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Breaststroke gets less glory than, say, freestyle and butterfly, but I don’t mind. Being in the spotlight is not what I want. I just want to swim and enjoy the barrier the water creates between me and the rest of the world.
Here, I can concentrate wholly on pull, breathe, kick, glide. When I focus on that, everything else just falls away and I know peace. The physical exertion from a good swim lingers even out of the water, and for a while, that peace accompanies on to dry land. Some days it lasts longer than others, but hey, something is better than nothing.
So yeah, even though our swim season was over, I got up before dawn and headed over to the pool. We were still having practices because championships were coming up, but today was an off day. Usually, I appreciated a good off day—you know, a chance to sleep in. Except I couldn’t sleep.
I was restless. Anxious. Still processing my night in the slammer and everything that came with it.
I was also avoiding my friends.
They would want answers. Explanations. After they stayed at the rave instead of fleeing like everyone else and then came to the police station before sunrise with trauma lattes, I felt I owed them.
For two years now, I’d kept the bros at arm’s distance. Maybe even a little farther than that. I wasn’t good at opening up because that required things I didn’t have.
Trust. Confidence. Security.
Coach knew. He would want to talk. Probably look at me again like he did at the police station, with worry and maybe even pity. Yet another reason I kept mostly to myself. It was hard to deal with other people’s reactions to my reality when I was consumed with dealing with my own.
I wished Kruger hadn’t told him, but I could only imagine how freaked out he was when I got hauled away in handcuffs. I knew he only did it to try and help me. Still, I couldn’t help but be nervous about the fallout.
When I first came to Westbrook, I was one hundred percent determined to not let anyone in. The more I watched friendships form and the way they all had each other’s backs, the more my determination started to slip. Still, I held out. Kruger helped, not only having my back with my secrets but also as a buffer. Somehow, he made us part of the bros but still shielded me enough that I maintained that bit of anonymity I valued more than anything.
Truth? I didn’t value it so much as it was a necessity.
I needed the safety of secret.
And then I watched Wes. I’d always felt a little bit of affinity with him. Not that anyone else knew that. It was just how I felt, and it was a feeling I kept private. Up until last semester, he’d always been on the quiet side too. Kept to himself but was friendly and a good swimmer.
Ryan and Jamie sort of took him under their wing, brought him a little out of his shell. Turned out Wes had a lot going on beneath the surface, just like me. Yeah, our stuff is different, but one thing is the same.
We’re both gay.
Wes was the first Elite swimmer to come out. I still remember the day he was basically outed to the entire team. He didn’t back down. I could tell how nervous he was, how he braced himself for the worst. He came out anyway.
Most everyone accepted him.
And the ones who didn’t? They aren’t here anymore.
You know why? Because the Elite bros were loyal.
I really admired Wes. So much. His risk started a whisper in the back of my mind—like I needed more noise in my head—that maybe, just maybe, there were people out there who would accept me. All of me.
I mean, after all, I found Kruger, Jess, and Gram.
But I was still afraid. Afraid to ask for more and to let anyone else in. For once in my life, I was steady. Why rock the boat?
Wes made me wonder, though, what it would be like to have the loyalty and acceptance of the bros. To have someone to love me.
Yeah, my brother and sister and gram love me… but you know what I mean. The kind of love Max has for Wes. The kind Wes has for Max.
And then Lars came along. He came out almost the second he got here. I watched everyone embrace him. I watched their loyalty surround him. Still, I held back.
I’m not just gay. I have a brain disorder. A condition that some don’t even believe is real. Because if they haven’t heard of it before, then it can’t possibly exist. Misophonia is just an excuse for me to act irrationally and get away with it. I am far too young to have tinnitus. And the anxiety makes me weak. A liability. An embarrassment. I’d heard this so much that even I sometimes wondered if it was all in my head.
Round and round my thoughts went, everything inside me competing for dominance to the point that lying in bed just wasn’t an option. I craved the cold water of the pool, the protection of its density, and the quietness only it could offer.
Physical exertion was always good too, working out until you were too tired to think so much.
I slipped out of the room and into the Elite pool, the instant relief the cold shock of the waves brought a welcome respite. I don’t know how long I swam, but I did lap after lap without looking up. Until my arms and legs burned and my knees started to ache. Still loath to leave the water, I sank beneath it, letting it mold around my body and press against my ears. Using long strokes, I swam under the surface, feeling the stretch of my limbs and watching bubbles escape my nose and mouth to travel upward.
