I nod. "Just tired."
"Ellis tomorrow at four," he reminds me. "You still good for that?"
"Yeah."
Nathan lowers his voice into the phone. I head upstairs.
My room is too warm. I crack the window and toss my hoodie onto the desk chair. Sit on the bed. Look at the shelves I haven't touched in weeks. My old swim trophies. A photo of me and Emma at age eleven, arms slung around each other's shoulders like we owned the world.
I should feel proud when I look at it. I mostly just feel like a ghost is looking back.
I pick up my phone. Unlock it. Open the Notes app. Start to type.
Things I'm supposed to be proud of:
1. Walking without the brace
2. The swim clinic
3. The college essay Nathan didn't cry over
4. Not buying again
I stare at that last one.
Then I delete the list and toss the phone onto the floor.
Ellis's office smells like ginger tea and those cinnamon pinecones you only find in craft stores around Christmas. She folds her hands in her lap and waits for me to speak.
"I feel like I'm doing everything right," I say eventually.
"And?"
"And none of it's making a difference."
She nods, slowly. "Sometimes the actions come first. The feelings follow later."
"What if they don't?"
She leans forward slightly. "Then maybe the point isn't to feel different. Maybe it's to live better, even when it hurts."
I want to believe her.
I want to believe the work matters, that it's building toward something. But I keep waiting for the moment where I wake up and feel whole, and it hasn't come.
We talk for another twenty minutes. I give her just enough. Like always. When I leave, she tells me I'm doing well.
I say thank you.
That night I lie awake on bed .
I stare at the ceiling and try to imagine what ethan sees when he looks at me.
Try to imagine being the version of myself that's enough.
I slide out of bed around 1a.m.
Pull on my hoodie.
Creep downstairs.
The night is quiet.
The kitchen clock ticks too loud.
I open the drawer in the hallway.
My old wallet's still in there, hidden beneath the stack of broken chargers and coupons for places that don't exist anymore.
There's a number on a card inside. A name I haven't said in months.
I dial.
One ring. Two.
Then a voice.
"You back already?"
"I need—" I choke on the word, rub my eyes. "I don't know. Nothing strong. Just... something to sleep."
YOU ARE READING
Submerge
Teen FictionMason was once a rising star, a record-breaking swimmer with college scouts watching and medals around his neck. But after tragedy cracks his family apart, the boy who once felt at home in the water now flinches at its touch. Haunted by memories he...
F R A C T U R E
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