The Secret Lagoon
Tempting my young voyeur out into the open...
My legs are jelly, and my knuckles whiten, clutching the doorframe. The rush of white noise and the swirling hot blood fades. In the distance, I can hear the crashing of the sea. The patter of feet, slow and methodical, cool on the oak floor and plod towards the dining table. Slumped into the wooden chair, bubbles rise in the glass, and the ice cubes are long gone, but it is cold enough to slake my thirst. Peering back, h...