I convulse, choking and flailing. My arms reach upward, but there’s nothing. The lake swallows my every movement, making me small, making me nothing.
My eyes open.Blue. That’s all I see. The surface blurs above, light fractured into shards. It could be inches. It could be miles.
My chest screams, a hot pressure behind my ribs. My arms kick out, legs jerking, but everything feels slow, useless, like I’m moving through cement. My body jerks in panic, trying to fight what’s happening. I swallow water. It burns all the way down.
I twist and reach, but the surface doesn’t get closer. Or maybe I’m not looking right.
Maybe I’m not moving at all?
Maybe I don’t want to move.
My vision sparks. Little bursts of white, then black, then white again. It feels like something’s breaking open inside me.
You’re so fucking pathetic.
It would be easier to let go. Just stop fighting. Let the water finish what it started. My mind would be quiet at last.
I’d be safe there.
Nobody could hurt me again.
I drift. My arms float out to the sides. My legs hang heavy and useless. I feel the weight of gravity pulling me further.
The blue deepens.
It’s dark and endless.
Then, a glimmer.
Blue eyes.
Not ice cold and cruel.
They’re deep, sparkling with warmth.
Noah’s.
Clear. Steady. The same blue as the water, but different. Not crushing me. Not dragging me under. Holding me. Keeping me safe.
In a split moment, I see myself through his eyes. Laughing with my friends. Hosting events. Dancing in the living room. Spinning Rose around while she giggles. All the happiness I’ve had amidst the darkness. All the moments I want more of.
I want more.
Panic and regret surge through me rapidly.
What am I doing? I don’t want this.
My chest convulses violently as my legs kick, and I start thrashing fiercely. My arms tear through the water desperately. My body takes over where my head couldn’t. My hands reach upward.
The surface shimmers above me—closer, closer, closer—and I throw everything I have into it.
Light cracks. Air explodes into me. I break through, choking, coughing, gasping so hard it hurts. My throat scalds with every drag, but it’s air. Real in my lungs.
I struggle to swim toward the shore, my strokes clumsy and uneven. Terror and desperation pushing me. My clothes weigh me down, heavy as lead, but I keep going. Every muscle screaming. Every nerve on fire.
My hands finally find the shore. I crawl and heave myself forward until the water lets me go.
Small stones make cuts in my hands, but I press harder, needing something solid. My arms shake, my shoulders burn from the fight. My breath comes in wet, broken gasps. I cough, gag, and spit lake water onto the earth. It tastes of iron and rot, sour on my tongue. My stomach heaves. I collapse onto my side and retch until there’s nothing but bile. My throat raw.
