Ethereal Love (Book 2 LS Series)

Chapter 56

A/N: Hello Symbolizers!

This book... *sighs* will come to an end very soon, there should not be more than about ten more chapters, if that. I hope you enjoy the series, and continue on to the third (and final) book- the name of which will be released soon.

Thanks so much for reading! You guys mean everything to me :) Enjoy the chapter!

Skipper's POV

I was a loner before I met Michael. Somewhat of a loner, I guess- I had Moonsie, accompanied by my childhood friend Patricia Stewart. General Hospital always came first to me, and I blew her off many a time to examine the unrealistic characters, but Patricia never minded. We were five years old when we met. After a few absentminded play dates, I decided I'd like this oddly talkative girl.

When summer reached Minneapolis, we would walk down the city streets in the sweltering heat- she would skip, and I would avoid eye contact with her- until we reached he sandy shores of Lake Minnetonka. The air was sticky, hot, and crawling with insects, but the cool water was our relief from the stifling oven-like heat.

We swam in our little bathing suits. Mine was purple (I was still perplexed and unaware of my father's permanent departure), and hers was pink.

The only reason I'm even vaguely pondering something that isn't Michael, is the familiar feeling of the way we used to play. We ducked our heads beneath the murky dark water, and screamed our hearts out, attempting to communicate high-pitched and childish messages to each other.

The pressure the water created on my head was unbearable, as if my brain would pop like a balloon. The cold water filled my mouth and every part of me, tasting bitter and gritty. I couldn't escape its icy grip, until my lungs were bursting from lack of oxygen. The most pleasant feeling occurred when I broke the surface of my watery cage, gulping the sweet air like I hadn't drawn a breath in eons. I would recover quickly, giggling like an idiot, before returning to the depths of the lake again.

I could just barely hear Patricia screaming beside me, knocking at the edges of my senses.

This is what I feel now. This is what Michael must feel now, swimming beneath the pressure of the waves, waves made up of pain and injury, solitude. He is doomed to float there as of now, his lungs burning and bursting, yearning for air- or for me. He doesn't get to break the surface of the lake, and gulp in air as I had every fateful summer. He can only wait, and his internal screams are inaudible to the world.

My lungs are bursting as well, but they desire a different form of recovery- Michael. He cannot hear me. My screams are again silent, and the icy, murky, and gritty waters of life without Michael taste like eternal misery. It seems as if I will never be rewarded with a breath of him, that I will forever be alone in the lake of agony.

My sounds of silence aren't the only ones in this cruel world. I am not the only sufferer.

Daddy seems to be in the same situation. He sits beside Michael's hospital bed that we inhabit together, tears streaming down his sharp cheeks. "Skipper," He would sob. His voice sounded like he too was underwater, muffled, never penetrating my shell of ineptness to the outside world. Unfortunately, I have no intention of providing him with a breath of my attention.

He eventually retreats, only to come back a few hours later. Or maybe days, I have removed myself from the concept of time.

This tediously dangerous game of ours came back to bite us: Patricia nearly drowned one night, when we were twelve. She moved away soon after, to a place with less... water.

I didn't cry, or portray any emotion. I simply told her goodbye. I just never replaced her.

Michael's beating heart is her scream, the sound knocking at the edges of my senses. Just barely there... just enough to keep me from drowning. Lulling me into a restless black sleep.