Chapter 31
CECILIA
Igo home after class, but the first thing out of my parents’ mouths is to ask about Gabriel. I haven’t told them we ended things. Not yet.
Life is finally going back to normal for me. They still hover. That’s not going to change anytime soon. Not after the suicide attempt. But they’ve chilled with the fifth degree whenever I walk through the door.
Mom doesn’t watch me like I’m a ticking time bomb she’s waiting to see explode.
I don’t want things to go back to that. So when my Dad asks why they haven’t seen Gabriel around this past week, I lie.
I tell him Gabe’s doing extra training for an upcoming game and that I’m only here to drop off my school bag and grab some things before heading back to campus to watch his practice.
It kills me to lie to my parents, but what choice do I have?
Better a small white lie than breaking their hearts. I know they want what’s best for me. They want me to be happy. But everyone needs to give me some breathing room so I can figure out what happiness looks like for myself. So I can sort out how to move on.
My phone buzzes, and I quickly glance at the screen.
“Speak of the devil,” I tell my mom, flashing the screen in her direction long enough for her to read his name on the screen.
Her smile is wide when I tell her, “Gotta run.”
“Alright, honey. Have fun.”
I swipe across the screen to open the message.
Gabriel: Hey.
Butterflies dance in my stomach as I stare down at the words. We’re not really talking, but after today I guess we’re not not talking.
But what am I supposed to say to that? Do I say “Hey,” back? Hey doesn’t really invite conversation.
Do I want to invite conversation?
I glance at the time on the screen and chew on my bottom lip. Gabriel should be at practice right now. Maybe the text was meant for someone else? Like a ‘Hey, where are you?’ if he was waiting on Julio or Felix to get there, maybe? That seems logical.
Exiting out of the screen, I decide not to respond.
Mostly because I don’t know what to say but it’s fine.
I’ll see him tomorrow, along with every weekday this semester after that.
Perks of us having classes together. If he has anything to say or talk to me about, he can do it then.
I’ll just act like I didn’t see the message.
Since I’m not actually going to Gabriel’s practice, I park beside the building that holds the campus pool. A good swim will help me to clear my head and should get me out of this funk. I feel like a jerk for not responding, but saying the wrong thing feels more detrimental than saying nothing.
When I step inside, I notice that the swim team is utilizing most of the fifty-meter lanes, but there’s one on the far left that looks like it’s available so I walk straight for it.
My phone buzzes again but I wait until I’m inside before digging it out of my pocket.
Gabriel: We have a game against Crown Point University coming up. It’s a home game. You should come.
I stare at the message, scrutinizing each individual word. Is he suggesting I come because he actually wants me to be there? Or is he just worried about me because of what happened with Austin today and he wants to keep an eye on me?
This is what he does, isn’t it? He inserts himself into my life as a way of babysitting me. Making sure I’m okay. That I’m not going to do anything reckless. Austin is on the team, so it’s not like he has to worry about where he’ll be during their game.
Or is he thinking something worse?
We haven’t been talking, so it’s not like he knows how I’m doing. Shitty, by the way. Not that anyone’s asking or that I’d volunteer that information out loud.
I’m anxious as usual. And if I’m honest, a little depressed. A breakup on top of what I’m already dealing with has royally sucked. But I get out of bed every day. I go to all my classes. I’ve lost more weight, but it’s not super noticeable and hey, I look better in my swimsuit, so that’s a plus.
The point I’m trying to make here is, I’m better than I have been.
Does Gabriel think I’ll try and end my life again just because Austin decided to be his normal awful self today? Is that why he’s all of a sudden messaging me after weeks of radio silence?
I hate thinking like this. It just reiterates why we can’t be together. Gabriel always needs to fix things. To fix me. And I know I’m a wreck.
But anyone else in my position would be. What girl who’d been through what I’ve been through would do any better? No one. That’s who.
I’m capable of standing on my own two feet. Gabriel needs to let me.
Urgh. I’m reading too much into this.
I consider ignoring this text as well, but that feels like an asshole move. I don’t want him to think I’m ignoring him. I’m not. And he did follow up with more than ‘Hey.’
I sigh, my fingers moving over my keyboard with what I hope is a safe enough response.
Me: Maybe… I’ll think about it.
I slipped my suit on beneath my clothes while I was home, so I quickly strip out of my oversized t-shirt and jeans and set my phone and other belongings on a chair before tucking my hair into a swim cap and putting on my goggles.
A whistle blows. “Come on, ladies. Push!”
I lift my gaze to the pool and a pang of longing stutters through my chest as I watch Coach Cho urge the girls to move faster. She looks down at her stopwatch, her expression pinched as her eyes flick from it to the nine swimmers racing through the lanes.
I considered going out for the swim team last year before the assault and everything that happened after it.
I’m good enough to make the team. My fifty-meter freestyle is faster than Cate’s—the team’s fastest swimmer in freestyle for PacNorth.
But I just … I don’t know. I could never work up the nerve to go for it.
I was on the cheer squad already, and at the time, I didn’t want to rock the boat with my team.
Swimming has always been my stress reliever. I think I convinced myself that turning it into a competitive sport would take away my joy. Really, I think I was more concerned about upsetting my friends if I left the squad and chose swimming over cheer, but look how that turned out.
Joelle and Kim don’t talk to me. And I’m not on the cheer squad anymore, nor did I join the swim team. I’m just … alone.
There’s a part of me that misses being a part of something.
Misses being on a team. But there’s a bigger part of me that’s terrified of joining one only to have the rug yanked out from under me all over again.
Losing my friends after the assault was hard.
Losing the team and everyone else I counted as part of my support system, that made everything that much harder.
It’s too late for all of that now, though.
The season has already started. Maybe next year I’ll put myself out there.
It’d make Mom and Dad happy. I sigh knowing how unlikely it is that I’ll go through with it.
But it’s a nice thought. Something to be hopeful about, as Dr. Walker likes to remind me.
Hope is being able to see that there is, in fact, light despite all of the world’s darkness.
I’m just over here still searching for it.
Pushing my thoughts aside, I make my way to the block and step onto it, getting myself into position. This is where I clear my thoughts. Where I let everything going on in my life go.
Curling my toes over the edge, I bend forward, keeping my face close to my knees as I grip the front of the diving block with my fingers.
Lifting my hips in the air, I take a deep breath and close my eyes. You’ve got this, I tell myself.
I hear the rustle of the other swimmers getting into position in the lanes beside me and wait for their coach to blow her whistle. I don’t usually compete beside them like this. Not in such an obvious way. But today, I want to latch onto that hope.
My heart races with anticipation. The scent of chlorine fills the air, and for a second, I imagine what it would be like to race for PacNorth University. To hear the roar of a crowd. To know that everyone around me is cheering for me to succeed.
The only thing that matters in this moment is the water that stretches out before me. Not Austin’s bullshit. Not the way things are between me and Gabriel. Not how my friends turned their backs on me. Or how all my parents seem to do is worry.
My anxiety doesn’t matter. Depression doesn’t matter.
None of it matters.
The world around me blurs, and my focus narrows to the clear blue lane ahead.
The seconds tick by and then I hear the sound I’ve been waiting for. “Take your marks!” Coach yells.
I’m not a part of the team, but screw it. For today, I’m going to pretend I am.
The whistle blows, announcing the start of the race, and I explode off the block.
I don’t know what stroke everyone else is doing but I also don’t care.
My body arches through the air. Water rushes up to meet me and for a split second, I’m weightless, suspended in the blue until I kick up and break the surface, slicing through the water like a knife.
I feel strong in this moment.
Brave.
My arms propel me forward, each stroke more powerful than the one before it.
There’s this sense of urgency thrumming inside of me. I want to win. No. I need to win.
The water parts before me, a liquid highway that urges me to go faster.
The wall approaches, and I kick harder, my body driving toward the ledge. The seconds tick away, but time loses its meaning. All that matters is the final stretch.
With a surge of power, I reach out, my fingertips brushing the wall. I lift my head from the water and look around, counting the seconds until the next fastest swimmer reaches the wall.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Holy shit.
Five.
Six.
Another girl touches the wall. She breaks the surface, a wide smile on her face until she sees me. She turns to her side, taking note of the other swimmers whose times she did beat. But she didn’t beat mine.
Triumph floods through me.