AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Alone with ten minutes to spare, no one here to speak to me or look at me, I let my head fall back against the chair, and my face tips to the side as one deep ugly sob after the next leaves me, steady and powerful. The chair becomes slippery beneath my face as I cry uncontrollably for a solid five minutes. I cry so hard my chest aches like I’m ill, I bawl until my eyes hurt, and I don’t stop until Lance taps at my door, giving me my five minute warning.
Then I pull it together and get ready to put on a show.
Because that’s what I’m good at.
two
cohen
Why should I get to breathe?
I keep my eyes shut tight, nearly grazing the bottom as I make my way to the other side. My chest burns with the breath I didn't take, the one I needed to take when I reached the end.
By the time my fingers graze the shoddy cement wall, my lungs burn so fiercely that my body jerks to the surface, gasping and pleading for breath.
It's hard to force myself to stay down. Iwantto stay down. But I always rise up. I always steal that breath I don't believe I deserve.
Keeping my eyes closed, I take in just enough air before sinking into the cold water again. Pushing off the wall, I head back to the other side for the fiftieth time at least. I don’t know for sure because I haven’t been counting. I come here and do this to feel the pain, not to count laps or calories.
I’m here in this pool every fucking day to immerse myself in misery. Call me a glutton for punishment but the mental anguish isn’t enough. I need pain to physically eat me from the inside out, at least a little each day.
In my heart, it feels like she still exists—as long as I’m constantly bathing in grief and agony. She’s still fresh in my mind if I punish myself daily. And I don’t want to forget her, so I choose pain.
My lungs burn, the familiar sear of elapsing time extinguishing the air from my lungs. My fingers collide with the cement as I reach the other side, and instead of surfacing, I stay there. Hovering in the darkness, my chest so tight that the growing emptiness creeps up my throat. My body is starting to panic, starting to become desperate for relief. For breath.
I open my eyes and blink through the discomfort. There are lights dotted around the pool’s sides so I close them again, like I always do, immersing myself in complete darkness. My heartbeat overtakes all my other senses, pounding relentlessly in my ears, telling meyou need to take a breath, you need to breathe.
I ignore the way panic clutches my chest, and I pay no attention to the fuzziness filling my head. This is the part where the painful lack of oxygen kisses the sweet relief of giving up the fight. Where, with one mouthful, one swallow, that enticing, detached fuzziness will win out, and bliss will take over before the final darkness comes. Before lasting relief takes over.
I hover there, aching. Aching fucking everywhere.
There was an accident.
Four words, six syllables, but so much goddamn weight, so much fucking power. How many people have those words absolutely decimated? How many lives have been altered, irrevocably changed, made forever dark by those words?
I'm not alone. I know I'm not. I have a television. I use Reddit. I'm aware that tragedy doesn't discriminate, and it's everywhere.
I place a palm over my chest, my heart thudding heavily against it, like a prisoner beating on cell walls, begging for a breath of fresh air. I loathe the weighty thumps, I loathe the way I can't hold myself there much longer. My breaking point is coming and I'm too fucking pathetic to stay, open my mouth and feel what she felt. Fill my lungs just once with cool, icy damnation.
As I settle into that sliver of painful comfort, the surface ripples wildly next to me, and my eyes shoot open to see a little boy floundering next to me. His hand comes down on my shoulder, stubby fingers sinking into my muscle. He opens his mouth, sending a stream of bubbles to the surface as he shouts unintelligible words underwater.
I push off the bottom and break the surface, choking and gasping for air. The boy surfaces, rubbing his brown eyes with his wilted fingers. “Are you okay?” he gasps, pushing dripping strands of hair out of his face. He blinks at me with panic and confusion.
He looks to be about ten, and I remember what ten felt like. At that age, you can’t possibly fathom knowing a pain so great that drowning is relief. I force a small smile to calm him.
“Yeah. Just seeing how long I can hold my breath,” I lie, though to be fair, I don’t know if it is a lie anymore. Because I’ve been swimming laps in this gym pool for years, playing chicken with myself almost daily.
But every time the pressure builds and I’m at the point of no return, I can’t do it. I always rise to the surface, sputtering and gagging but breathing.
Why should I get to breathe?
I force a bigger smile on the boy to get him to smile, and he does. “Okay, well, that was a long time, Mister,” he says skeptically.
“Yep,” I say, smoothing a hand through my wet hair before clutching the edge of the pool, hoisting myself out onto the concrete. “That was my longest yet, but don’t try it. I’m—”
“A pro?” he offers as he bounces on the balls of his feet, arms splashing gently.
I can’t help the sadistic snort that leaves me. I’m far from a pro. In fact, I’m a failure at drowning. I’ve been trying for years but can’t bring myself to do it. “I have experience in the water,” I finally say as I snatch my towel from the ground and shimmy it along my back.
