The Wings Of A Caged Bird | First Draft

chapter 28: the unlucky forehead

"Hey, let's take a swim," I say, jerking my chin towards the pond.

The rainfall ended a while back. In all those minutes July and I had been sitting in there in silence, my head on his shoulder, a part of me started to believe that the rainfall would last forever, leaving the two of us trapped in the darkness. But it ended, just like all things do. We came out of the cave to find the pond more filled than ever, while the ground became all muddy. We decided to linger around a while longer before heading home, let the soil dry up a bit with the sudden wave of heat that followed soon after.

He raises his brows. "Right now?"

"Mhm, mhm."

"Absolutely not! You're gonna catch a cold."

"Doesn't matter, come on!" I take his hand and pull him up to a standing position with me. But then I realize something. I turn to him and ask, "Wait, can you even swim? Like, can you float in the water or . . .?" I mean, it's not like he has a mass, so how can buoyancy work on him? But then again, if that logic was right, then he wouldn't be able to stick to the ground because of gravity either. I shake my head. Physics is not going to apply to him.

He replies, "Yes, I can. I just wouldn't get wet."

I laugh. "Then you're like a real life Percy Jackson." I begin to unbutton my shirt.

He grabs my hand to stop me. "Cedar, are you sure? I really don't want you to catch a cold."

"A cold doesn't matter!" I protest, almost in a whiny tone. "Can't you see? It's a wonderful atmosphere. And I'm really in the mood." Thinking something, I then ask, "Unless you don't want to? Then it's okay. We can come tomorrow, in the afternoon." Though I don't think I will be able to swim here again in daylight without having traumatic flashbacks to the time I was almost kissed by death.

He shakes his head. "I don't have any problem. I'm just surprised the proposal came from you. It feels more like something I would say."

I only shrug in reply. I suppose freedom leads to a certain extent of rebellion, regardless of your upbringing. I free my hand from his grasp and take off the shirt. "And besides, you were the one who told me that we should do all the thrilling things in life. This is thrilling. Kinda. And that's precisely because I might catch a cold."

He shakes his head again. "You've really changed."

"For the better or for the worse?" I ask, grinning.

He smiles. "Isn't it obvious?"

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"You're not gonna take off your clothes?" I ask him with trembling teeth. Though it's summer, the water is as cold as ice, and I'm shivering underneath it.

"Should I?" He is still standing on the shore. "They're not gonna get wet anyway."

"But it's uncomfy to swim with your clothes on."

"That's true." He grabs the hem of his gray sweatshirt, but hesitates.

"Oh, I'll- I'll turn around." So I do, aware that he isn't comfortable in showing his body. My mind involuntarily drifts off to that one sentence from his letter, where he said that his mother had pressed a hot electric iron against his stomach once. I find myself shuddering even more. I remember getting a brief flash of his scarred back once, but can't conjure the vivid image of it anymore in my mind. Not wanting to ruin the pleasantness of this moment, I shake my head and push the thought away.

"Okay, I'm here."

I turn around, and find him neck-deep in the water. He isn't meeting my gaze. I don't want to make this situation awkward, so I quickly say, "Then, let's swim."