Page 75 of The Art of Drowning

“Why swimming?”

“You know why.” I paused. “To feel close to you.”

I didn’t tell him the rest. That swimming gave me something to focus on because otherwise I was drowning. That I’d swim laps until I could barely stand after. That I’d go home and fall into a dead sleep in my bed.

“Damien… I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault. It’s not mine either.”

“I should have…”

I cut him off and propped myself up on an elbow. “Should have what? Looked into your crystal ball and realized that your brother was a lying psycho?”

“We just let him win.” Callum looked torn apart, and I supposed he was. The entire fabric of his life might be a lie. All things considered, he was taking it rather well.

“Did he, though?”

“Did he what?”

“Did he win? Because from where I’m sitting, he’s not here, and we are. From where I’m sitting, I’m in your home. In your bed. The last place on earth he wanted me to be.” I nestled back down against him. “It’s your turn.”

“What am I supposed to follow that up with?”

“I don’t know, but you started it.”

“I used to write you emails and never send them. I kept them in my drafts for a few years, but I deleted them when I thought I could move on. They were… cathartic, I guess.”

“When you thought you could move on?”

“I tried,” he whispered. “I tried a few times. Dated people. Tried to make myself feel for them a fraction of what I felt for you. Went to therapy when I felt broken because I couldn’t. My therapist told me that it was normal to feel different things for different people. And that sometimes, when we don’t get closure, we have a hard time letting go.”

“Wow. Did you stop going?”

Callum laughed. “Yeah. I switched to a really nice woman who gave me actual coping mechanisms and exercises to help me open up to new people, but by then I was kind of tired of trying. And then Sam got sick. I know he was an asshole, but he was my brother. I wanted things between us to be different.”

“I know you did.”

“I tried to reconnect, but he wasn’t interested. He’d put on a good show if our parents were around, but it was clear that he didn’t want me there.”

“How can you be sure?”

“Because he said as much.” Callum managed to laugh. “God, he was impossible. Okay, it’s your turn. Tell me something I don’t know.”

The confession was easy to make because I wasn’t looking at him. Curled into him with my eyes closed, it made it easier to feel brave enough to be vulnerable. And maybe it was a dumb thing to confess. Maybe he wouldn’t think it was that big of a deal. Maybe he’d think it was stupid. Maybe he wouldn’t care.

“I… after you… I never bottomed. Like, I’d play with toys now and then, and I’d touch myself, but I never felt comfortable enough with anyone else.”

Callum went deadly still, and then suddenly he rolled over and pinned me underneath him. There was an intensity in his eyes that made my stomach swoop. Instantly, I was back there, in his childhood bedroom. Sneaking kisses when no one was looking, unable to get enough of him.

I’d fallen in love with Callum Weeks years ago and I’d never stopped loving him. The way I’d loved him changed. It had to. It went from a frantic, frenetic, all-in obsessive teenage love to a quiet, stubborn, brokenhearted love that wouldn’t quit. And now it was a softer, more hopeful kind. It might be stupid to let myself feel this way, but I’d never been able to help it. Not when it came to Callum.

“Really?” he whispered, like he couldn’t believe it. His eyes had a softness in them, like he understood what this meant without me having to say it out loud. I never got over him. Never forgot him. Never saw myself with anyone else but him.

And I’d tried.

Like Callum, I’d tried to date. To be some kind of version of myself that could be happy with someone else. And maybe I hadn’t tried hard enough. Maybe I was so used to people giving up on me that I didn’t want to invest in someone new.

Or maybe my heart had decided a long time ago that I was Callum’s and he was mine, and it knew that no one would compare.