The Beautiful You

Forty-one ~ The Cut That Always Bleeds

This chapter mentions suicide and suicide loss–read with CAUTION.

If you are in need of help please reach out to the national U.S. suicide and crisis hotline 988, or number specific to your country.

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"Despiértate."

I opened my eyes the moment my mom shook me awake. Her soft hand brushed against my cheek, leaving a warm touch. I clasped her hand over my cheek and hummed. When I was a kid, she used to sit by my bed and pinch my cheeks until I woke up. Her lips would hover over the redness of my cheek and leave a kiss to apologize for the rude wake up call. I can't remember the last time my mom woke me up in the morning.

It's been a long time.

"We're leaving soon," she said. "It's the big day, remember?" Her hand slipped away from under my grasp, and her gaze shifted from me towards the window.

Her gentle expression turned cold, frozen as she stared off into space. There's something off about her, but I couldn't seem to put my finger on it. It looked like she was here with me, but at the same time I didn't feel her presence.

I felt strange.

I reached out to touch her face, but the moment my fingertips grazed her cheek– she wasn't herself anymore.

The person facing me now was Nick, my old teammate. However, right now, I'm competing against him. I'm no longer laying in my bedroom, but standing above a swimming pool. My head spun around the room until my eyes landed on the banner hanging from the walls.

Boys State Championship

What?

I haven't trained at all. I haven't swam in so long, why am I here?

I stared down at the clear pool, my reflection was still for a moment as I reached to pull my swimming cap over my head as I went through the motions of a swimming competition. My hair was short and it didn't even go past my ears. I pulled the goggles over my eyes and glanced back up at the Banner.

I didn't remember getting a haircut. I turned my attention back to the pool, and I realize I'm nowhere near prepared to compete.

I'm afraid.

My reflection in the pool is choppy and distorted as the water ripples. I don't recognize the person staring back at me. I know it's me, but it's such an old version of me. I don't recognize him, but I feel so angry at him.

I hate him.

"Good luck," Nick said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

But I remembered this day.

Nick was never there—he didn't compete at the state championship. He was jealous of me for getting the chance to compete at states, and when I blew it, he pretended to be kind to me. He pretended to understand why I would disqualify myself.

I glanced up at the bleachers, scanning for a familiar face. One that would pull me back down to reality. A face that would explain why everything felt so—odd.

The closer I looked the more I noticed there was a fuzzy sheen to this memory.

If I could even call it that.

But in the stands I saw her.

April was crying, she was on her knees, sobbing with her phone in her hands. I backed away from the pool and began walking towards her. No one stopped me, or tried to get me back into the starting position.