9 - Sinking

My hands were shaking as I gripped the edge of the pool deck. I looked down at the water, the deep blue of the competition pool looking more like an abyss than a place of sport.

It was Tuesday, which meant underwater sets. We had to swim laps beneath the surface, pushing our lung capacity to the absolute limit while maintaining a steady kick.

For most of the team, it was a grueling exercise in discipline. For me, it was a confrontation with a ghost.

I pushed my glasses up the bridge of my nose with one finger and checked my logbook.

I had written the set in my specific blue pen, the ink dark and precise against the white paper. I needed to hit these numbers. I needed to prove that I wasn't just a distance swimmer who could cruise through the shallows. I wanted to prove that I had conquered the flinch.

"You look like you're about to vomit, Hayes," Sean's voice boomed behind me. He was already in his gear, leaning against a starting block with a smug grin. "Are you sure you're up for this? Maybe you should go sit in the library and read a poem about sadness."

I didn't look at him. I focused on the black line at the bottom of the pool. "I'm fine, Sean."

"He's not fine," Callum's voice cut in. He stepped up beside me, his presence immediate and overwhelming. He was already damp, having done a few warm up laps. He chewed the inside of his cheek, his blue eyes scanning my face with that same invasive hunger I had felt in the locker room. "He's terrified. Look at him. He's folding himself into a little ball again."

I stiffened and straightened my posture, though I felt my shoulders instinctively wanting to hunch. "I said I'm fine."

Callum cracked his knuckles one by one. He leaned closer, his voice dropping to that quiet, private register that always felt like a secret. "Don't push it, Leo. The water doesn't care how much you want to be brave. It just takes what it wants."

I felt a surge of anger and desperation. I wanted him to stop seeing me as a victim. I wanted him to stop knowing exactly where my cracks were. "Watch me" I snapped.

Coach Miller blew his whistle. "Alright, everyone! Underwater sets! Twenty five meters, three reps, thirty seconds rest. If you surface early, you start over. Go!"

I dove in.

The transition from air to water was a shock that usually grounded me, but today, the water felt heavier. I kicked hard, my body streamlining as I glided forward. The silence of the underwater world wrapped around me, muffling the shouts and whistles from the deck. I focused on the black line, counting my strokes in my head. One, two, three.

The first rep was easy. I hit the wall and surfaced, gasping for air. I looked over and saw Callum watching me from the next lane. He didn't say anything, but his gaze was intense, tracking every movement of my chest as I breathed.

The second rep was harder. My lungs began to burn halfway through, a dull ache that reminded me of my limitations. I pushed through it, my muscles screaming, and touched the wall just in time. As I surfaced, I caught Sean laughing with another swimmer, pointing in my direction.

"Look at him gasp," Sean mocked. "He looks like a fish out of water."

I ignored him and looked at my logbook on the deck. I had one more rep. This was the one that mattered. This was where I would prove that I was in control.

I dove back in for the third set.

For the first ten meters, I felt powerful. I was moving faster than I ever had, my kick rhythmic and strong. I felt the water sliding over my skin, and for a moment, I believed I had won. I believed that the trauma of my fifteen year old self was finally gone.

Then, it happened.

I reached the midpoint of the pool, and suddenly, the light from the surface seemed to dim.

The blue of the water shifted, turning into a dark, suffocating gray.

My chest locked. It wasn't a gradual onset of panic; it was a violent, physiological shutdown. The flinch hit me with the force of a physical blow, slamming into my ribs and stealing the air from my lungs.

I tried to kick, but my legs felt heavy, like they were made of lead. My arms stopped moving. I was frozen in the middle of the lane, suspended in a void that felt infinitely deep.

The memory rushed back with terrifying clarity. I was sixteen again. I could feel the cold water closing over my head in the Reid family pool. I could feel the silence of the deep, the way the surface had become a shimmering mirror that I couldn't break through. I remembered the feeling of my lungs screaming for oxygen, the burning sensation in my throat, and the crushing realization that no one was coming for me.

I began to sink.

I was sinking.