Never Ever

11| Good boy

The timer on the ledge hits thirty-two seconds. I scramble upward, fighting for breath as I haul myself over the ridge and collapse. Water pours off me in rivulets, pooling at my feet as I struggle to catch my breath.

My gasps come short and shallow in the silence. It used to be I'd fight the feeling of my chest compressing, stealing the last of my oxygen, but if there's one thing I've learned this past week of coming here, panic makes it worse.

Instead, through labored breaths, I hold up my palm and, with my opposite finger, trace the outline of my thumb. The air cuts my lungs as I slowly breathe in, waiting until my finger brushes my thumb's inner edge before exhaling. It's called the five-finger breathing technique, and everyone online seems to swear by it.

Eyes closed, I breathe in again, deep enough to feel it in my stomach. I reach my pinky, hoping against hope that in the next few seconds, the pressure in my chest will dissipate, and like clockwork, it does.

When the panic subsides, I pull back my hair and wring out the last of the water. These past few days have fallen into a steady routine: avoid Noah, visit his pool, and hold my breath until I can't anymore.

It's been easy for the most part, but in the back of my mind, I can't stop thinking of Noah. Or most notably, the feelings he invokes whenever I'm around him. The heat in my stomach, the fire I'd felt when I thought he would kiss me. They are feelings that, if given control, could quickly work against me, and that's why I have to avoid him.

I won't be another Natalia.

Leaning back, I take in the sprinkle of stars in the sky and think about tryouts. I'm half convinced I'm wasting my time – I'll never be ready – but I have to keep hoping. Trying. I might not be where I want to be right now, but I know if I give up now, I'll always be left wondering what if.

After a little while, I stand upright and start swimming again. I can feel the burn in my muscles return, but it's a good burn. The burn of my body fighting back, trying to survive. My arms and legs move in sync, pulling me through the water with a familiar rhythm. For a moment, I feel like I'm back in my element, gliding through the water with ease.

My confidence returns as I turn to the deep end, stepping forward a little. At this point, I know I can touch the ground, so all I feel is the thud of my heart as it gently increases.

I wade a little further, aware of my heart rate kicking up a notch, a warning sign I could be in danger. I ignore it and move forward, determined to push out of my comfort zone. If I don't, I won't be ready, and it's not like I can't swim. Before the accident, I was one of the best in my state.

That's got to count for something.

Hands clenched, I take another step, the water now up to my neck. It's getting deeper, and I can feel the pull of the water against my body, the pressure building in my chest.

I wish Noah were here.

The thought pops out before I can stop it, but I force myself to push it back, instead focusing on the water. Maybe it's stupid, but part of me hopes that if I conquer the deep end, it'll be like I've regained control.

With a deep breath and all the courage I can muster, I take one more step until only my toes can touch the floor. Heart pounding, I look around me, feeling the weightlessness of my body as I stand here, my chin barely above the water, and even though I'm terrified, for a moment, I'm free.

My chest tightens, coiling like a tightly-wound clock. My legs seize up. I start to thrash, desperate to hurry back to solid ground, but my arms feel heavy and uncoordinated. I can feel the water closing in around me, the panic rising, thickening my throat.