Then, with barely a splash, I'm under again.
This time, there's no fighting it. Soon, oxygen deprivation will steal my thoughts, and my life will end. Every cell in my body screams for oxygen, and the urge to breathe becomes unbearable.
I need to breathe, but if my instincts override my self-control, I'll flood my lungs with water. I'm not ready to die. I want to be saved.
Rescued.
Darkness envelops me. The water closes in, filling me with the oppressiveness of my impending death. I hold my breath as long as I can, struggling to fight the aching burn.
Red splotches dance behind my lids. I squeeze them tight, unwilling to watch my eventual end as it approaches, but it doesn't matter if my eyes are open or closed. The urgent need for air makes my chest ache and my heart pound.
A splash. The water moves. Someone grabs my wrists. They tug as my vision turns black. I sink into the blackness. I open my mouth, gasping for air, only to feel the press of lips sealed against mine.
Hot, moist air floods my lungs, and my eyes pop open.
In my watery grave, an angel.
Paul cups his hand over my mouth. He pinches my nose. My lungs hurt. They hurt so much. He kicks off the floor, leaving me strapped to the chair, and heads up.
Then he returns.
His lips find mine… again. They form a seal around my mouth. Air floods out of my nose in a stream of bubbles. Then he breathes out, exhaling air into my lungs.
The next few minutes pass in a fog. Paul breathes for me, kicking to the surface before returning to feed my lungs. He does that several times and then places a finger over my lips. I understand and nod.
More splashing follows. A banging sound. Something hard slides against my skin. A sharp yank angles away from my wrist, and my left hand floats free. More kicking.
Paul gives me another breath.
Water swirls around us as his body twists. All the while, Paul continues to breathe for me. He slides what must be a knife against the bone of my ankle and saws back and forth. My lungs scream for air.
My left leg is free.
Paul pulls me against him, lifting me until my head breaches the surface. I gasp. I tug in breath after breath, filling my lungs with precious air. Then I'm coughing hard.
He ducks back under the surface. Now that I can stand and am no longer confined to that chair, the water reaches chest-high. After more tugging, that sawing sensation, he frees my right leg.
Popping back to the surface, he takes in a deep breath of his own. Then he grabs me and hugs me tight against his chest.
"Vivianne…are you…"
My arms feel like lead weights, and my body, previously shiver-free, shakes like a leaf. I wrap them around his neck and sob against his chest.
"You found me."
He sweeps back the wet tangles of my hair from my face and cups my chin.
"I was nearly too late."
"Paul—"
He hushes me, placing a finger over my lips. "Let's get you out of here. Your skin is ice-cold."
Indeed, I'm shivering again.
It takes some maneuvering, but Paul pulls me out of the tank. Water sluices off my body. My evening gown is ruined and clings to my body, but I only care about each wonderful breath surging into my lungs.
"Come, we need to get out of here."
