LOVEME

1. Drowning

I kick my feet faster and stretch my arms upwards to no avail. The aggressive current not only pushes me sideways, but downwards, until I'm nowhere near the surface.

I need to get out of here! I can feel my legs aching from me kicking them constantly, but I force myself to ignore it. I'll feel more than just fatigue if I don't get air soon.

The water stings my eyes as I blink, staring up at my destination. I can picture myself in the ocean: a girl desperately trying to escape the water as her movements slow and her red eyes brim with tears that mix with the water.

For a moment, I stop flailing around. I allow my arms and legs to relax as I am pushed around by the tides. I begin breathing out, accepting my fate. After all, I chose to jump in here. I chose to end my life. I chose to quit living because of him. Because of him . . .

I close my eyes, wishing the tears would roll down my cheeks rather than join the ocean, as I see his face again.

We had first met in the water, after all. I was drowning, like now, and he had jumped in immediately to rescue me. However, unlike that time four years ago, I voluntarily chose to jump in the water today. No one here is around to rescue me. No one is around to save me, as it is four in the morning, and people have just fallen asleep from celebrating the new year.

Perhaps it's for the best. I had jumped to end my life, after all. I breathe in deeply, allowing the water to pass through my nose and into my lungs. I open my mouth and unwillingly gulp down sea water. The feeling burns every part of my body, but I feel nothing as I relive all my memories with him.

Us walking down the beach together. Him teaching me how to swim. Me teaching him how to ice-skate. Me planning our future together because I had been stupid enough to believe we would spend forever together.

I feel myself losing conscious when I suddenly feel arms wrap around me. The water is frigid to the point where I can no longer feel the temperature, but the arms around me feel so warm and familiar.

I force my eyes open as I am slowly pushed upwards by a guy. He has sandy brown hair and blue eyes. I can't see it from here, but there's also a faint scar above his right eyebrow from when he accidentally stapled himself when he was seven.

My head rises above the water and I gasp for breath. The cold air cuts into my skin as I helplessly grab onto him for support. Water chokes out of me as I cough painfully. My white dress and sweater, both of which are a size too big, stick close to my skin. If I hadn't cut my hair before, that would probably be stuck to neck and the sides of my face as well.

With one arm around me and another arm pushing us against the current, he leads us back to the shore, the same way he did four years ago. The only difference is the weather right now; when it first happened, it was during the summer in the afternoon, when the hot sun beat down on us both. Now, though, it's January first before twilight, so the icy water, sharp winds, and lack of sun don't help us out at all.

He throws me onto the beach first before heading to the sand himself. He is on all fours on it, some of it already sticking to his bare hands, breathing heavily as the wind blows his wet hair. The black scarf I knitted for him on the first New Year's we spent together sticks to him like a second skin. I feel disgusted at myself for having spent so much time knitting it.

Once I find myself breathing normally, all the sea water out of my body, I stand up shakily, sand stuck all over my bare arms and legs. I fall instantly, but I scramble back up when I see him look up at me with pitying eyes.

"Wait, please!"

I do an about-face, pretending I can't hear his shout and trudge back to shore. My shoes disappeared while I was in the water so my feet hurt with every step, but I'd rather end up with cuts all over me than stay any longer with him. Hopefully, his egotistical brain will understand that I have no interest in what he has to say.

Unfortunately, I hear the squeaking of wet shoes slapping against the soft sand. Even more unfortunately, he grabs my elbow and turns me around to face him before I can run away.

He starts saying something but I zone him out. For someone who has no muscle, he has a pretty strong grip, so I take in the nice view of the sun seeming to rise from the very water I almost died in. The sun shines brightly as it ascends, illuminating the entire beach. Soon, the light overtakes my vision. The last thing I remember is white, and him saying, "--wasn't a bet. I love you."

***

He glances at the front page of the newspaper, tracing the headline with his right thumb as he reads the first few lines.

GIRL FOUND DEAD ON BEACH

Approximately, five hours ago, a few citizens discovered the body of a young girl lying on the beach. She has on a white dress, gray sweater, and no shoes. Her body has not yet been identified, but her hair was brown in a pixie-style haircut and is approximately five foot five. Forensics believes she died from drowning and hypothermia at 4:16 am, though the reason behind her being there is also unknown. Officials assume suicide . . .

He drops the newspaper onto the table, not wanting to read anymore, and leaves the kitchen. He wraps her scarf around his neck before heading out of the house.

It's twelve in the afternoon on January first, which means everyone is still in bed, either from fatigue or a ridiculous hangover. Only he is in the streets. Only he knows what she did.

He begins walking. He doesn't know where he's going, but he'll end up somewhere. The strong wind blows the bangs of his sandy brown hair away, exposing a small scar above his right eyebrow, and he wraps his scarf tighter around his neck. She had given it to him the first time they celebrated New Year's together. It's currently January first, the start of a new year. It is only yesterday he told her he had first asked her out because he lost a bet. It is only yesterday she slapped him before running away, leaving him confused. It is only yesterday he almost ran after her and said that, despite it being a bet, he ended up falling for her. . . .

Without realizing, there are tears rolling down his cheeks. He wipes them away quickly and sniffs as he wonders what she was thinking before she died.

Had she died thinking of him? Had she chosen to drown because that was how they first met? Had his name been the last word she thought? Did she hope she had heard incorrectly? If he had still gone to the beach, where he had known she would be, could he have saved her?

He shakes his head, trying to get the ridiculous thoughts out of his head. He doesn't care about her; he never did. All those times he said "I love to you" were a set-up, a lie. He finds himself staring at the beach, lines of police tape forbidding entrance, as he vows not to think or care about her ever again. 

Yet, when he spots her covered body, he turns around and runs away, gripping his scarf tightly in front of him so no one can see his tears.

~~~~

My entry for the writing competition hosted by LiviieMarie