1. Delilah
Chapter 1
Delilah
T he first thing I see as I step into the changing rooms is a stranger's bare pair of tits.
"Shit! Sorry!" Second nature has me slapping a hand over my eyes, cutting off my vision to avoid looking further, unable to stop the expletive from rolling off my tongue.
I'm not unfamiliar with seeing naked bodies, I've seen my little sister's one too many times while she's parading around my flat like it's a fashion show, but it's something else to unexpectedly walk slap bang into a stranger's naked chest.
"No worries," comes the stranger's soft voice, followed by the soft pad of her feet against the tiled floor as she glides away.
I drop my hand once the coast is clear, thankful that the changing room isn't too swamped. Although, there's still several women dotted around, each in varying stages of undress.
Gripping the textured straps of my brand-new gym bag even tighter, and forcibly unsticking the soles of my flip flops from the grooved floor, I search past the other partially naked bodies, careful not to make eye contact with anybody else, for a changing cubicle.
Spotting one just off to the left, I stalk towards it, desperately trying to blend in with the crowd… as if I know exactly what I'm doing. Once I've slipped behind the wooden door, locking it securely with a dull click, I allow myself to sag against the plain, whitewashed wall.
Mentally I tick off the first to-do in my carefully put together plan.
It'll be a disaster, otherwise.
Blowing out a breath so heavy it dislodges the freshly trimmed layers surrounding my face, I push off from the, hopefully, sanitised wall.
My own nervous wreck of a reflection stares back at me in the long length mirror upon the other cubicle wall; two bright spots visibly sit upon my cheekbones, while a ring of uneven pink splotches decorates the base of my neck.
What the fuck I am doing?
Why don't I just turn around, go back home and forget this ever happened? I could put this all behind me–
"But then you'd be a failure…" singsongs the chip on my shoulder.
Over my dead body.
Turning away from my quivering reflection, I drop my bag onto the bench, yank open the zipper and rifle through its organised contents.
One large, extra fluffy, white towel.
One spare hair tie.
One hairbrush.
One brand new all-in-one bathing costume, paper tag still attached.
There.
My next exhale comes slipping past my lips in an audible whoosh, as I catalogue the next stage in my carefully thought-out plan.
I can do this. I can do this, I can do this, I can–
Quickly slipping off my flip flops - unable, for a split second, to stop my mind from sliding down the path of wondering about how many bacteria particles must be harbouring this very second upon the floor, the walls, the bench, the door – I shimmy out of my denim shorts and whip my purple camisole over my head, leaving me in nothing but my underwear.
I strip out of those too, seizing the brand new black swimsuit I've picked up for myself, the slippery fabric pooling through my fingertips.
The paper tag comes away with an easy snap, as does the sticky hygiene sticker hidden in the crotch… it takes me a second longer to pluck out the little plastic end which never seems to come away properly and always digs into your flesh if left there, but then I'm stepping into the costume and pulling it up my thighs.
I wiggle and lunge, yanking and tugging, already semi out of breath, until finally the bathing costume sits on my body.
Hands nervously fluttering, I smooth the skin-tight material over my stomach - the small bump I can never seem to get rid of no matter how many yoga classes I attend – down to my upper thighs, high cut really isn't messing around, I can see every silvery stretch mark decorating the softest parts of my skin . I go back up the ladder of my ribs to my chest to ensure the girls are securely in – what I wouldn't do to be a small perky B cup right now and not a natural double E – and finally, to my hair tickling my back.
I gather the thick brunette strands all together, brushing out the bumps and whipping it into a practised high bun. Baby hairs still stick up from around my hairline, and I wish I'd thought ahead to bring a packet of bobby pins with me, especially now I can feel a single curl escaping down the ticklish nape of my neck, but oh well.
It'll have to do for today.
Soles of my bare feet gliding back along the cool foam surface of my flip flops, I repack my bag, folding each item of clothing carefully and then with another deep breath, I twist to unlock the cubicle door.
Part two of my plan – done. Completed. Tick.
My saliva dries in my mouth as I step out into the communal area, extremely aware of only being covered by my bathing suit.
I cross the space, grab an open locker and shove my hand into the tiny front compartment of my gym bag for the golden coin-sized token I'd been given at the reception desk.
Of course it sticks to the nervous sweat coating my palm, not at all helped by my all fingers and thumbs approach as I try to slot the token into the teeny weenie slit, shove everything but my fluffy towel inside, close the locker door and twist the key just enough to the right.
Once I've finally gotten it closed correctly, I pluck the key from its lock, fingers skimming the flat edge of the rubber bracelet attached. I glance quickly over my shoulder at another woman – who, with the way water droplets are pouring down her forearms, must have just come straight from the pool – to see what the hell I'm supposed to do with this contraption.
With ease, the other woman unclips the bracelet from around her wrist, slides the key in the lock and twists to reveal her items.
Huh. Looks simple enough.
Bracelet on, I sweep my tongue alongside either of my cheeks in an attempt to get rid of the horribly dry texture, but it does no good. My fingers dig into the plush material of my towel, the one I'm holding to my chest like a barrier, as I attempt to focus on my breathing.
You're here now. You can do this. You want to do this; I repeat to myself like a mantra in my head.
" But do you really ? " chirps the chip on my shoulder. Again. " All this anxiety, all this fear, just to prove one silly comment wrong— "
But it wasn't just one silly comment, not to me anyway. I'm angry at myself enough as it is for letting it burrow under my skin and create a home in one of the many cracks of my heart.
See, the thing is I like… control. I like to be in control.
Control is comfortable, it's safe, it's familiar, and it's got me pretty fucking far in life; a stable job at a publishing house, a nice apartment in Bayswater, London, the ability to treat myself to an overpriced coffee every morning on my daily commute.
I owe most of my success to the fact that I'm determined; sticking at a task or a hobby until I've mastered it.
Except for this one.
See, the thing is… I can't swim.
Something my date last weekend, took great pride in taunting me with over dinner, when he learnt about my secret. It's safe to say there won't be a second date between Dan and me. Mostly, because he was a dick who wouldn't shut up about my flaw. At first keeping it as a single throwaway comment, but then becoming more confident and derogatory towards me with each swig of his beer.
I hate to admit that it got to me.
I pride myself on being good at everything, at being able to apply my skills in every field, at being in fucking control.
Except I wasn't in control in that situation.
I couldn't control his comments, and no matter how much I've tried to tell myself it doesn't matter what he thinks of me, I can't seem to shake how silly I feel.
So here I am, standing in the changing rooms of a swimming pool, about to dip my toe into water even though I can't swim, just to prove something to myself.
Prove that I can swim.
Or at least try.
I mean, I know the basics of being in the water… our mum took both of us to swimming lessons back when my baby sister, Aurelia, and I were young, but I gave up on it pretty early after finding the logistics too difficult.
Forcing my feet to move again, I peer upwards at the giant arrow declaring LARGE POOL AHEAD.
I just need to put one foot in front of the other.
I can do this. I want to do this. I want to do this for my-fucking-self.
Pushing through the glass door, I notice straight away the sounds of splashing water, which are way louder now than they had been in the changing room. The scent of powdery perfume, mixed with clean scented deodorant disappears… replaced with the strong smell of chlorine.
The tunnel I find myself in is decorated with blue and white tiles, cemented to the walls, floor and even ceiling. They glimmer as natural sunlight bursts through the end closest to the swimming pool.
Just a few more steps, Delilah.
Extremely aware of the way the bare flesh of my thighs is rubbing together, I quickly scan my new surroundings, gulping back another pang of fear as the tunnel peters out.
Fear flashes through my head like a bright red, flashing warning sign, louder and bigger than before.
I stare into the watery depths, watching it sway ever so gently from side to side.
Breathe. Don't pass out. Don't–
"Excuse me." A polite, if not bored, voice jolts me out of my reverie.
An older woman kitted out in a startling blue and green bathing costume, with a matching green swim cap covering her hair, swims into my gaze.
I blink, my brain kicking back into gear, the realization that I'm taking up all the space beside the pool with my daydreaming panic, flooding through me.
Fuck.
Mumbling out an apology, I sidestep away, now utterly transfixed not by the water, but by the woman's routine.
She folds her own towel over the metal railing separating the edge of the pool and the plastic seating area, and without a second glance at me, secures a clear looking nose peg onto her face and descends the stairs nearby into the blue water.
Her movements across the shallow water are as easy as breathing. As is the way she takes hold of one of those lane rope dividers, the ones with all the red and blue discs attached and lifts it just high enough to slip under.
When the woman slides a pair of goggles onto her face, I pull my gaze away, not wanting to be caught watching.
Instead, I turn towards the railing, laying my own towel over the metal pole just as the other swimmers seem to have taken to doing.
The cold metal bites in my palms as I attempt, once again, to steady my nerves.
I've almost completed the third and final part of my plan. All I need to do now is get in the water.
Resisting the urge to pull and pluck at my swimsuit, I double check the clasp on my bracelet is secure. Once I'm sure I'm not at risk of losing the key to my locker to the watery depths, I press my lips together tightly, sliding my feet from my flip flops and make my way to the top of the metal staircase. Water laps leisurely at the edge of the pool, slithering away into the grates as another swimmer kicks off from the wall, disturbing the usual stillness of the liquid.
I can. I can. I can.
I take a tight grip of the railing, which is slippery and wet. The weird unexpected texture rockets through my nervous system, threatening to unbalance me, until I silently call in my breathing. In, and hold, and release. In, and hold, and release.
My eyes bounce around, trying to find something else to distract me from the sensation, landing on the huge floor to ceiling windows covering the entire back wall. A large clock sits dead centre, the longest hand ticking away steadily as seconds pass. Just off to the side stands a tall lifeguard's chair, with four straight rungs running bottom to top before you even get to sit in the bright red plastic chair.
It isn't easy to miss, in fact, it's hard not to look at, which I guess, is probably the whole point.
A brown haired man sits as the lifeguard, his long legs dangling, feet bopping away in the air to a soundless tune. I take stock of the way he's turning to the right to watch somebody and I'm about to look away, but then he shifts, his eyes catching mine accidentally.
I smile automatically, closed-mouthed, tight lipped before ducking my head down, repositioning my grip on the metal stair railing and allowing my big toe to disappear into the shallow water.
First contact made.
Breathing out an audible exhale, I take the second step down, then the third, and then the fourth. As my fingers skim the topmost layer of the pool, water sloshes over my chest, taking my already laboured breath away with its chill. God, it's fucking freezing.
Rather awkwardly, I wade into the corner closest to the lip of the pool, distancing myself from the other swimmers coursing up and down the professional looking lanes. A set of chattering women send me each a toothy grin as they reach me, never once stopping their conversation, even as they turn around and begin swimming back up the other end of the pool at a snail's pace.
They made it look so easy! Kicking their legs underwater, while simultaneously sweeping their arms to the front, around the side and back. I vaguely recognise the move from my past swimming lessons. Isn't it called a breast… something or other?
Maybe if I just try to recreate the movement, my body will be able to get the hang of it again within seconds? Muscle memory and all.
Sticking to the side, I flatten my feet to the smooth floor below, peering down into the moving liquid at the azure blue tiles there, giving the impression of a blue toned hue to the water.
My body temperature, thankfully, seems to have adjusted to the much cooler surroundings, ceasing the shivers wracking my body, but I can still feel the goosebumps coming up over the tops of my arms.
Shifting from foot to foot, I try to gauge the newfound weightlessness of my body, dropping further down into the water, as another swimmer slices past me, causing more water to lap, this time at the tendrils of hair that have escaped my bun and are hanging down my neck.
Everybody here seems to be swimming so effortlessly, graciously cutting through the water.
Switching my weight to my less dominant left foot, I peer up at the clock, finding it to be only five minutes past the hour. I'm not entirely sure how long I've been standing in the shallow end, not really moving, except for a small bob about as I test the water around me, but God, I really hope nobody has noticed me.
The brown haired lifeguard catches my gaze again, this time with a beaming smile already painted across his lips.
Again, I smile back. I can't help it! The stereotypical British politeness has practically been bred into me, and I'd feel rude not to at least acknowledge the very man who might potentially need to come and save my life.
A flush of something hot cascades over me leaving my scalp tingling as I realise, he must have been watching me simply stand in the pool, rather than actually swimming.
How embarrassing.
God, this was exactly why I don't like asking people for help, because now he's watching me, probably muttering behind my back, or at the very least thinking how silly I–
A loud splash echoes off the tiled space, right down at the deepest end of the pool. A small child, bright orange arm bands attached to either upper arm, bobs to the surface, laughing hysterically, as the water all around froths from the force of their jump.
Right, that's it.
If a small child can do it, arm bands or not, then I bloody well can.
With one more deep breath, I spread my arms right out in front of me, straighten my legs, tilt my chin upwards so it won't dip in the water, and begin to kick.
Loud splashing sounds behind me and the tops of my feet are already suddenly pricked with pain, as my flesh makes solid contact with the water. It feels as if I'm whacking against rock hard blocks of ice each time, but at least I'm being propelled forward. My elbows, somehow, have tucked themselves back into my chest, the palms of my hands making contact with the water, causing bubbles to froth and foam all around.
I feel like a dog paddling around.
Hopefully, I don't look like one.
The rounded side of my hip grazes the second set of metal stairs leading into the halfway point of the pool as I pass them by, but I pay the small graze of pain no attention as the furthest end of the pool comes closer and closer.
I'm doing it!
Sensing somebody come up behind me, I don't dare glance around in case I lose my stride. Rather, I paddle faster, vehemently ignoring the dull ache now starting up in both of my calves and the sharp scratch pulsing on my hip.
When I realise I'm holding my breath, I gulp in a heavily chlorine scented pull of oxygen, which quickly turns into a strained oof as a wet body collides with mine.
A voice speaks out an apology, but it sounds completely garbled as water fills my ears. I can feel my legs still kicking out beneath me, but I'm tiring now, each part of my body aching from the sudden exercise.
Panic fills me like a balloon, the cold water surging over my head, submerging me fully. I try to open my mouth to scream, but all that does is allow chemical tasting water to slide in, choking me.
Heartbeat sounding loud in my ears, I begin to thrash, desperately trying to reach the surface to suck in fresh air, to—
Pinpricks of pain cascade along my temple as I collide with the tiled wall. My body stops flailing, as I close my stinging eyes against the pain, swallowing down another mouthful of—
"–up you get!"
Somebody grips the flesh of my armpits tightly, dumping me heavily onto a solid, grooved material.
The warmth of somebody's hands seeps through my soaked bathing costume, as they manoeuvre me on to my side, lifting my head and rolling something under it, before placing my head back down. A cough wracks my convulsing body, followed by another and another; until all I can do is hold on tight to the warm arms in front of me, and wait for the retching to stop.
Feeling returns to me bit by bit; first in my toes and fingers, then in my lower body, chest and lastly my head. The world has stopped ringing enough for me to register the item beneath my head as a rolled-up towel to prevent the hard floor from digging into my skull.
I spit out another mouthful of water and saliva, shifting my legs against the hard pool floor.
The fresh cut on my thigh stings as pure oxygen kisses it, but before I can gather the strength to lift my head to look at my injury further, somebody's friendly face filters out into my vision.
The brown haired lifeguard.
"I'm Grey." He speaks clearly. "Can you hear me? Can you tell me your name?"