Page 5 of Drown Like Heaven
Even if I’d chosen my degree because of the high average salary post-grad, there were no guarantees. A chemical engineeringdegreedidn’t necessarily promise a chemical engineeringjob. Wasn’t like I actually enjoyed the subject either,but there was a larger picture. And since the lecture material was so difficult and complicated, it gave me something to occupy my mind with—other than just worrying about money and being haunted by memories that’d felt good in the moment but tormented me now.
I wished I could grow wings and get the hell out of here, fly as far as possible from my life and start again somewhere else—assomeoneelse.
I swiped my fingers across my forehead and tucked my hair behind my ear, chewing the inside of my cheek while I thought about it. At least I wasn’tcompletelystarving yet. And sleep was as good a meal as any; I could take the bus back to my trailer, watch a video essay on some niche subject, then knock out. Maybe a quick shower, just to warm up.
In my periphery, I caught sight of the pile of clothes on the sand again.
Wait. What the hell?
My chest tightened. How long had that man been underwater? I’d not seen him resurface once, and it’d been a few minutes at least. Long enough for me to forget that I’d ever been watching him and to get lost in my own problems, like always. But now that I’d remembered him, I was starting to feel panicked.
Was he trying to kill himself? Or could he not swim?
I squeezed my upper arms, digging my fingernails into my flesh, trying to keep my breathing even—to not overreact. But I still kept watching the water, even as I willed my thoughts to remain detached, stable. I had plenty of things to worry about other than a stranger potentially disappearing into the ocean in front of me.
And yet, with each second that ticked on, I found myself more and more concerned. Surely I’d not just been the lastperson to see that man alive—surelyhe hadn’t just drowned right in front of me. Right?
I stood up, my muscles clenched with anxiety, my eyes scanning the ocean for any sign of him. Maybe he swam up the shore a bit, and was just down the beach. I stepped forward, looking to either side of me, trying to distinguish any figures through the fog. But I wasn’t seeing anything.
Was he drowning? I’d heard that drowning was a lot more silent than one might expect, that people simply slipped beneath the surface and never came back up. No splashing or struggling. Just a quiet descent.
Shit.
Did he need help?
Was I even capable of providing help?
I looked down at my phone, staring at the clock. Yeah, it’d definitely been a few minutes—at least five or six. How long could people hold their breath before it became dangerous?
Images of this stranger drifting with the currents,dead, flashed through my mind. Arms limp, hair swishing in the darkness, face devoid of life, skin cold. How long would it take for someone to find his body?No. I shook my head, trying to swallow the panic creeping up my throat.
I looked up and down the beach again, but still didn’t see anyone.
Blinking hard, I stared at the waves, willing him to appear. I scanned every dip and curve and white cap, struggling to see anything through the dark water. I just needed a glimpse of him, some sign of life, proof that he wasn’t literallydead.
The longer I stood there, desperately searching the ocean for this man I didn’t know, the tighter the vise around my lungs squeezed.
I wanted to convince myself that I’d imagined him, but his things were still sat on the beach in front of me. Hesitantly, Ipicked up a dark piece of thick cotton—a sweatshirt—then felt around in the pocket for a wallet or ID. There was no wallet, but there was a cell phone. No notifications. No identifying picture set as his background, just some monochrome image that he’d probably never changed after buying the device. A lot newer than mine.
But hewasa real person. Who might be drowning in front of me.
Why hadn’t he resurfaced?
My pulse was frantic and uneven, making me nauseous as the seriousness of the situation infused my blood.
It’d been alotof minutes now.
In a split-second, I made the decision. The stupid decision.
I kicked off my shoes, trembling with cold and fear, ripped off my windbreaker, and threw all my stuff on the sand next to his. I didn’t give myself time to hesitate, or rethink what I was doing. If I didn’t do this, if I didn’ttry, I would regret it. The guilt would eat me alive, keep me up at night—especially if he showed up on the news a few days from now. I knew how to swim, even when the waves rolled strong. So I walked straight towards the ocean, shivering and scared out of my mind.
The second I crossed the threshold between the sand and the water, I gasped with the change in temperature. It sucked all the air right out of me, that frigidness. But I was determined. I gritted my teeth and pushed forward, bracing against the cold as I slowly submerged myself.
It was impulsive and reckless and a terrible idea, but I’d never been able to stop myself from making poor choices. I always tended to gravitate towards things that might hurt me.
I’d give myself just a minute of searching, only to rule out the possibility that I could’ve saved him. I didn’t want to be responsible for his death.
Over my ankles, then my shins, my knees, rising up to my thighs and hips, the ocean consumed me. I leaned forward, swiping my arms through the obscure churn of seawater. My clothes were soaked and heavy around me as I waded forward still, coldness licking up my stomach and chest, nearly freezing my lungs.
