Chapter 10 - Talia
TALIA
Drowning
The ride back from Daniel’s office is silent.
Not the kind of silence that feels peaceful. Not the kind where words aren’t needed.
This silence is heavy. Sharp. Full of everything Jake isn’t saying.
He grips the steering wheel like it personally offended him. His jaw is locked so tight I can see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. He doesn’t look at me once.
Not when we leave the building.
Not when we reach the car.
Not now, as the city blurs past the window and the word divorce echoes in my head like a threat.
Divorce.
I curl my fingers into my coat sleeve, watching his reflection in the glass instead of looking at him directly. He looks harder somehow. More distant.
Angrier.
I deserve that anger.
I missed the deadline. I turned a clean exit into a legal process that could drag out for months.
Maybe longer.
The thought makes my stomach twist.
Jake pulls into his driveway without a word. The engine cuts, but neither of us moves right away.
For a second, I think he might finally say something.
Instead, he just gets out of the car.
I follow quietly, my chest tight and uncertain.
He drops his keys on the counter with a sharp clatter and walks straight past me toward the stairs.
He doesn’t tell me to leave.
He doesn’t tell me to stay.
He doesn’t tell me anything.
His footsteps disappear upstairs, and a second later I hear a door close.
I stand there in the middle of the kitchen, suddenly alone.
My heart pounds in the quiet.
He told me I could stay one night.
That was the deal.
One night.
But now everything is different, isn’t it?
Annulment isn’t an option anymore.
We’re not waiting for paperwork to erase this.
We’re waiting for paperwork to end it.
And until then…
My gaze drifts toward the stairs.
He didn’t tell me to leave.
I don’t know if that’s permission or avoidance.
I pull my phone out of my pocket before I can overthink it. My dad’s name sits there at the top of my messages, untouched.
My fingers hover over the screen.
Then I type.
Me:
Staying with a friend for a bit.
I hit send.
The message disappears into the void, and I feel both lighter and worse at the same time.
I set the phone down on the counter and glance around the kitchen.
The breakfast dishes are still drying in the rack. The ones I used this morning, trying to do something nice for him. Trying to make him hate me a little less.
I swallow.
I need something to do.
Something that isn’t sitting here waiting for him to decide my fate.
I open the fridge and stare inside. His fridge is… organized. Of course it is. Everything has a place. Containers neatly stacked. Labels facing forward. Like even his food knows how to behave.
I pull out ingredients without thinking too much. Pasta. Tomatoes. Garlic.
Cooking gives my hands something to focus on. Something predictable.
The sound of the knife against the cutting board fills the quiet. The smell of garlic softens the air. I pretend I’m just a normal girl making dinner in a normal kitchen.
I make one plate.
Not two.
I don’t know if he’d eat it.
I don’t know if he’d want to.
I sit at the table alone and eat slowly, listening to the house breathe around me.
He doesn’t come down.
Not once.
No footsteps. No doors opening. No voice.
He’s up there.
Hiding.
Or maybe planning how to get rid of me.
The thought stings more than it should.
After I finish, I clean everything. Every dish washed. Every surface wiped down. I leave no trace behind, like I was never here at all.
Like I could disappear if he asked me to.
The evening stretches endlessly in front of me.
I try watching TV, but I can’t focus. I try scrolling my phone, but nothing holds my attention. My sister still hasn’t read my message. My dad hasn’t replied yet, which is both a relief and a looming threat.
Restlessness creeps under my skin.
I stand and wander into the living room. Then the hallway. Then back again.
Jake said to treat the house as mine.
The memory of his voice saying it—grumbling, reluctant—makes something twist in my chest.
He probably didn’t mean it.
But he said it.
And right now, I need something to distract me from the reality of everything waiting to collapse.
I move quietly down the hallway, opening doors carefully.
A guest bathroom. Immaculate.
A laundry room. Efficient.
A home gym that makes my dad’s look modest.
At the end of the hall, I take the stairs down to the lower level.
The basement isn’t really a basement. It’s more like a private retreat.
Through an open doorway, I glimpse a room with a pool table and low lighting.
At the end of the corridor, there’s another door.
I press the handle.
Warm air spills out immediately.
My breath catches.
It’s an indoor pool.
The space is beautiful. The water glows under soft recessed lights, casting rippling reflections across the ceiling. The surface is perfectly still, like glass. Lounge chairs line one wall.
It feels private.
Secret.
Untouchable.
I step inside slowly, the warmth wrapping around me.
The air smells faintly of chlorine and something softer, cleaner.
My fingers trail along the edge of the pool. The water shivers under my touch, breaking the perfect surface.
I glance back toward the door.
The house is quiet.
Jake is upstairs.
He won’t come down.
He hasn’t all evening.
He told me to treat the house as mine.
In one swift motion I pull my sweater over my head, folding it neatly on one of the chairs. Then my jeans. My socks.
I stand there in my underwear, the air cool against my skin.
I step to the edge of the pool.
The water glows softly, inviting me in.
I ease myself down, gasping as the warmth wraps around me.
It feels like slipping into another world.
Weightless. Quiet. Safe.
I sink deeper until the water reaches my shoulders, until something tight inside me finally loosens.
Then I take a breath and let myself slip under.
The water folds over my head.
And for a moment, the world finally goes silent.
It’s instant, the way everything muffles.
Down here, sound becomes vibration. Light becomes soft ripples. Even my thoughts slow, like they’re moving through syrup instead of spiraling at full speed.
I push off the wall and glide forward, arms stretched ahead of me, legs slicing through the illuminated blue. My hair fans out behind me like seaweed, weightless and wild.
This is what I want.
Just this.
This quiet, underwater world where nothing can reach me and nothing can hurt me.
I dive deeper, letting myself sink. The pool is deeper than I expected, and the light fades a shade as I go down. My fingertips brush the tiled floor. I stop there, hovering, then press my feet against the bottom and let myself float in place.
I stare upward.
The surface shimmers above me like a ceiling made of glass. The lights cast a halo around the edges. Everything up there looks distant. Unreal.
I hold my breath and count without meaning to.
One.
Two.
Three.
My body is calm. It feels like I’m borrowing time from the world, stealing seconds nobody can reach me.
I tilt my head and watch the way the light dances. The tiny bubbles that escape my nose drift up like little secrets.
Slowly, my lungs begin to burn.
It almost feels good.
And I know I’m not ready to face the world above. I want to stay down here a little longer.
Just a little longer.
So I do.
The pressure builds, steady and insistent, but the pull to remain under is stronger. Because the second I break the surface, everything comes rushing back in.
Jake is furious with me.
My father can’t know.
My sister is still unread.
Divorce. Divorce. Divorce.
I let my eyes drift, unfocused, imagining the pool stretching forever, imagining I could swim until I reach some place that isn’t this moment. Somewhere without consequences.
The burn grows sharper.
My chest tightens.
I float there anyway, staring up at the wavering surface like it’s a different universe.
The burn turns into a sting.
My throat tightens.
Okay. Soon.
I start angling upward, slow, savoring the last second of quiet.
Then I see it.
A shadow passes over the surface.
It’s subtle at first, just a dark shape interrupting the light. My heart jolts. The movement isn’t mine. It’s not the water.
It’s someone.
I freeze, eyes wide, and the burn in my lungs spikes because I’ve stopped moving.
The shadow hovers.
Then it shifts, sharper, more defined, like a body leaning over the edge.
Oh God.
The shadow moves again.
And then the surface breaks.
A splash hits above me, sending ripples down like a shockwave.
Something heavy cuts into the water.
A shape dives straight toward me, fast and purposeful, and my brain barely has time to register it before hands close around my upper arms.
Strong hands.
Familiar hands.
Jake.
He’s underwater with me, his face tense, eyes wide and furious, hair floating around his forehead like he’s some kind of angry sea god who decided to descend into my quiet and drag me back to reality.
His grip is iron.
He yanks.
I try to pull away, more out of instinct than strength, but he doesn’t let go. He kicks upward hard, dragging me with him like I weigh nothing.
My lungs scream.
The surface rushes closer.
And then we break through.
Air slams into my face, cold and sharp. I gasp, sucking it in so fast it burns, coughing water out as Jake hauls me toward the edge like he’s rescuing me from the ocean.
My hands grab for the tile, slick and wet. I cling to it, chest heaving, hair plastered to my face.
Jake drags himself up beside me, water streaming down his arms, his shirt soaked and clinging to him, eyes blazing.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he barks.
I blink, still coughing, trying to orient myself. My heart is hammering so hard it hurts.
“What?” I rasp.
He grips my shoulders, tight enough that it’s almost painful. “You don’t get to do that in my house.”
Confusion hits first. Then irritation.
“Do what? Go for a swim?”