But it can be.
My chest burns immediately. A heavy ache behind my sternum, like something is slowly inflating where air should be. My heart kicks harder, faster, already frantic.
Seth’s voice slides into my head like muscle memory.
You’re okay baby. You’re still here. Slow it down. Count your heartbeat.
I count.
One.
Two.
Three.
The water muffles everything. The room becomes distant, distorted. Sound reduces to a low, hollow hum. My thoughts float strangely, detached, like I'm watching myself from somewhere else.
I can do this.
I have to.
Then my lungs twitch.
A reflex hits, small and involuntary, like my body is testing me.
No.
Not yet.
Water slips past my lips. My throat clenches violently, sealing shut. Panic flares.
I thrash once.
Sophie tightens her grip.
Muffled voices reach me, warped through the water.
“—thirty seconds left—”
Thirty.
My lungs are already screaming.
The burn intensifies fast and sharp, spreading outward like fire licking the inside of my ribcage. My diaphragm spasms again, harder this time, trying to force an inhale that can’t happen.
I kick.
Another set of hands joins hers.
Elliot.
His grip is brutal, his palm pressing the back of my skull. They force my face deeper, angling my mouth downward so if I gasp, I inhale water instead of air.
My chest convulses. My body stops listening to me.
The need to breathe becomes everything. Louder than pain. Louder than fear. Louder than thought. My throat burns. My ears ring. Pressure builds behind my eyes until it feels like they might burst.
Seth’s voice slides in my head.
