Cyril was about to snort and walk away when he felt something crack against his cheek. In a matter of moments, he was on the ground with a mouth-full of sand, coughing out the particles and trying not to wince as pain washed across the side of his face. What was… he glowered back up at the people that remained on the shore. Not that many people stayed behind. Before he knew it, he was one of the only people that remained on the sandy beach. He staggered to his feet, holding his head and allowing a low groan to escape his lips. [i]That woman hit me. I’ll get her… I swear to God I-[/i]

Yet, he noticed that now wasn’t the time to vow revenge. The lucky strike hurt much more than he thought it would, and he tasted the pang of blood. He had cut the inside of his cheek, and he was pretty sure that his cheek would bruise. The dark haired Italian let out a stream of curses from his lips as he began to stagger home, still clutching his cheek. He didn’t care a fuck about the people that were still on the beach. [i]I swear, I’ll get her… [/i]