Chapter 12 #3
Night is starting to fall by the time I get back to the dorms. I don’t bother turning on a light.
I drop my bag and dig through my drawers until I retrieve the supersized sweatshirt I never found it in me to return.
The hem hangs to my knees. It’s so warm and cozy, like a hug.
I pull my legs into my chest, cocooning myself in the cotton the same way I did back on Halloween.
When I press my fingers to the old photo tacked to my wall and finally allow myself to fall apart, the fabric feels like the only thing holding all my broken bits together.
I curl into a little ball on the mattress and release it all—the pain, the guilt, the hurt—letting my tears soak the hood.
My room glows orange before gradually dulling to gray, then black as the sun finally sets.
A bright light pierces the dark.
I lift my head.
Drawn by the movement, Nox turns my way.
His eyes widen with surprise, then shift.
I lunge for my blinds just as his brow starts to furrow, telling myself it’s too dark for him to have noticed the sweatshirt or my red-rimmed eyes.
My heart pounds as I wait for a knock or a noise, some hint that he’s headed this way.
A few minutes pass.
Nothing happens.
I rip off the sweatshirt and shove it back into the far reaches of my closet, just in case. Enough of the pity party. Mabel’s voice fills my head. Are you done yet?
Yes.
The sight of Nox has shocked me out of my grief just enough to see it for what it really is—a self-indulgent spiral of epic proportions.
It’s time to pull myself back together. I wipe the tears from my cheeks, then warm up a glass of water in the microwave to make some instant ramen for dinner.
Once it’s ready, I pull my laptop onto my bed and resettle in for the night—pointedly away from the window this time.
Just when I’m about to pick a movie, my inbox flashes.
One new email. I switch tabs and freeze midbite, the noodles hanging down my chin like entrails from a scene in some zombie flick.
Broth dribbles down my neck and I quickly slurp, a frown creasing my forehead as I click.
It’s from Nox.
I’ll leave the side door unlocked for you tomorrow. Usual time. You need the practice.
I grit my teeth at that last little comment, then defiantly switch back to my movie.
But his words linger. Even though I had planned to sleep in, my internal alarm goes off bright and early on Sunday morning.
Tossing and turning for twenty minutes leads me absolutely nowhere.
With a growl, I rip off my covers and yank on a bathing suit, hating him, hating myself, annoyed with the entire world.
It’s shocking my sneakers survive the walk to the pool.
Every step is a stomp, as if the sidewalks have personally offended me.
I keep my head down as I throw open the side door and practically tear off my outer layers.
He’s already swimming laps under the dutiful eye of his coach, who doesn’t appear at all surprised to see me even though the facilities are supposed to be closed for the holiday.
Neither of them acknowledges my presence, which is fine by me.
My irrational rage only builds as I dip my feet into the water.
In a blink, I’m at the base of the stairs, faster than I’ve ever been before.
All I want to do is arch my head back and scream a big fuck you into the rafters.
At the world. At my fear. At fate and how thoroughly she screwed me.
Shockingly, none of it is directed at the boy who actually incited my ire.
But I choose not to linger on that. Instead, I channel all the anger I’m feeling.
I use it. Dropping my hand from the railing, I wade deeper into the pool, acutely aware of the cool kiss of the water as it rises over my hips.
Capillary action pulls the dampness farther up my one-piece.
Heat pulses down my sternum as the inferno shifts.
My pulse speeds. My throat starts to close, breath coming in short bursts that do little to fill my lungs.
A chill shivers over my limbs. Memories press up against the wall inside my mind.
When it becomes almost too much, I stop moving.
I sit in my discomfort, my fear, for as long as I can, an internal battle for dominance raging. One day, maybe, the terror won’t win.
Today is not that day.
My breaking point snaps through me like a rubber band.
I turn toward the steps, trembling from head to toe.
Water pulls on my legs as I try to wade quickly through.
Invisible hands hold me back. I went too far, too fast. My vision tunnels.
The pool seems to lengthen. I lunge for the railing and heave myself out.
The walk to my towel feels as though it takes a year.
I hide my face in the soft folds, fighting my gasps, knowing they’re obvious as my body bends forward and my shoulders tremble.
I can’t even look at Nox as I escape back out the side door, into the crisp morning air, and collapse against the stone wall.
I drop my head back and close my eyes as I lift my face to the sun, letting its warmth flood through me, carrying calm, carrying reason. The erratic thumping in my chest slows.
In the clear light of day, a realization hits. I made it halfway into the pool. Farther than I’ve been since the accident. Faster than I ever thought. Yes, it nearly killed me.
But it didn’t.
I’m still here. I’m still standing.
A grin tugs at my lips—a wild, unruly thing. Triumph burns my lingering terror away. For the first time since I left campus on Wednesday morning, I feel alive.
It’s exactly what I needed.