four
I'm pretty sure the entire community is at the community pool. I recognize almost everyone from the high school, along with a few of the people that I've noticed scattered around "downtown." Even Charlie is here. After hearing about my new instructor, he decided he wanted to join in as well.
So I'm in a bikini with Edward Cullen and my dad. Cool.
"This is good exercise, you know," Charlie says as we wade deeper into the just a touch too warm water. His wet chest hair makes me feel as though I'm talking to an unnaturally intelligent ape.
"Right."
"At my age, it's important to keep this stuff up, Bells. I know with you youngins don't care so much."
"Youngins?" This is Washington, not South Carolina.
"Like oh, just eatin' that candy bar and sitting and watchin' the music videos on MTV won't catch up to you in the end."
"MTV?" It doesn't even play music videos anymore.
"Well, I'll tell ya, it does."
"Okay."
I dunk my head under the water and hold my breath, clenching my eyes shut. Longer, longer, longer. I hold it until my chest aches. I hold it until my heart pounds. I hold it until the water roars like rapids in my ears.
And I surface right into the personal space of Edward.
"Hello," he says, and I don't look at his body because Angela and my dad and there have to be other reasons besides those two, right?
He swallows.
So do I.
"I hope you don't mind that I tagged along, Edward. I've really been lookin' for some exercise."
"No problem, Chief," he says amiably. Oh, now he's amiable.
"I know how to swim though, of course. Though I can't say the same for Bella, here." Charlie puffs up his chest and stands next to Edward as though they are somehow on an equal playing field.
"I can swim," I defend myself. "Just not very well. But, I mean, if I were dropped in the middle of the ocean I wouldn't just die."
"I would probably die," Edward smirks. I blink at him. How do you respond to that?
You don't.
Edward makes us swim laps until I've been thoroughly poisoned with chlorine. I've coughed up at the very least two glasses full of water over the course of the afternoon, and it isn't long before I notice some chuckling stares.
"Aren't you a bit old for swim lessons?" A girl in a bikini two sizes too small for her boobs and butt calls from the side of the pool. She is surrounded on either side by boys wishing desperately for abs. They curl over and flex for no reason, but with only one year of fresh puberty they are all skin and bones.
"Aren't you a bit big for that bathing suit?" I ask sweetly. The boy on her left lets out a loud guffaw, but one biting stare from her silences him.
"Whatever."
"Cool."
I duck back under the water.
Hold, hold, hold. Burn, burn, burn. I like the feeling of it in my lungs. Of my heart pounding right out of my chest. Of my body deprived, dying for oxygen. Begging. Pleading. I am in control now. I control my fate now. Come up, live. Stay down, drown.
I open my eyes under water. Hazy legs and arms float across my vision, diving and kicking and treading water. It's a misty world down here. It's muted and soft and veiled. Detached.
I surface into the real world, heaving air into my lungs. Up here, nothing has changed. Charlie continues to swim slow laps. The water polo team in the corner passes their ball.
And Edward, from the far side of the pool, stares at me.
I catch his eye, and it's gone.
My fingers are starting to prune. I feel swollen. Slowly, I doggy paddle my way to the edge of the pool and pull myself out of the water. The air outside is somehow exactly the same temperature as the pool, and just as thick.
I need out.
In the locker room, I throw my clothes on over my wet bathing suit and sling my purse over my shoulder. Charlie is still swimming laps, and given the fact that he gave me a ride over here, I have nothing to do but wait.
Outside, it mists. The trees are hazy outlines in the distance, the people across the street mere specters in a ghostly world.
It as though I am underwater again.
I dig into my purse and pull out my pack of not-so-emergency cigarettes. The number of them left in the pack is dwindling, for what is there to do in buttfuck nowhere Washington but get rained on and smoke? I purse the cigarette between my lips and search for my lighter, which, naturally, is nowhere to be found.
"Seriously?" I ask the air, dumping out the meager contents of my purse onto the damp street before me.
Nothing but my wallet, two tampons, and a set of house keys that opens a forgotten door in Arizona state.
"Looking for something?" asks a voice over my shoulder. A lighter dangles into my vision, pale blue as the sky and burning fire. Edward lights the tip of my cigarette as I inhale.
"Thanks, Edward."
He nods.
"Or is it Mr. Cullen?" I ask.
"Edward."
After a moment's hesitation he sits beside me on the curb.
"Do you have an extra?" he asks. "Angela threw out my last pack."
"They're menthols," I say apologetically.
"I'll take what I can get at this point."
We smoke in silence until the butt of my cigarette glows red and hot.
Edward clears his throat and I feel like he's going to say something serious.
He doesn't.
"Why would you go out and buy menthols as a legitimate decision?" he asks with a small smile.
"Because I like menthols."
"There are people in this world that like menthols?"
"I never did before but my friend from Arizona basically hooked me on them." It's the first time I've spoken to anyone about anything that happened before Washington. It feels strange, like two worlds colliding into one misshapen whole of hot sun and icy rain.
"What was your friend like?" he asks.
And I almost don't tell him.
But then I do.
the most normal relationship ive ever had was with a 29-year-old married man when i was 16. true story.
