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The sand was cold beneath her thighs, grains wedging themselves uncomfortably into her shorts as she sat, unmoving on the shore. She dug her heels further into the sand, not bothering to take her shoes off.
That would've made her too comfortable. She didn't deserve comfortable.
At least that was what she kept telling herself. Tim would tell her otherwise, but he wasn't here.
Her phone was tossed somewhere out beside her, probably dead. She didn't know and she didn't care. It was just cold metal. The last time she had checked it was when she first arrived at the beach, the clock in the top left reading 01:46.
That was two and a half hours ago.
The beach was one of the only places she could go and retreat to after a rough day, and today was one of those days, even if it meant having to drive for nearly an hour to get there.
She let herself close her eyes and laid back, not caring about the fact that she would now have to wash her hair twice in the same night. She just laid there, the early morning light almost peeking out from the horizon, the sound of the waves washing away her sins of the previous day the same way that they wash away the shells that littered the shore.
If she was a religious person, she might've prayed. But she wasn't. So she cried. She cried for the life she took. It was something she had never wanted to do, but she had to; it was him or her, and she still had things she wanted to do, things she wanted to see and to become. But so did he, probably. Did he have a family? Did he like his job? She didn't know, would never know, and it killed her.
And yet there she was, alive and breathing and crying on the beach. The taste of salt on her lips mingling with the salty air that filled her lungs.
---
That morning, Tim woke up at five am, just like usual. Eyes shut and still half asleep, he turned from his right to his left, stretching his arm out to wrap around Lucy's front. His arm came and rested right in front of his own chest.
He opened his eyes.
Her side of the bed was bare. The duvet was shoved off to Tim's side of the bed, the sheets where she should lay long gone cold. He checked his phone - no new messages - and got out of bed faster than he thought possible. He didn't bother with putting on a shirt or finding a pair of shoes or brushing his teeth, he just needed to find Lucy.
He knew any attempt at searching their house would be futile.
She needed something that he just couldn't give.
He was sitting in the driver seat of his car. When did he get there? It didn't matter. Checking his phone again, he opened the Find My app and zoomed the map out so all of LA was visible on the little screen. Two blue dots appeared. The first, his, was exactly where he was. The second, Lucy's, was all the way over at the Santa Monica Pier.
He turned the car on and drove on autopilot
---
Lucy didn't hear him approach. Didn't see him sit down next to her. She felt him, though. She felt the warmth radiating off of his still shirtless body.
Testing the waters, he wrapped one arm around her from behind, his hand just resting on her upper arm. Not necessarily holding her, just... there.
She melted into him like putty, getting as close as physics would allow her to. Tim bought one knee up to steady himself on the sand, readjusting his hold on Lucy as she burrowed her face into his chest, her still fresh tear tracks dampening the spot.
They just there like that for a long while on the beach, legs entangled and arms wrapped around each other, not caring that people were starting to show up along the shore, walking their dogs and going on an early morning run.
The sand was warm beneath them now, from the heat of the gradually rising sun and their own bodies.
"I've got you, Luce. It's okay".
She didn't reply, not verbally at least, and Tim might not have even heard her hum in agreement if she wasn't right on top of his chest. He didn't say anything else, he didn't have to.
She knew he was right.