I lay in the dark, listening to the rain outside and watching the shadows dance across my ceiling. The past two months had both flown by and dragged on, with each day bleeding into the next in an endless sludge of numbness. Yet I woke up every morning, surprised I’d survived another day. Between Michael’s and Alex’s betrayals, I had depleted my capacity to cry.
I hadn’t shed a single tear since I returned from Philadelphia.
My phone pinged with a new email notification on the nightstand. I ignored it. It was probably a stupid ten percent off coupon for something I didn’t need.
Then again, it wasn’t like I could sleep, and the sound lingered in the silence.
I sighed and grabbed my cell, opening the new email with all the enthusiasm of a prisoner on their way to Death Row. It was the orientation package for the WYP fellowship, complete with a calendar of classes and activities for the year, a list of housing suggestions, and a mini travel guide to New York City.
I was graduating and moving to Manhattan in May. It’d been my dream since I was thirteen, but I couldn’t summon a flicker of excitement at the prospect. New York was too close to D.C. for comfort, and to be honest, I hadn’t picked up my camera in weeks. I even canceled my engagement shoot with Elliott and his fiancée because I didn’t think I could do them justice. He’d been disappointed, but I’d steered them toward another photographer who could help. My clients deserved better than what I could give them because at this point, I had zero inspiration or motivation to shoot.
I was entering the world’s most prestigious fellowship in two-and-a-half months, and my creative well was drier than the Kalahari Desert. One more beautiful thing in my life, ruined.
Out of nowhere, fury blasted through me, shocking me out of my stupor.
This should’ve been the best, most exciting time of my life. It was my senior year, and my dream program had accepted me. Instead of celebrating, I was moping like a…well, a heartbroken teenager. And even though that was half correct, I was sick of it. Sick of letting men who didn’t give two shits about me have this hold over me. Sick of being the object of pitying looks and worried whispers.
Maybe I was that person in the past, but not anymore.
Anger and indignation rushed through my veins, compelling me to get out of bed and rifle through my drawers until I found what I was looking for. I put it on, covered it up with a hoodie and jeans, and shoved my feet into boots. I walked down the stairs and found my friends huddled in the living room. Rhys stood in the corner, stone-faced and watchful.
“Do you want a ride somewhere?” Bridget asked when she saw my outfit. “It’s pouring outside.”
“No, I have an umbrella.”
“Where are you going?” Stella asked. “I’ll go—”
“It’s okay. I have something I need to do—alone.”
A small frown took over her face. “I don’t think—”
“I mean it.” I took a deep breath. “I appreciate all you guys have done, I really do, but I need to do this for me. I won’t hurt myself or do anything crazy. I just need you to trust me.”
There was a long silence before Jules finally broke it. “Of course we trust you,” she said softly. “You’re our best friend.”
“But if you need us, we’re here.” Bridget’s warm, sympathetic gaze caused a messy knot of emotion to form in my throat. “You don’t have to do anything alone if you don’t want to.”
“Just send a text, call, carrier pigeon, whatever,” Stella added. “My Instagram inbox gets crazy sometimes, but that works too.”
I swallowed the lump in my throat and huffed out a small laugh. “Thank you. I’ll be back soon. Promise.”
I grabbed the umbrella by the front door, feeling the heat of my friends’ worried gazes on my back, and stepped out into the storm. My boots squeaked on the wet sidewalks as I walked toward a campus building I’d never visited in all my years at Thayer. One, because I was lazy, and two, because I was afraid…of a certain room, anyway.
I swiped my student ID at the front desk and consulted the map before winding my way to the back. It was a rainy Sunday in March, so there weren’t many people here. The New Year’s Resolution people, the ones who’d vowed to exercise more in the new year, had given up by now, and the gym rats were apparently taking the day off.
I pushed open the door to the pool room, breathing a sigh of relief when I saw that it too, was empty. It was a gorgeous space, with pale tile floors and a giant skylight over the pool.
I kicked off my boots and shrugged off my clothes until I had on only my swimsuit.
The smell of chlorine didn’t nauseate me as much as it used to. I’d gotten used to it after all my swim lessons with Al—after all my swim lessons. Still, my skin prickled with unease at the undulations in the pale turquoise water, which seemed to stretch forever in its Olympic-sized concrete container.
I hadn’t had a swim lesson in months. I thought I remembered the basics, but what if I didn’t?
My chest tightened, and it took more effort than it should’ve to draw enough oxygen into my lungs.
It was worse when Al—when I was alone. If I drowned, no one would find me until later. There’d be no one to save me.
But that was the point of this exercise, wasn’t it? To do this alone.
Breathe, Ava. You won’t drown. You know how to swim.
I opened my eyes and took a few shaky steps toward the edge of the pool. It seemed bottomless, even though the markers indicated it was eight feet deep at its deepest.
Before I lost my nerve, I stepped in, trying not to flinch at the sensation of cold water lapping at my ankles. My knees. My thighs. My chest. My shoulders.
Okay. This wasn’t so bad. I’d been in a pool dozens of times before. I could do this.
Not alone, a taunting voice in my head sang. What makes you think you can do this alone?
“Shut. Up,” I gritted out, my voice echoing in the empty space.
I held my breath and, after saying a quick prayer, ducked my head beneath the water. I fought the immediate urge to panic. You’re fine, you’re fine . I was still in the shallow end of the pool, and I could lift my head at any time.
I closed my eyes, the events of the past six months flashing through my mind.
Josh announcing he was leaving for Central America. Me getting stranded in a rainstorm in the middle of nowhere. Alex—there, I said his full name —picking me up. Alex moving in next door. Alex—
My head broke above the water, and I gasped for air. I allowed myself a minute break before I dove again.
Alex’s birthday. Our first kiss. Our weekend at the hotel. Thanksgiving. My father. My kidnapping.
Sweet, trusting Ava, so eager to fix broken things.
Was any of it real?
Again and again. Head in, head out. It was the first time I’d allowed myself to dwell on Alex and our time together since Philadelphia. Razor blades pierced my chest at the memory of his voice, his eyes, his touch…but I was still here. I was alive. And, for once, the water didn’t seem like an enemy. It seemed like a friend, swallowing my tears and cleansing me of the past.
I couldn’t change what happened to me or control what other people did, but I could control what I did. I could shape the future I wanted to have.