Not Looking For Love: Episode 1 by Bourne Lena

Author:Bourne, Lena [Bourne, Lena]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2014-10-20T07:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER FIVE

Back home, I slip off my robe and dive into the pool as soon as I reach it. My whole body cramps up from the shock of entering the cold water, and for a few moments, it's enough to drive all else from my mind. I stay under water. The chlorine stings my eyes, and my lungs feel a thousand pounds heavy, but I don't close my eyes, don't come up for air. I stay under water, watching the shadows fluttering across the black and white tiles all around me.

Could I drown myself like this? Probably. There will be no Scott to come rescue me this time.

A jolt passes through me, and I jerk my head up out of the water, taking a deep, desperate breath. Textbook survival instinct, just my body using up the last of the oxygen in my lungs and needing more. I don't want to die. I don't want anyone to die. In a few days, my mom's two months will be up.

I'm shivering, my teeth chattering, goose bumps covering my entire body. The alcohol has worn off completely now, and I feel like the world's biggest idiot. I swim a few laps to get my blood going again, concentrating on my stroke so I don't need to think of anything else.

I've never thrown myself at a guy like that before. I'm not even that into sex. My last boyfriend described me as frigid, and as far as our sex life went, he was right. So why is sex with Scott all I think about? If he were here right now, I'd probably do the exact same thing; touch him in the exact same way, wanting more. The thought scares me, makes me feel like I'm disintegrating, caving in like cascading sand into a deep dark hole, with nothing to hold on to, nothing with which to hold on.

My cheeks burn, and I'm panting from the exertion of the swim. This is what I want. To know I'm still here, still alive, and not falling apart into millions of tiny pieces that will get lost, get blown away, disappear into the darkness, never get put back together right.

I climb out of the pool and look up toward my mom's bedroom. The translucent curtains are blowing in and out of her window. She's awake. I wish I could feel some of the anger I used to feel at her diagnosis back in the beginning. Anger at her for not getting herself checked out properly, anger at the doctors for not knowing what they're doing, at myself for not insisting she go see them earlier, for moving away, going to school, building a new life there, and not spending enough time with her. None of that matters anymore, and anger would be pointless. Mom's death is unavoidable now. There's nothing anyone can do. Nothing I can do. The anger is a distant whisper, less than a memory, swallowed by the darkness along with all that could be but never will be.

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