Alter Ego

Waiting to Breathe

I dive in.

The liquid matter caresses my skin, feeling more natural than any other touch on me before.

I don't displace it; it doesn't displace me.

We move together, within each other.

As if it were intended that way all along.

- - -

I resurface, smoothing my slick dark hair away from my vision. Leaning my elbows against the edge of the infinity pool, I watch the sunset coloring the beach ahead of me. Another day done, another 24 hours of heartbreak survived.

I wonder how long I'll count the passage of time like that.

Resting my head on my forearm, I kick my legs absentmindedly in the water. This was not the honeymoon retreat I expected when booking it from my office desk a year ago.

In a way, I am grateful for him leaving me - I'd rather be left now, than years later, when we're dragging each other down like rusty anchors, corroded by our bitterness and life taking its toll. In this way, he's almost like a slippery fish that wasn't truly mine to catch in the first place. He'll swim off in his own way and I'll continue casting my line until someone else is intrigued by what I have to offer.

I close my eyes, feeling the pool water sway along my steadily pruning skin. I know I need to turn in soon. When I open my eyes, I lie back, searching the purple marble sky above me. My breaths are shallow, my heartbeat fluttering.

A commotion behind me causes my legs to kick down and I tread water, watching a loud vacationing family come into the pool area. I sink down and dip the water over my head one more time, before swimming over to the ladder to pull myself out. It's time to return to my honeymoon suite of solitude.

After toweling off and slipping back into my sandals, I tie on a plush white robe and walk back into the hotel resort, deciding to take a trip down the elevator towards the lobby. Might as well pick up some snacks before another night of free champagne and unlimited movies.

My sandals squeak as I walk past the other hotel patrons. An elderly man yells at the front desk about being overcharged. A little girl picks up a half-mermaid, half-cat stuffed animal, begging her mother to buy it for her. A gaggle of young women whispers loudly to each other, walking back from the day spa.

I finally reach the sundry in the middle of the lobby, mulling about until I pick up a few bags of chips and a paperback romance novel. I set the items down at the counter and charge them to my room, before scooping them back up to retreat to the suite. The small-talk of the cashier barely registers to my ears.

I spend that night alone, mindlessly throwing snacks into my mouth and trying to register more human emotion than the overwhelming chasm of sadness within my chest. The sound of the tide from the open porch door drowns out anything I read or hear. Earlier it was a whisper; now it is a roar.

I guzzle more of the champagne, licking up every last stray drop with the tip of my tongue. This isn't living; this is the shell of a woman who loved and lost. And despite everything I know and believe, the breaths I take tonight feel hollow. I sense that I am slowly suffocating.

- - -

I'm woken by the burning sunlight on my face through the open porch door. It's a windy day and the soft white curtains of the room whip around wildly. Holding my head, I trudge over and close the door. The waves are wild but majestic. They're beckoning me with a long, deliberate curled finger.

Ignoring my groaning stomach, I slip into a new gold swimsuit and a long flowy cover-up. I slip on my braided sandals and take one last look at the honeymoon suite before I toss the key card on the floor and close the door behind me.

I don't pay attention to much of anything on my walk through the resort to the beach. The sandy expanse is empty; people probably think the sea is far too turbulent to enjoy today. Nevertheless, I proceed, walking right up to the crawling tide.

The water laps at my toes like those precious champagne drops I licked up last night. I bend down, freeing my feet from the sandals and tossing them aside to dig my toes in the sand. It molds around my form instantly. Next, I pull the lacy cover-up over my head, my fingers then releasing it to the wind. I'm shedding every part of me now.

Taking heavy, deliberate strides into the waves that push against me, I trail my fingers along at my side, displacing the water with every step. It's a perplexing sensation; I can feel the sea push and pull against me. After trudging further and further, I finally reach the point where my feet don't touch the ground. And here is where I tread water.

I don't have a plan. My mind is empty, the thoughts left ashore with my discarded clothes. Even if I wanted to go back to shore, my weakened body and soul wouldn't be able to make it. And so, I come to the decision that I will surrender.

My chest trembles briefly, the terror of my decision catching up with the rest of my body. I fold my arms up into myself, trying to create a self-caress, while I slow my kicks. This is it.

My form starts to dip and sink below the water and I open my eyes, taking in the diffused sunlight streaming through to me. I open my mouth, anticipating a rush of water to burst into my lungs, to drown me, and take over me.

Instead, for the first time in a long time, I breathe.