Read Online Drowning in You by Rebecca Berto - Free Book Online

pool,
flicking her hair back like a brilliant streak. Water drips from
her chin, over her breast, nipple…and she falls back into the
waiting arms of that fucker. Not me.
    I slam my head back but there
are only mounds of pillows beneath it. Attempting to bash out my
rage is futile. Instead I scrunch my hands into my hair, grit my
teeth, and yell wordlessly.
    Sounds fun. You like to
swim?
    I get no reply for a while. In
a moment of madness, I sit up and sort through my gym bag. I pull
out my gear and throw that straight in the laundry basket. I empty
the water bottle in the sink. When I’m back in my room I clean the
empty wrappers and bits of random garbage out of the bottom of the
bag and fold my bag away in the closet.
    I can’t remember the last time
I emptied the bag within a day. That’s why I have three sets.
    Finally, I let myself check my
phone. She must have replied by now. Surely.
    Um, it’s fun—sometimes. I used
to be in national comps. Mostly it’s routine now and keeps me busy.
You should come ‘round and I can teach you. That’s my job, swim
teaching. I teach little kiddies. But yeah, I’d love to show you.
:)
    I gulp down a feeling that
burns my lungs and I exhale slowly through my nose. It doesn’t do
much by way of calming me because I still have an image of her arm
around my waist, her mouth near my ear as she holds me to one side,
and her hard nipples poking into my back.
    But another
feeling overcomes me and I hate myself as I reply, Sure, one day. Sounds good.
    I hope she thinks I like her,
but also that I don’t because I’m not sure what I really mean.
    The reply
says, Okay, I really don’t mind. I mean,
it’d be MUCH more fun than screaming kiddies. I’d like to
hang.
    I’ve liked you since you were
fifteen is what I want to say. I’ll be there in ten minutes is what
I almost type.
    What I
actually send is, I’d really like to be
alone in a pool with you but I can’t do that in my right mind. This
shit is getting blurry. Us, I mean. Sorry.
    She doesn’t miss a beat. While
I watch my phone, in that same minute, me counting seconds with
dread, she replies.
    I don’t know why you think
things are “blurry”, or why it matters. Do you feel weird about our
history and stuff? I do too, but I’m getting past it. Don’t let
your past stand in your way.
    I stare at my cell, swiping at
the screen until smudges of my fingerprints cover every corner of
it. Finger hovering over her contact in the delete screen, I shut
the phone off and throw it to the other side of the room.
    Somewhere I can find it if I
want to but too far to mess anything up further right now.
    It’s settled: I need her to be
my Charz but it’s my guilt that I will not forget. I was brought up
to struggle in life. I’ve lost friends from a dozen schools, and I
grew up for years with my dad sleeping in a jail cell, leaving me
without a father figure.
    Only seems fair since I killed
Charz’s mom and almost killed her dad that I watch the girl I like
slip away. That feels right.
    Because with her? That’s the
best Goddamn reward.

8. Spilled Milk
     
    Charlee
     
    Looking up at the clock, I see
it’s one minute past midday. The kids are lined up along the edge
of the pool. All four have their toes curled over the edge.
    “ You ready?” I
call.
    “ Yes,” the
twins answer at once.
    “ Yeah, miss!”
another says.
    The last claps her hands, which
causes her to wobble over the edge. I kick back and thrust forward.
I catch her falling waist and push her up in line again.
    The girl blows me an air kiss
as thanks, relief radiating from her huge grin.
    “ Okay, M, O,
A, then P,” I call out their initials. “On three.”
    They clasp their hands in a
steeple above their heads, squishing their ears between their upper
arms and head, just as I taught them, 101-percent perfect. When I
call out their names in order they dive off the wall one after
another like fans making the wave in a stadium, plopping into the
pool and