The water glowed turquoise, still and inviting, awakening an ache in my chest, the need to dive in, to vanish under the stillness, disappear for a moment.
“Do you swim?” He came behind me, the feel of his presence weighing down on me, rising hairs on my skin. And he wasn’t even that close. He was more than an arm’s length away from me.
“Yeah,” I whispered softly, gently pushing the door to the side, the loud screeching sound slicing through the quiet. “Sometimes.”
A soft gasp broke past my lips when again, I was met with more soldiers, three of them, hanging in three different angles, an invisible line connecting them into a triangle.
Why were they everywhere? Jesus Christ. So scary.
When I asked why soldiers were always with him, he said it was a requirement as a Marshal of special operations. Marshal sounded like a really big title. But I didn’t know that it warranted for so many soldiers breathing down his neck.
“Would you love to swim?” he asked in his usual soft tone, as though I would break like glass if his voice was louder.
“Can I?”
“Yes.” He nodded, stepping gently into the terrace.
From the corner of my eyes, I saw him exchange looks with the soldiers, a silent command, perhaps, and the next second, they were gone, their heavy footfalls vanishing into a quiet echo.
“You?” I asked, walking toward the pool bench and dropping my tote bag. “Do you swim?” I bent over, pulling off my sneakers and black socks.
“No.” He sank into one of the benches, right next to where I placed my bag, legs crossed as he settled his iPad on his lap, ready to work.
“Why don’t you swim?” I pried.
Was this beautiful water just for aesthetics?
“I don’t like the waters.” His gaze was on the screen of his device, face blank of expression. “Never attempted learning how to swim.”
“What a bummer.” I pouted. “Swimming is therapeutic, though.”
“Don’t worry.” His gaze lifted to acknowledge me briefly, eyes warm. “I’ll just sit here and watch.”
“Okay.” I nodded with a beam. “Watching is also fun.”
I turned away, walking closer to the edge of the pool, the floor damp against my feet as the water invited me with a gentle ripple.
Taking in a deep breath, eyes closed, I hooked my fingers under the hem of my grey shirt, pulling it over my head.
And I heard it, a quiet, strangled inhale. It was sharp, involuntarily. I knew what caused that reaction. The straps of my black bra weren’t enough shield for my scars like my shirt was. They glared at him; the lash marks–angry, crooked, and unfading, a reminder that I was born into darkness and would never be able to run from it.
This was why I didn’t pay too much attention to swimming anymore even though I loved the silence beneath the surface. I couldn’t use the school pool because it had been claimed by athletes who treated it like their personal kingdom. I couldn’t tell everyone to disappear, to give me a few minutes alonebecause I wanted to hide, because I carried a secret I didn’t want them to see.
Everyone was wearing a mask. Mine were stitched into my clothes that covered a body carved with secrets. Scars that were too loud, too unforgiving, and too impossible for someone like Callan Raskov to ignore.
He was still staring at me. I could feel heat blooming on my neck. But I was too afraid to look at him, afraid of what I would see in those fiery eyes, afraid of what it would do to me.
So I took off my jeans and dove into the water. There was a splash, a ripple, the effect of body slamming into the quiet, then as the water settled, the world seemed to soften immediately, sounds fading.
Just the way it should be.
I folded myself on the tiled floor, legs crossed like a monk in prayer, palms opened, lungs slowly burning as the second ticked by.
This was my ritual, my private, suspended between drowning and breathing…holding on or letting go.
1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15 16—
Then I heard it, the sound of something crashing into the water above me, shattering my quiet. My eyes snapped open and I found it, a body sinking clumsily, violently, legs kicking, arms flailing, yet fighting, reaching for something…for someone.
