Warm air spills out immediately.
My breath catches.
It’s an indoor pool.
The space is beautiful. The water glows under soft recessed lights, casting rippling reflections across the ceiling. The surface is perfectly still, like glass. Lounge chairs line one wall.
It feels private.
Secret.
Untouchable.
I step inside slowly, the warmth wrapping around me.
The air smells faintly of chlorine and something softer, cleaner.
My fingers trail along the edge of the pool. The water shivers under my touch, breaking the perfect surface.
I glance back toward the door.
The house is quiet.
Jake is upstairs.
He won’t come down.
He hasn’t all evening.
He told me to treat the house as mine.
In one swift motion I pull my sweater over my head, folding it neatly on one of the chairs. Then my jeans. My socks.
I stand there in my underwear, the air cool against my skin.
I step to the edge of the pool.
The water glows softly, inviting me in.
I ease myself down, gasping as the warmth wraps around me.
It feels like slipping into another world.
Weightless. Quiet. Safe.
I sink deeper until the water reaches my shoulders, until something tight inside me finally loosens.
Then I take a breath and let myself slip under.
The water folds over my head.
And for a moment, the world finally goes silent.
It’s instant, the way everything muffles.
Down here, sound becomes vibration. Light becomes soft ripples. Even my thoughts slow, like they’re moving through syrup instead of spiraling at full speed.
I push off the wall and glide forward, arms stretched ahead of me, legs slicing through the illuminated blue. My hair fans out behind me like seaweed, weightless and wild.
