Disclaimer: I don't own the Reeds.
Hey guys! Thanks for reading Fear of Drowning. I'm please with the response to Part II- I was worried about how people might perceive Malcolm's 'episode' at the end of the chapter. That's how I remember it feeling to have a minor nervous breakdown, but I didn't know if I managed to say it without corniness/cheesiness- glad I seem to have. Of course I don't know when to stop so he has another one in here… ;)
Fear of Drowning
Part III
As it turned out, nothing had changed. Malcolm Reed stepped, tall and proud, onto the poolside… and froze completely. He locked his legs into autopilot and stumbled over to the team bench, sitting down hard and letting his chin drop to his fists.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his parents and Madeline approaching and made himself sit up straighter.
"Mally!" Madeline squealed, running over to him happily.
"Hi, Maddy," Malcolm replied dully, feeling a small sense of warmth at the sight of his sister's shining blue eyes. It didn't help much, though.
"Everything all right, son?" His father asked kindly. Anyone overhearing would have thought him merely a concerned parent; Malcolm knew better.
"Just trying to get myself ready for my first race," Malcolm assured him, grinning slightly to emphasize his lie. "Trying to concentrate, you know."
"Well, we'll leave you to get in the right state, then," Stuart said. "Come, Maddy, let's got get a good seat."
He walked off, trailed by Malcolm's sister and mother, who seemed in one of her silent moods again. "Make me proud, boy." The parting comment was tossed back over his shoulder.
Malcolm sat heavily back against the wall, closing his eyes and trying to look meditative. Stefan, clad only in his trunks, came and sat beside him. "Parents," he said, noncommittally.
"Parents," Malcolm echoed, his eyes still closed.
He felt Stefan sit back against the wall beside him, and sensed the older boy's eyes scanning him critically. "Alyssa was right," he commented at last. "You don't look well, mate. Will you be alright to swim tonight?"
"Yessir," Malcolm responded without thinking.
"Did you just call me 'sir'?" Stefan laughed, sitting up from the wall and looking over at his friend again.
Malcolm forced himself to open his eyes and laugh right along. "I suppose I did. Sorry- pre-race nerves, maybe." Which was partially true, at least.
"Listen," Stefan said kindly. "It's no big secret that you hate being in the water. I mean, you're a good enough swimmer, mate, but no one's expecting you to carry the team on your shoulders. If you mess this up, no one would think the less of you. I mean, you were just sick yesterday."
Stefan's eyes were sincere, the act of friendship honest. For a moment, Malcolm almost considered telling him the real reason he was scared. He even opened his mouth to being to do so.
Stefan, I don't hate being in the water… I'm terrified of it…
terrified"Stefan…"
"What?"
"Attention," came a booming voice from all the speakers. "The first race will begin in one minute. Swimmers, please take your positions!"
"What is it, Malcolm?" Stefan pressed as the both stood and moved through the crowd of bodies to their marks.
"It's nothing. Forget it," Malcolm assured him. But as they climbed on to their respective diving boards, the two representatives for their school in the first race, his legs felt limp and powerless. His hands were shaking, something he hid by curling them into fists.
"Swimmers, into position," the voice roared again. Malcolm, Stefan and the other few competitors bent their knees and folded their upper bodies down over their legs, arms extended. Someone in the crowd cheered; it sounded like his father.
"Three, two…"
Something went wrong. One ankle twisted out of position when his body gave a particularly violent tremble. The cheers of his father and the rest of the noise from the crowd distracted him; instead of righting himself, he half-jumped, half-fell of the board a second too soon.
He hit the water, face and chest first, arms splayed wildly, and sunk like a stone. The contact with the surface had forced all the air from his lungs, and now, as he fell through the water, his chest was already burning.
Dimly, filtered through the water, came shouting- some of it sounded scared, some of it was rooting on the other contestants, still oblivious as the what was occurring in lane two.
He could barely see; his eyes were partially lidded closed and what shapes he could make out were wavering under the watery light. The sight- more alien than anything had ever seemed before- terrified him even in his half-conscious state. He knew he hadn't been under more than five seconds, but already he felt his grip on the world failing, his senses fading.
A current of water hit his face; he gasped instinctively, his lungs filling with bitter tasting pool water. Now he was truly drowning- every nightmare he had had about this scenario suddenly coming true.
But as he tried to panic, he found it as useless as trying to breath. He hadn't the energy nor the will to be afraid anymore… he wondered, quite randomly, what time it was.
He was getting delirious. He knew it and barely cared. He had ceased to hurt, indeed, ceased to feel anything, and it was actually a quite pleasant sensation. Maybe, he thought, maybe I should just stay here. Stay here drowning forever… The thought amused him and he laughed.
Malcolm barely even felt the pair of hands pushing him from the water as another reached down and dragged him forcibly onto the hard, cold tile surrounding the pool.
The following minutes might have just as well never happened to him at all; Malcolm was unaware of them anyway. Stefan and Coach Maddon partially led, partially carried him into the locker room. A doctor, mother to one of the other team's racers, had followed them in and proceeded to examine him, trying to sooth him as he painfully coughed up all the water that he had mistakenly inhaled. She didn't leave his side for what felt like forever, stroking his hair in a motherly way until the choking and gagging had all but stopped.
Dimly, Malcolm felt his own mother's presence replace the doctor's; it felt colder to him, and he illogically wished that the stranger would return instead. Mary Reed made no move to comfort her son.
Alyssa had come down from the stands and into the locker area at some point; she and Stefan now sat, Madeline between them, at his feet. Coach Maddon had left by the time Malcolm felt himself growing less groggy; he groaned as he realized the meet was still in progress.
He made to sit up, and upon noticing, Stefan and Alyssa abandoned their hand game with Maddy and moved to help support him. His mother didn't help in any way. Almost angry, Malcolm looked over at her… only to see her hand covering her mouth, tears rolling down her cheeks.
Malcolm felt queasy-dizzy- again, all at once, and pressed his lips together, wondering if he would be sick. He was wide awake now, and he couldn't help thinking he'd rather just pass out again and go back into the blissful darkness. Things could not get any worse.
In the years to come, Malcolm would learn a very important lesson: things could, and would, always get worse.
Stuart Reed entered the locker room. He was under the best of circumstances a disagreeable man, but now he radiated fury. Malcolm tried not to recoil, knowing it would make the situation worse.
His father crossed to him in what seemed like a single step. He stood in front of Malcolm, eyes burning, his body tense and practically trembling. Malcolm tried to look him in the eyes, and failed miserably.
"Never…" Stuart panted. "Have I been… more ashamed of you… than I am now."
Stefan prodded Alyssa in the arm; reluctantly, she followed him out of the locker room. Madeline stayed still as a statue in her vantage point on the tile floor.
"That was one of the most… pathetic-"
"Stuart, would you stop it? Just- just stop it!" Malcolm's father looked over at his wife, more shocked at the moment than furious. Malcolm agreed with him this one time; his mother hadn't spoken, that he could remember, since the entire ordeal with his getting sick the morning before. Now, Mary stood before her husband and son, still sobbing, brandishing her hand randomly. She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. "He's just a boy and he's been sick!"
"He's fourteen years old," Stuart replied. His voice was suddenly calm- the eye of the storm. "You need to stop treating him like a child, Mary dear. He's at the age where a boy ought to stand up and become a man." He turned back to Malcolm, and the next words he said would stab at his son's heart worse than anything else every could. "Is this the kind of son I've raised? Is my boy a coward?"
Malcolm realized with a jolt of fear that his eyes were stinging. He bit the inside of his cheek he tasted blood, wanting nothing more than to die right then and there. To make it all go away.
"I said," Stuart growled. "Is my boy a coward?"
"Nosir," Malcolm whispered. His mother was still next to him, weeping into her hands.
"Come," Stuart Reed said suddenly, standing up straight. "We're going home." Madeline had managed to block out the entire encounter with magical ignorance; now she skipped out of the gym doors and into the biting England air. Mary followed her daughter and husband. None of them looked back to see if Malcolm was coming.
For an eternity, which was more like a second or two, really, Malcolm just sat there, wishing like hell that he had, indeed, died that day. It would have been easier.
He stood, stumbling in the direction of his mother's retreating back. Their shuttle took off just as the ambulance ship was landing in the school parking lot.
Somehow, though he never knew how he managed it, Malcolm Reed got back to his house and into his room before losing it completely. He couldn't convince himself this time that his father would get over this like everything else… it was true that he had never seemed that angry before.
Malcolm locked his door and moved, almost mechanically, over to the window near his bed, throwing it open before sinking down onto his mattress and letting the howling wind assault his ears until he could hear nothing else. It was the fourth story and he briefly considered jumping, but he didn't have the strength to move. He lay there, feeling the tears run down his cheeks rather than actually crying them. He was empty; he didn't want to die. He only wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.
He lay there for a long time, barely breathing, until a sound jolted him out of his misery. He looked around dumbly for a second until he saw the clock.
It was a quarter to nine.
He had made it.
Malcolm stared at the clock face for a second, unblinking, unbelieving, until at last he started to laugh. He had made it, he realized dimly. The day was over- he could go to sleep now, finally.
Malcolm sat there laughing, tears still falling down his cheeks, for a long time, until he finally passed out from total exhaustion.
Story End
Hope you liked the angst! Review?
