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Ignoring Khaos’s unrelenting gaze, I begin my entire doggy paddle spiel again.
“I’m not doing that one. I’d rather fucking drown than make a fool of myself paddling around like that.”
“Fine.” I don’t even care. I thought that’s how kids learned to swim, but Khaos isn’t a child. He’s a grown man. A grown man who wants my pussy but not me. What. Ever. “We can try breaststroke instead.”
We resume the lesson but not with the same vigor as before. Khaos is only half paying attention and barely retaining the correct movements no matter how many times I demonstrate them.
Finally, he says, “It’s not about you. It’s me.”
It’s not you, it’s me? Seriously? Could the bad boy be any more cliché?
“Oh my God! It’s fine! It’s so fucking fine! I’m fine! I only asked that because I thought it was preposterous. I would never leave Guy for you. You know that, right? You’re a lowlife and I’m…” What the hell am I? “A champion.”
“Clearly,” he tries to say it like I did, except a thousand times more sarcastic. His statement was true—he’s been nothing but problems so far. So I agreed. If my statement’s also true—I am a champion—why is he saying “clearly” like I’m not?
“You know what? Learn how to swim yourself.” I stalk past him, mumbling, “Or don’t and drown.” It was a mistake agreeing to this.
So many mistakes since Khaos showed up. It’s him. He is the problem.
“I thought champions don’t quit,” gets yelled at my back as I exit the pool.
Over my shoulder, I say, “And I thought bottom feeders could breathe underwater.”
I’m back in the cemetery, a full moon hanging somewhere overhead, illuminating my surroundings in a bright hue. Cemeteries are not somewhere I want to hang out during the day, let alone at night. I keep coming here for some reason though.
I glance around, looking for him again. This is where he spends his nights, right?
I should probably go. He might not want me here.
Nobody wants me.
I turn to leave, but…can’t? I’m trying. I’m twisting. Lifting my feet. But I’m not going anywhere. It’s like I’m stuck.
Glancing down, I find my feet submerged in mud.
Ew, yuck. I can’t feel the cold mud between my toes, so maybe I’m wearing socks.
Why I’m wearing socks outside, I don’t know.
I open my mouth to call for help but nothing comes out, not so much as a gasp.
Fear races up my spine, curving my body. Why can’t I move? Why can’t I talk?
Why is that tombstone so huge? It’s not like the others. It’s almost like it’s not even…
Real.
This is a dream. One I can wake up from.
I focus on wiggling my toes. Move.
They can’t move. They’re stuck in the mud.
Okay, something else. Hands. Move my hands.
When I swipe at the air in front of me, nothing happens.
I try again and again, to no avail.
