This is what I want.
Just this.
This quiet, underwater world where nothing can reach me and nothing can hurt me.
I dive deeper, letting myself sink. The pool is deeper than I expected, and the light fades a shade as I go down. My fingertips brush the tiled floor. I stop there, hovering, then press my feet against the bottom and let myself float in place.
I stare upward.
The surface shimmers above me like a ceiling made of glass. The lights cast a halo around the edges. Everything up there looks distant. Unreal.
I hold my breath and count without meaning to.
One.
Two.
Three.
My body is calm. It feels like I’m borrowing time from the world, stealing seconds nobody can reach me.
I tilt my head and watch the way the light dances. The tiny bubbles that escape my nose drift up like little secrets.
Slowly, my lungs begin to burn.
It almost feels good.
And I know I’m not ready to face the world above. I want to stay down here a little longer.
Just a little longer.
So I do.
The pressure builds, steady and insistent, but the pull to remain under is stronger. Because the second I break the surface, everything comes rushing back in.
Jake is furious with me.
My father can’t know.
My sister is still unread.
Divorce. Divorce. Divorce.
I let my eyes drift, unfocused, imagining the pool stretching forever, imagining I could swim until I reach some place that isn’t this moment. Somewhere without consequences.
The burn grows sharper.
My chest tightens.
I float there anyway, staring up at the wavering surface like it’s a different universe.
The burn turns into a sting.
My throat tightens.
Okay. Soon.
I start angling upward, slow, savoring the last second of quiet.
