I struggle to sift the brush through the hedges of my hair, while she stays put in the wrinkled sheets, applying gloss with an undeterred concentration. It's not only the way she tugged at my hair that I regret, but now that I think, also the aftertaste of overripe tangerines lingering on my tongue.

"Are you sure you can't come with me?" She asks, pouting.

"Sorry, babe, but you know how I help my mom with charity work on Thursdays. I can't turn her down."

She still looks upset, but it might just as well be her hypersensitivity which came alive in the very prompt detest when she had to peel off her thighs off my car on our way here. "That is so sweet, George. What's the cause of this charity?"

"Umm... It's for homeless children," I should be putting a better effort to dodge, or one of these days I'll get more than pointed crazy eyes fired at me.

"Do you guys teach architecture basics to those poor angels, so they can build a home for themselves?" Her eyes glimmer beneath the origami lantern, resembling my five year old cousin's when she questions us about the ways of life.

"Sure. In fact, we are getting a new stock of bricks and plaster at the center today."

"Aww... look at you, all enthusiastic about it," she throws a cheesy grin, not poles apart from the one she had in bed. Meanwhile, I just look at her sympathetically, wondering what goes on in that little head of hers. Just as I begin to judge my choices in regards to these explorations, she gets up from the bed and flips her cascading hair to zip up the lace dress on her bare back— all the doubts shunning themselves in a matter of seconds.

"Should I help you with it?" I ask, not able to to tear my eyes away.

Before I can hear an approval, she pulls up the zip in a single motion and turns around to face me with a rather wry look. "I am not that dumb, babe. See, I can only do so much charity, but you also need to earn some things for yourself." She throws me a flying kiss and leaves the room— the straps of her transparent heeled pumps hanging by her skeletal fingers, seeming more of a metaphor to me.

"Huh, cute and edgy. Someone hit a jackpot today." I pull open my closet, grabbing hold of the same witch's potion resembling cologne sitting in a corner to dab some down my neck. It's invading scent reminds me of the night I have clipped under the category of sweet tragedies.

As I make a mental list of the sheets I now have to drag away to laundry, the sight of my mom holding a bunch of sapling pots in her hands becomes visible through the window panes of the front door. I rush over to help her place them the coffee table, while she brings in the rest of the equipment inside. Her eyes instantaneously light up, looking at the mini garden she has created in our Scandinavian living room. "Don't they look so beautiful already? See, those two are going to grow roses, and the one on the far left will have daffodils. I remember how you used to be so fascinated by them as a kid. You would spent hours roaming in the fields, picking out your favourite ones and calling them your golden wonders," she laughs at the memory, but there's a glossiness in her caramel brown eyes.

"Yeah, and now this is going to haunt me throughout the day," I press my head, but fail to hide the grin stretching across my lips.

"Don't act smart with me, and get your ass to help me plant these in the balcony tomorrow," she orders, recognising my true expressions.

"Geez, get Dad to do it. It can be your little thing to spend quality time with each other," I say it as genuinely as possible whilst taking quick steps towards the door.

"You don't need to worry about that," her faint yelling follows me to the the foyer and I can't help but chuckle at it. The moment I step out on the brick laid sidewalk, a burning streak of light hits my face, reminding me to put on my shades before stepping in the scorching heat next time.

***

Car parked outside, facing the soccer field nets, I pull the duffel bag out of the back seat and over my shoulder, heading for the gates.

The corridors seem huge without a bustle, a part of it intimidating and rest providing a sense of solace. An involuntary chuckle leaves my mouth as I reminisce about this guy, now popular for peeing his pants in his locker after the boys busted him in there with nothing but a crate of beer bottles. Thought he knew too much about lacrosse and life, but unfortunately, very little about liquor and it's aftermath on your bladder.

My destination treads close as I enter the pool area behind the haunted gymnasium– the paranormal presence claimed by the cleaning lady working in the Uni. It's solitude is intact as expected, and the only sound to be heard is of the ripples forming in the deep sparkling water, tugging at my slight nervousness that's a part of the package.

At least thrice a week of duly marked attendance in here is vital to keep my sanity in place apart from other recreations, and while coach has been practically begging me to try out for the team this year, I have had to decline his proposal multiple times. I won't deny that it sounds tempting; to feel the same rush I experience on the lacrosse field, out here filling in my daily dose of dopamine. But that's also the very reason why I want to keep it out of the black and white of my life.

You never know when the occasional ego bloat becomes an addiction, right?

I toss the duffel bag onto a bench, pulling my striped shirt over my head and walking over to the neon tape bordering the pool. As superstitious as it sounds, I always repeat this mantra in my head before taking a dive. It's pure hokum in all probability that my mother fed me back when I didn't have the balls to go in deep waters, and I know it doesn't really hold any power to it... but I have come to make it a stubborn habit after all these years.

Almost ready, I begin to stretch my arms out to get in the desired position, when a push sends me face first into the chlorinated water. My hitched breath never gets a window to release. Crippling panic strikes me wholly, my eye lids threatening to flutter close. No, no. On the edge of the chokehold, I pull myself above, my arms flinging as I push strands of wet hair out of my eyes, looking for the culprit. A blurred figure appears in front of me, gradually becoming clearer.

"Rachel?"

"You're welcome. Seemed like your flappy arms were going to take the whole afternoon." She just rolls her eyes all the way to the aqua ceiling and goes back to the bench.

"What the fuck?" Delusional, yet feeling as though my chest has lost space to expand, I glare at her. She meets it with a gaze just as sharp until something flashes across.

"I thought you... I was just messing with you, sorry," her stupor changes so fast, regret genuine in the slight gape of her full lips and cerise tinted cheeks.

I haven't seen her around as much since our little rendezvous at the lacrosse game, but I'd be lying if I said, she never crossed my mind in these past few weeks. I mean, sass always does it for me, but there's something different about Rachel Stinson's entire being. I don't know if I am any good at guessing people, but it would be an understatement to say that she's the poster girl for 'handle with care and caution.' 

Although, she's not the only one with a manual in tow. Broke off my polo shirt's buttons, I didn't care, but no one gets away with messing around my safe haven. She might have believed she's got me figured and wrapped, but if my hook ups really knew me, I'd be more screwed than all my fellow certified varsity jerks combined. "I love how you're cute with this stuff, but seriously, don't do that the next time," I warn her, paddling away into what seems like the oblivion from my end. It's true because the world's left far behind when I am in a sprint against my own self, and it's only the whiplash splashes that account for any semblance of an obstacle in the process.

No, it's not always been the case, and there was a time, seeming light years ago, when I found utmost joy in floating around in a ducky tube with a juice box on my side. The routine never did look for change until my Dad encouraged us to these small races, naturally emerging victorious every time. Took me some time to realise how he'd been silently sowing this need in me to look at everything with two involved, as a competition. He'd of course meant it as a shitty metaphor for me to correlate to the cut throat business world, but my fondness with ESPN and the blonde cheerleader on one of those playboy issues, got me thinking in a different direction.

Speaking of blonde cheerleaders, I somehow manage to barely acknowledge Rachel, slapping away at the keys of her flip phone until she tiptoes over to the pool and dips her bowling pin calves in the shallow end. Curiosity begins to grip every fibre in my being, and I gladly give in to it. "What are you doing here?" I ask, arms resting on the edge.

"Just taking in some calm, Bailey," she responds, her gaze fixated at the sliding windows through which afternoon sunlight pours in, hitting at all the curves and bends of her hourglass body.

"So, in simple words, too afraid to swim?" I smirk, watching her eyebrows rise in an immediate response. I've observed her do this every time someone pushes her buttons.

"Just do your thing," she scoffs and goes back to staring into emptiness, except her face is a little huffed now.

"Oh, come on. I meant I could teach you. Believe me, you are lucky to even receive this offer," I wink, all set for another dive. Purposely taking a jump beside her sunbathed body, I let the water splash all over the navy blue tiles in a rather messy fashion. Just as she would have described.

"Oh, my God!" She rips herself off the floor and I simply observe her in sheer amusement.

"That's how revenge tastes, Stinson." My laughter fills the gaps between her groans just perfectly. She stomps her dripping feet all the way over to the bench. Shooting daggers in my direction, she begins to pick on the straps of her play suit's belt, letting both— its hold and my jaw, drop open at the same time. I shamelessly gawk at her sculpted body whilst the beige fabric slips down to the bench. Both of us recognise my sharp intake of breath as she walks towards the pool in a turquoise bikini.

Her skedaddling self suddenly come to a halt as she stands by the edge, almost stepping back. Green eyes flickering to the depths of the water, her feet scramble, contemplating on whether or not to go through with it. I swim over to where she's standing, which she takes a little too much time to comprehend while sorting through the dilemma. "It's okay, this is not the pool of death," I lightly chuckle, but her expressions are stoic.

She intently scans the stillness of the blues surrounding us, her face turning pale with passing time. I step out onto the cold hard tiles and align myself with her, but she doesn't seem to notice it. "Let's do it together," I suggest, making her head jerk in my direction and her mouth fumbling for words.

"N-no, it's fine," she murmurs, shifting the weight of her feet from one to another.

I can't help the sigh that follows. "This is a 15 feet 30 inches pool with an average depth of five feet. Now your height seems to be around 5'4, so there's really just a meagre two percent chance of you drowning in there, unless you decide to check on the chlorine levels underwater." She looks at me warily, but seems to be considering. "Plus, it would be nothing less of a crime if I let someone as beautiful as you die," I add in there, earning a tight lipped smile.

"So, you ready to jump," I offer my hand again, and she grasps it this time— a wave of doubt still visible on her face.

"You'll be fine," I whisper, and she nods, while much to her lack of knowledge, her face flushes to a deep shade of red. Never been so fascinated by all shades of danger before. "Alright, one, two..." I pull her along whilst my fingers crumble down to mush as she clutches on to them like Archie, with the handles of his bike. Luckily, she lets go by the time we're floating in the water; leaving my masculinity to silently wince in pain.

"Didn't anyone tell you that the count is supposed to be till three? There's a reason for it, not that one person did it, and the whole world just followed him. Except if it were like that, you would be a fucking exception!"

She continues panicking with absolutely no pauses in between, until I grab her arms, barely inches away from her scrunched nose. "Calm down, Stinson," my voice comes out higher than I intended for it to be.

She purses her lips and briefly licks them before gulping. "Why do you swim?"

What? I try to decipher her expressions to understand what is rummaging through that mind, but it is oddly unreadable. "I don't know, just to relax for a while."

She nods ever so slightly and parts her lips to say something, but they quiver. "I swim to drown myself."

"Huh?" My mind, in a state utter confusion and shock, fails to produce anything else. She was so afraid of stepping in the water a mere few minutes ago, that I had to convince her how she would be safe alright. And now this.

The simple thought of what it means makes me want to not delve into it.

She shuts her eyes and continues, "whenever I'm at the beach and take a swim in the sea, I cannot help but look down at its abstruse depth... and I try to go explore the deep waters. It's all well until I am not able to rise back up to the brim. Something stops me from wanting to be able to breathe again."

I freeze. Or so the numbness of my body dictates as she lays down her confession. Her icy green eyes well up, a contrasting red hue spouting around the iris. I pull her closer and snake my arm around her back, holding her steady. "Why?" I whisper, feeling her spine shiver against my fingers.

"I don't know why. I've been seeing someone about it, but it's still scary." She speaks so slowly, as if admitting it all to herself.

I stay like that, feeling her cold breaths fan my face, which seem more and more forced with each passing second. A look at her sombre eyes and I carefully shift her to my left, so she is right beside me. "I won't let anything happen" I affirm, ironically with a shaky whisper, but neither of us doubts it.

She stays still, me still nerved, until her back slips away from my cautioned hold, away to the farther end to align herself with me. The look on her face is so unfamiliar when compared to her otherwise audacious personality, and it appears she is brooding over something. Before I can ask her about it, her lips ravage mine, silencing every thought occupying my mind. The same rush of
passes through me— as I said, a feeling I've only known out there, electrify me when I see the ball punch into the net, ripping through it almost.

This is sudden, but no where near unsuspected with our tongues following each other's like lost travellers with an unexplainable familiarity. I barely even get a hang of the saltwater like taste lingering on her mouth, the euphoria deepening when with no warning she pulls us underwater,. Every sensation in my body is thrown for a toss, as if I have been cut off of life. I begin to detest this feeling until her hands trace my arms, gliding up to my jaw and resting at the nape of my neck.

The pool once again begins to seem like a world of its own, defying the significance of the rest, but not so lonely this time. A world where we are the only specimens of existence, and the marvellous fact being that we aren't intertwined with each other, or unable to comprehend the confinement of our bodies, but acknowledging each other's presence with an indefinite thoroughness.

I inadvertently pull at her descending blonde hair, and she lets out an entrancing sound that echoes in my ears, breaking the feigned silence around us. The rising intensity of our tongues exploring each other is scaled down by the tranquility of the environment surrounding our hazed selves.

When our lips part away, as unwilling as it is, I pull her above to catch a breath. The usual relief of breathing in open air becomes a little less, when you know the wonders, gasping for breath does to you.

I'm somewhat bittersweet about our broken embrace, but Rachel's expressions seem to be on the other side of the horizon. Her eyes have a serenity I never witnessed before, and a victorious smile is tugging at her lips. The looks hinting at fear and hesitation are now replaced with a warm likeness, and it's perfect. The only fault, however, in this otherwise beautiful transformation, is that I don't know if the feelings are in connection with her earlier confession, or maybe an acknowledgement of what just happened between us?

Actually, I'd rather prefer remaining blindsided. "Not so afraid anymore?" I'm aware I'm grinning, doing little to mask the surprise beneath the hush of my tone.

Her smile grows further as she begins to say something, but a creasing frown on her forehead overtakes her words. "Gosh, look at that!" She squeaks, pointing to one of the corners on the left.

I turn in the direction of her eyes to find a dried leaf floating in the corner, minding its own business. The curiosity is evident on my features. "That one leaf is perfectly capable of contaminating the whole pool. Now I don't know about you, but I am not walking around with rashes on my face until spring season," She swims back to the edge, rather rushes, and walks out with a suspicious ease.

I chuckle as the reality of the situation seeps back in. "You're right, who knows what kind of stuff is floating in here."

She just rolls her eyes in response and saunters away after making sure her clothes are perfectly in place. I watch her tie the belt of her playsuit in three different ways, until she apparently finds the right one.

Post another few laps and a reminiscence to the still raised hairs on my back, I get out, picking up the towel sitting on the bench. All the while feeling like someone is watching. Wait. The sound of footsteps approaching confirms to my doubts. "Back so early?" I question, assuming it's Rachel, in those clacking leather boots of hers.

Before I can turn around, a hand aggressively grabs ahold of my neck, smacking my head against the metal bars on the edge of the pool. The lightheaded feeling disrupts my stance, and I am quick to surrender to the limp of my knees, dropping back in the water. Excruciating pain travels past my head, while the ripples of water mask themselves as waves.

Black and white. It's all that I see and recognise for a long while. The water, suddenly icy to the depths, relieves my tormenting pain, but the effect's near negligible. I vigorously rub my eyes to try and look through the distorted image in front of me, failing to see anyone. Just my towel on the floor and blood on the shiny bars and the neon taping. "Who the hell was that?"

I'm more than just furious, with half a mind to shove whoever dared this, in the trunk of my Challenger, while I glide it down the state highway and back. It's pure rage until I take a look back at the Carmine water surrounding me. A metallic odour marks its presence in the tight air; the pool beginning to appear like a crime scene, and I, an unfortunate element of it. Another wave of hysteria is brought over as I stretch my arms out on the floor, in an attempt to scramble my way out of near future nightmares and horrors. I put on my clothes on in a frenzy before grabbing onto my duffel bag and escaping the scene altogether.

All the while that I race through the halls of the University, my breathing rapid and collars of my shirt taunting bloody— a warning flashes across my mind in bold letters; NEVER DARE TO GO IN THERE AGAIN.