away, the life draining from my body.

Ruined it, ruined it, ruined it.

Gracie frowned, dissecting my expression.

"You're actually sad about this, aren't you? What happened?"

"Ingrid," Logan said, stamping on his own cigarette with enthusiasm.

"Right..." Gracie said. Her disappointment was palpable. She exchanged a look with Logan, and I lowered my head.

"How bad?" Gracie probed me. I looked up, helpless and mute. I couldn't explain what I didn't understand. I couldn't talk about what choked me up with regret. I glanced at Logan, silently begging for his help.

"They didn't go the whole hog but they went further than they should have," he explained. "Like, not full hog but maybe regular pig level. And really Joe didn't want any farm animals in the bed, but if it came to it, he'd rather have the pig than the hog."

Gracie and I stared.

"What?" he protested, genuine confusion on his face.

"Nothing... Just had no idea you were so gifted at metaphors."

"Whatever, mate. You know I explained it perfectly."

"Alright," Gracie interrupted. "I think I understand..."

I poked the ground with my bare foot.

"What do I do?"

"Babe, go inside," she said to her boyfriend, dismissing him without moving her head. He didn't need to be told twice. His face lit up with relief as he sped towards the back door, his confident walk betraying how little he understood about Gracie. I almost felt bad for him. He had no idea his days were numbered.

Gracie came towards me, her bleary eyes full of sincerity. I wiped her mascara smudges away with my thumb.

"You mess," I said, shaking my head.

"If it was me," she said, pushing my hands away. "I'd want you to recreate the magic. Let it play out the way it should have If the thing with Ingrid didn't happen. I'm guessing she knows about it. The girl?"

"Billie."

"Billie..."

Billie.

I couldn't ignore the fire in my stomach whenever I heard her name. It made no sense. It was impossible to describe. But I knew, just knew somehow that we were meant to be something. Maybe not everything, but something. And maybe everything. The possibility had never felt as real with anyone else.

I wanted to freeze time and stay in the moment. I wanted to hear Billie's name in my sister's mouth again and again. I wanted them to know each other. I wanted to rip my life open and pull Billie inside it. She wasn't filling a hole but creating a whole new existence. Her shape was the outline, not the missing piece.

Billie...

"I need to fix it," I told Gracie. Logan resumed his cleaning nearby, his bin bag rustling louder than what I imagined was natural or necessary.

"Say sorry," Gracie told me, ignoring the passive-aggressive litter-picking. "But only say it once. Don't make excuses. Words are empty. You need to show her she's different. Mum and Dad aren't back 'til Monday. I'll get out of your hair. Tidy up. Arrange the fairy lights," she gestured to the decking on the back porch. "Invite her over. "

"You think that'll work?"

Gracie cocked her head to the side, her eyes penetrating me.

"Did you take her to the dock?"

I nodded.

"Yeah..."

She smiled in a way that said 'say no more'. I looked away. It was easier for her, standing on the outside. The fear that I'd broken this beyond fixing rattled in my mind. A deeper fear, too. A fear that she wouldn't want me, even if I hadn't done what I did with Ingrid.

"You need to think," Gracie said, prodding me in the chest. "I can tell by your face. Maybe you should go out for a bit. Clear your head."

My eyes lit up.

"Are you sure?" I said, gesturing to the lawn.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Go. I'll finish the clear-up."

I kissed her on top of her head, trying to show her the thanks I couldn't speak. She understood me. She knew and accepted all my weirdness. My desire to be alone. The pull of solitude and how it stopped the noise in my mind. The place I needed to be to think.

I knew where I was going. I rushed to the shed and flung open the door, ignoring its protesting creaks. I ducked beneath the cobwebs, the pungent smell of damp mixing with the sharp scent of varnish. My dad painted the shed every year to convince himself it didn't need replacing. Patch up the cracks. Hide them. Make it look shiny. No one will ever know.

I climbed over skateboards and broken scooters, nearly tripping on a pile of golf clubs my dad never used. At the back of the shed, I found it, hiding under a green tarpaulin. My old bike. I had a new one, of course. Bright and silver and adult. But my old bike was the one I wanted. I needed it's imperfections. The chipped red paint and squeaky brakes provided me with years of happiness. Of freedom.

I stepped over old life jackets and fishing rods on my way out, wheeling my bike through the obstacles. My feet tangled in a fishing net as I tried to escape, the shed wrestling with me to stay, but I managed to free myself, the blood rushing back to my toes as I hurried through the open door.

"Bring me back some chips!" Gracie said from the lawn, a pair of my trainers in her hand. I took them and hugged her again, smelling the cigarette smoke in her hair. I could smell the remnants of her perfume as well. Vanilla. Like Billie's. It took me back to the dock in the moonlight. To the electricity when our arms touched. To our mouths pressed together.

How can we go from touching each other like that, looking at each other like that, to this? We're not strangers. We can never be strangers again.

I have to get this right.

I left through the side gate, waving 'bye' to Gracie and Logan.

"How did you get out of this, you bastard?" Logan called after me, his bin bag swinging from his raised hands. I smiled without turning back, walking the dirt track by my house until I found smooth road. I hopped on my bike and rode, peddling by the patchwork fields that spanned the horizon, my wheels on the tarmac, the fresh country air turning salty around me. The road was quiet. Just me. No roar of engines. No voices to disturb. For a moment, I was the only person that existed, and everything felt small. Town was close, pulling me in with the smell of wet pebbles and seaweed. Gulls circled overhead, crying out, wings spread.

I was home, and I was convinced that everything would be okay. I would find a way to make it okay. Nothing could be wrong here. Nothing was beyond repair.

I turned away from the main road, whizzing past early morning shoppers and coffee shops with their doors wide open, the smell of pastries wafting onto the street.

I jumped off my bike, wheeling it towards the beach and leaving it leaning against a railing on the promenade. I trusted no one would steal it, given its condition. I trusted the place I was in and the people around me. This was my place. Since childhood, it had never let me down. I had faith.

The sea called to me, talking to me in its secret language. I walked towards it without thinking, the lapping of water on the shore calming my thoughts. I sat down on a patch of sand among the stones, picking up a pebble and skimming it on the waves. I took off my shoes and dug my feet into the sand, feeling the wetness between my toes. I took in a breath.

Seaspray hit my face. The sun grew hotter. I closed my eyes and listened to the waves singing their song.

When I was a boy, I would watch for ships on the horizon, imagining I could see one coming towards me, the helm getting bigger and bigger, the shape of it familiar, the figure of a man I loved and needed standing on deck, waving at me, shouting that he was home. He was home and he would never leave again. I would stare into the water until the vision was real, convincing myself I could feel tight arms around my shoulders, the scratch of a tweed jacket on my cheek.

But now, it was Billie I was imagining. The sight of her walking towards me. Sitting next to me. Looking at me with softness in her eyes. Like she knew me. Like nothing I could do would ever make her go away.

There was something about her. I danced under a streetlight to make her laugh. I risked humiliation for a smile. The kiss we had felt like my first. It wasn't the alcohol. It wasn't the dock. It was her. I needed her to know. I needed to understand. Ingrid was a drunk moment of weakness. I stopped it before it went too far.

I needed her to know.

There's always a price for mistakes. I knew she'd make me pay for what I'd done. Make me squirm. Call me out or turn cold. Punish me. But for her, I was willing to take it. I was willing to try.

I took out my phone and opened Instagram, finding her profile and clicking on the option to send a message.

"Okay," I said to myself. "If you've got an inner-Shakespeare, Joe, now's the time to find it."

I looked out to sea again, watching wind turbines spinning in the distance, their blades turning, never stopping, never swayed. I took a breath, then typed the first thing that came into my mind.

'"You disappeared on me. Hope everything's okay? You missed out on trying Logan's famous grease with a side of eggs.

I paused. Tried to bend my feelings into words and shapes but couldn't. I didn't know how to describe them. I didn't know where to start.

Ingrid was a mistake and I'd trade it all for another chance.

I needed to know where this is going. Need to get you close again. See those dark eyes, those red lips, the hair tucked behind your ears.

I frowned. Too much. Find something else... .

"I'd love another chance to show you how the night was supposed to end. If you'll let me. "

I hit 'send' and in doing so gave her the kind of power I'd fought most of my life to hold onto. She could hurt me now. She could cut me down. But I had no choice but to take the risk. Getting rejected would crush me, but not knowing would destroy me from the inside out. A little bit at a time, day by day, hour by hour. I'd rather have it all now.

Of course, there is a chance she could say yes...

That possibility was more terrifying to think about than the others. I couldn't allow myself to go there. Couldn't let myself imagine that I would be alone with her again, but this time with hours stretched ahead of us. This time with no party to go back to, no friends watching in disapproval.

It all hung in the balance. Everything or nothing. Soon, I would have my answer. The only thing to do was wait...