Chapter 6VoxRose

Chapter 6

Vox

As I tore down the open road, the rumble of my bike echoed like thunder in the night, AC/DC's "Thunderstruck" blarin’ from my speakers at full tilt. Leaving Orlando's skyline behind, I cruised through the heartland, the moon casting a silver glow over the rolling landscapes between Orlando and Knoxville. Each mile marker passed beneath my wheels, bringing me closer to her. The miles melting away until, with the dawn breaking on the horizon, I reached Knoxville.

Leaving my bike in front of my house, I walk inside, putting my helmet on the kitchen island before grabbing a bottle of water in the kitchen. I instinctively look at the bay-window. Something pulls me toward my garden, as if my body was aware of hers.

Is she awake?

Still wearing by black gear, I walk to my garden, ready to climb over the small fence and break into her house just to make sure she’s alright. But I don’t even have to cross her property when I already see her goddess silhouette glowing in the dawn light.

There she stands in her garden, as if she was looking for me, bathed in the soft morning light, still wearing her nightgown, barely hiding her curves.

Her eyes are puffy, cheeks stained with tears as if she's been crying for hours. My chest clenches at the sight of her pain, and without a second thought, I ask, “Wanna come over?” nodding towards my place.

I know she ain't keen on her folks catching wind of her hanging out with a stranger, especially one like me, but I can't stand seeing her like this. She looks up at me, surprise flashing in her eyes, tears still lingering, but she gives a silent nod.

Stepping over the fence, her nightgown shifts a bit over her leg, offering me the sight of her soft and creamy skin.

So fuckin’ perfect.

It’s chilly. I don’t want her to be cold. It feels unusually familiar, this want to take care of her even though I haven’t done it to anyone in years.

As she walks toward me, I notice her hands are still in a pretty bad state, but the scars have started to appear, so it’s healing. I know a lot about it, since I’m usually the one giving them to other people.

I left the bay window open and she steps inside as if she knew the place, as if it was hers.

A voice far away whispers to me that it could fuckin’ be.

She steps into my living-room, the scent of her vanilla perfume intertwining with the rugged essence of leather and motor oil that permeates my place. This space reflects my life as a biker—my sanctuary with relics and tales from the open road. Vintage motorcycle posters on the walls with framed photographs of my club brothers.

The leather sofas draw her attention first but it's the corner filled with books that catches her eye, and I can see the spark of interest igniting within her. She approaches the bookshelves with a determined stride, her fingers tracing the spine of each book.

Wonder what she likes to read.

Books were my escape, my way out of the poverty and struggle of my upbringing. My parents couldn’t buy them for me and my brother, but we would go to the library to borrow books every week. Jamie will never read any new books anymore, and it fuckin’ hurts to remember this hard truth.

She then turns herself, looking back and forth at me and the couch. Is she asking me if she can sit? I’m not one hundred percent sure, but I nod and watch her rush to it as if she hadn’t slept for days.

My angel looks so fuckin’ tired my chest aches.

Circling the couch, I grab a wool blanket in a basket behind it. She’s laying awkwardly on her side as if she didn’t dare to fully relax.

“Just make yourself at home, Angel,” I say, hoping to make her more comfortable. Her shoulders drop a bit and she finally allows herself to lie down.

She looks damn good in my home, like she was meant to be here the whole fuckin’ time.

I notice how her lips have a light shade of blue. She’s shivering.

Damn it, I should have seen it sooner.

Taking the blanket in my clenched fist, I try to approach her slowly to not scare her away. She sees me carrying the blanket towards her, stopping myself for her consent, and she gives me a small nod with the shadow of a small smile at the crease of her lips.

Should be illegal to look this freaking cute.

Lowering myself on one knee, I carefully put the blanket on her body, tucking it on the sides and almost touching her in the process. I try to ignore the electricity in the air, but I swear it’s so thick you couldn’t cut it with a fuckin’ knife.

Never done something so intimate in my life.

I hear her breathing quicken at our closeness and I stop to breathe for a few seconds at the sight of her, melting into my couch, getting warmer under my blanket.

Something stirs within me. It isn’t just the primal urge to protect or the instinct to provide comfort. No, it’s something deeper, something I hadn't felt in a long time and refused to allow myself to feel ever since the car crash.

Can’t fucking understand myself. She’s a stranger, well, a stranger I’ve been watching everyday for three weeks, but still, how can she have this effect on me?

Leaving her side, I walk toward my open kitchen at the left side of the house, my body completely aware of hers behind me. Opening the first drawer, I grab a notebook and a pen and start boiling some water. Going back to her, I set them next to her on the couch. Her eyes stare at it, then at me, then back at it.

Does no one ever do nice things for her?

Never been much of a talker myself, but I want to know everything about my new obsession, so she’s gonna have to write cause I don’t know how to sign.

Yet.

Yet?

I’m so fucked.

I stand next to her, the weight of her silence hangin’ heavy in the air, and I feel like a jerk for not knowing how to sign properly. She deserved a lot more than I could probably give her. The thought of learning sign language had crossed my mind in the past few days while I was taking inventory of our rifles. I’ve watched a few videos online and I think if I train myself enough, perhaps I can learn a few things to say to her. At least to show her that she’s not the only one that has to do the effort. It can come from me too. I can meet her halfway.

You don’t even know her, back off.

My walls are already starting to crumble but I hold on, trying to take a step back and just enjoy the sight of her.

Sure I can still keep her at arms length.

Sure.

Going back to the kitchen, I grab a mug and make a cup of tea. Watching her for days, I noticed she likes to take a cup with her to her bedroom at night and remove her tea bag quickly in a small dish.

I’m not obsessing about her habits, no, I’m, hum, I'm just noticing things.

That’s what a good neighbor would do.

I carefully remove the teabag before it gets too dark and bring it to her. When I hand her the mug, our fingers brush against each other for the briefest of moments, sending a fucking jolt of electricity coursing through me. Haven't felt that in a long time. It reminds me of the raw, primal desires lurking just beneath the surface.

Cool the fuck down, she’s not like the other girls you’re used to.

I’m used to the club chicks, taking any guys they feel like, not really caring about who’s who. Never been one to shame women for acting this way but I bet intimacy would feel fuckin’ different with Rose.

It would actually mean something.

Her eyes meet mine, surprise flashing across her face before softening into a warm smile. She holds the mug delicately with her injured fingers.

"Thank you," she mouths silently, her lips forming the words I can't hear but understand nonetheless. I nod and settle into the leather armchair beside her, deliberately avoiding the couch to give her some space. But damn, I wish I could be closer to her, feel her warmth against me, wrap my arms around her and tell her everythin’s gonna be alright.

“I… I had a work thing, that’s why I was out the past few weeks,” I say in an apologetic tone.

Since when do I ever justify myself?

People fear me and I never have to explain myself to anyone except Ares, but even he doesn’t give me shit about what I do. Seeing her puffy eyes, knowing she looked at her window every damn day tightens my chest and makes me want to grab her and protect her in my arms. She nods, looking at me like she thought I would never come back.

“Your parents, they did this to you, right?” I ask, studying her injured hands. I need to know.

I need to know who I’m gonna have to hurt back for wounding my angel.

As much as I tried to stay away from this feeling, telling myself that I have no fuckin’ right to dive into her life, the thought that someone had hurt her is impossible for me to ignore. She shakes her head and grabs the notebook, scribbling something then showing it to me.

“My teacher did this,” is written with round and balanced letters. Lowering my elbows on my thighs, I ask, “What’s his name?” clenching my jaw. She takes the notebook and writes her answer.

“It’s okay, it’s nothing,” is written. But it’s not fuckin’ okay. It won’t be until I find the motherfucker and at least spoon his eye out for daring to touch her.

“It’s not fuckin’ okay, Rose. Now tell me who did this or I’m going to punch every single teacher of this town until I find the fucker who did this to you,” I say firmly, letting her know she won’t escape this.

She looks surprised at my answer.

“You swear a lot,” she writes.

“You have no idea, sweetheart.” I grin at her, enjoying the contrast of our worlds.

“Now don’t try to change the subject. Who did this to you?”

She sighs, biting her lips, a sad veil passing on her face.

“Mr Collins, he’s the one who hit my hands. And the time you came in my room, it was my parents, they had punished me that night.” She puts the notebook on the table, facing me. My blood pumps harder and I suddenly feel like torturing the three of them in the club basement. That would be a fucking great thing to do to people who hurt innocent girls like my Rose.

My Rose?

My?

Putting this thought aside, I reflect on how I’m gonna get back at them. Just what any concerned citizen would do to another one.

Yeah, right.

“They should have never done that to you. It’s fuckin’ wrong.”

“I wanted to thank you for,” she writes, then raises her hand between us.

“Yeah, hum, no problem,” I grunt, swallowing hard.

It wasn’t a big deal driving ten hours at night to come check on you.

Fuck, yeah, it was a fuckin’ big deal.

“You’re okay with me hurting your parents? After all, if they like to give you punishments, it’s only fair they get some in return too.”

Her eyes widens as if she heard something astonishing. When you hurt people for a living, you tend to forget what’s socially acceptable to say out loud, my bad.

Shaking her head many times, she writes, “Promise me you won’t hurt them.” Her blue eyes beg me with intensity.

“Can’t promise you that, sweetheart. Evil folks get what they deserve when they touch angels like you.” She shivers at the word angel and I can see a glimpse of fire in her widening pupils.

“Please,” she says, moving her full lips, making me read them.

Damn, I’m used to people pleading for me to not unalive them but this, fuck, she takes it to another level.

“You can’t let them get away with it,” I state, shaking my head. If it was someone else, I would have already killed them but seeing her protect them, it’s… I just can’t do it. I fucking hope she’ll get her revenge one day, but I won’t be the one acting on it if she doesn’t want me to.

Her eyes wander around the room, and I watch her, mesmerized by the sight of her in my place.

I fuckin’ hate how much I like her being here. I shouldn’t but I fuckin’ do.

It feels right. So much so that I could grab her and carry her to my bedroom as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Too bad it will never be a reality. I made a promise to myself to keep people away and I will keep it.

That’s the only thing that kept me alive.

I watch her quietly, my gaze lingering on her as she writes in the notebook. There's something 'bout her that's got me all twisted up inside, something that I can't quite put into words. Maybe it's the way she carries herself, or the strength I see in her gaze, even though she ain't saying a damn thing.

There's a flicker of something in her eyes, a vulnerability and a fire mixed together. It's strange, in a good way, communicating through written words instead of spoken ones. There's a certain intimacy to it that I kinda like.

“I like your place, you have so many books,” she wrote, handin’ me the notebook, showing the bookshelves on her right where she instinctively turned to when she entered.

“Yeah, I like to read, kind of an escape since I was a kid,” I say, my voice rough but tinged with a hint of something softer. I know I don’t look like an intellectual type with my cut and my bike, but she doesn’t seem surprised by it.

People aren’t always what they seem to be.

She nods with a small smile, her eyes meeting mine for a brief moment before she looks away, a flush spreading across her cheeks.

"Do you have any favorites?" she writes, her gaze flicking back to me expectantly. I clear my throat, scratching the back of my neck, trying to come up with titles she might like.

“‘ To Kill a Mockingbird ’ and ' On the Road. '” She furrows her brow, admitting she's never heard of them. It surprises me, but I guess not everyone's into the same kinda books.

"Guess that means I'll have to lend 'em to you sometime," I say, lifting one corner of my mouth, liking the thought of sharing something with her. But she doesn’t smile back, lowering her head she grabs the notebook. “I’m not allowed to read books from the outside world.”

I clench my jaw so fuckin’ tight I might break it.

The outside world? How the fuck did people manage to get such a hold on her?

I fucking hate that she’s not free to discover the world as she pleases. She's trapped in this twisted community, like a bird with clipped wings, unable to soar free. I swallow hard, trying to contain the fury buildin’ in me.

"That ain't right," I growl, my voice a low rumble that fills the room. Her eyes linger on me as if she was trying to tame the anger rising in my chest.

Removing the blanket from her body, she puts the mug down on the wood table and stands before me. I try not to gawk at her petite figure but my eyes keep staring at the shapes dancing under the fabric. Blushing, she circles the couch and walks to the bookshelves, turning her head exaggeratedly on the side to read the titles.

Fuckin’ adorable.

She’s looking for something. Letting her fingers drift on the wood of the shelf, she finds what she was looking for and inhales loudly. Even though I wish I could hear her voice, I fucking love hearing the small sounds she makes with her breath.

Makes me wonder how she would sound if she was laughin’.

Turning back to me, she hands me the book she chose, To kill A Mockingbird. I grab it with a small grin.

What does she want me to do with it?

Taking the pen back, she writes quickly.

“I’m not allowed to read it but perhaps you could read it for me?” Her gaze is full of hope and anticipation.

Damn, I could burn the world to the ground for those blue eyes.

The request she made, it's not something I've ever done before. Reading to someone, hell, it feels downright intimate. But there she stands before me, with those eyes that could make a man forget his own name. So I clear my throat, trying to shake off the nerves that gnaw at my insides like hungry wolves. I'm more accustomed to blood and torture than bedtime stories. I used to do it in the past with Jamie, but it seems so far away now.

I'm venturing into uncharted territory but as I look at her, standing there with hope shinin’ in those damn blue eyes, something inside me shifts. Maybe it's the way she managed to break through the tough exterior I've built around myself, or maybe it's just the sight of her vulnerability laid bare before me. I take a deep breath, steeling myself for what's to come.

"Yeah, sweetheart," I finally say, my voice rough. "I'll read it to you every damn day if that's what you want."

Because that’s the truth. I’d do that if she wants me to. And as I watch her smile, a warmth spreads through my chest like wildfire. She gives me the book before sitting back on the couch.

I clear my throat, flipping open the book to the first page. I begin to read, noticing her eyes never leaving mine. And with each word, I can feel the barriers between us crumbling away, replaced by a connection that defies logic and reason.

Maybe this ain't so bad after all—this whole reading to someone thing. I stop myself for a second to watch her, holding on to each word, eager to know what’s coming next.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I was having a stroke from how hard my heart is pounding under my chest.

I reach the end of the chapter and I notice her grabbing one of the pillows and bringing it onto her stomach.

“Do you want me to carry on with the next chapter, Angel?” I ask her, kind of hoping she will say yes. A small smile appears on her face before disappearing as she shakes her head, looking at the bay window. The sun has risen now, and reality hits me hard. She's gotta get back before her folks catch her sneaking out in the dead of night.

“I have to go back before they notice,” she writes. I nod, trying to hide my disappointment. She searches my eyes as if she could read my soul.

“I loved it, the story, really,” I read on the paper sheet. I swallow hard, the lump in my throat making it tough to speak.

Truth be told, I don’t want her to go back.

“Are you sure you wanna go back there?” I ask, almost hoping for her to stay here even though I’m well aware how fucked up this would be. But knowing she’s in a house with these people capable of hurting her makes it fucking hard to let her go.

“It’s my house, it’s safe,” she writes, her eyes telling me that, no, she doesn’t want to go there. In fact, I catch how she said house and not home. But I know I can’t keep her. So I reluctantly let go.

“If they try anythin’, if you’re scared for any reason, day or night, you come here, okay?” I state, cause I want her to know there’s other people out there to help her. Her lower lips tremble a bit before she bites it and makes the smallest nod.

Fuck her parents, I’ll find a way to keep a protective eye on her.

“Come back anytime you want. I’ll leave the bay window unlocked,” I say, surprising myself, my voice low and gruff. She lifts one of her brows, waiting for me to continue.

“I’ll read to you,” I add, gesturing to the book on the table. “Just come here and I’ll take care of you,” I say, my voice trying so damn hard to conceal the protectiveness she awoke in me.

“You don’t have to,” she writes.

“I want to, sweetheart. Somebody has to,” I say firmly, determined to be the one to offer her sanctuary in this fucked up world. Everyone else may disappoint her, but not me. I won’t let a woman getting abused by some fuckers, especially not her.

I'll be her protector if she wants me to be.

She turns her face toward the window, angling it strangely toward her shoulder.

Is it tears that I see peeking at the sides of her eyes?

Looking back at me, her pouty lips begging to be kissed, she says silently, "Thank you."

I nod, reading on her lips, clearing my throat.

"Anytime, Angel," I say, my voice rough, trying so goddamn hard to conceal how her presence affects me. She stands to leave and a flash of a car accident bursts in my mind for a second. I clench my jaw, ignoring it. As she approaches the door, she steals a glance back at me, her eyes piercing through my dark soul.

The door shuts behind her and I suddenly feel fuckin’ alone, the house cold and empty without her.

I shouldn't want this.

But I hope, damn, I fuckin’ hope she’ll come back.

Rose

The sun is shining hard on our garden as I quickly inhale the fresh air before stepping back into my house. It’s not a home, it’s never really been a home, just a house where people have to live together.

How can it feel like a home when I’ve been hurt here so many times?

I walk to the kitchen to make oatmeal and reflect on what just happened.

Vox. Him and I. Alone in his living room. As if it was the most natural thing we could ever do.

Being with him felt… right. I can’t really explain, but he awoke something in me, something that I didn’t know existed until him. He has this particular way of making me feel cared for and protected. Something I never felt with anyone before.

I see it in the way he makes sure I’m not cold, or in the way he reads to me with patience, without making fun of me for not knowing what his book was about. Or in the way he took the armchair across from me to give me space while staying near, how he managed to get my tea to my liking, how he patiently waited for each of my responses while I was writing.

Not a single time have I felt an issue communicating with him. In fact, it’s quite the opposite—the way he looked at me with an intensity that shook my bones. When he read to me, with his rough and manly voice, giving me goosebumps all over my body, I wished I could have stayed there, listening to him all night long.

Sitting at the kitchen table, stirring my oatmeal absentmindedly, I close my eyes for a second, imagining what a day with him could be like.

I could be gardening while he’s working on his bike, and then we would watch a movie or he could read to me. It'll never happen but, I don’t know, it’s just nice to imagine it.

It’s funny how cold he looks from the outside, but then I can’t help but notice the kindness inside him peeking out.

Daydreaming about him all day would be a nice escape…

But reality calls, and I can't ignore it. Finishing my oatmeal, I glance at the clock and realize I have to get ready for another day of school at the Faithful Lambs Institute. I’m still torn about what I must do regarding the engagement to the Shepherd. But I push it aside. There’s still time to figure it out.

As I get dressed, slipping into the fa?ade of the perfect daughter, the perfect student, I can't shake the feeling of emptiness that lingers in the pit of my stomach.

I miss him.

Already.

God, Rose, get it together.

I try to stay away from the window room that looks over his garden. It’s too painful to look back right now. Brushing my hair, I attempt to make one perfect braid to tame the chaos in my head. As I comb my hair, I’m reminded about his eyes lingering on my hair earlier. Like an unspoken desire, as if he wanted to touch it.

I wish I knew what he thought then.

Gathering my bag and the Ascendium, I head to the door just as my parents emerge from their room, ready to drop me off at school. They don’t seem to notice I haven’t slept the whole night and that I wasn’t even in my room this morning. If they did, I wouldn’t even be standing here right now but on my knees, head in the tub.

My father ignores me while my mother puts a strange, strained smile on her face, as if she is trying to maintain a facade of normalcy.

I’m sure our family wins the prize of the strangest one existing on the planet.

The drive to school is silent, broken only by the low hum of the car engine and the occasional sighs from my parents. Each passing minute feels like an eternity as we navigate the familiar streets, our surroundings blurred by the weight of unspoken words hanging heavy in the air. My father keeps glancing at me repeatedly as if he is trying to figure me out.

The tension inside the car is palpable. I wonder if my mom talked to my father about my hesitations. As we finally pull up to the school gates, I open the door to step out and join my classmates.

“Good day, Rose,” says my mom. She almost never calls me that. Perhaps she wants me to feel special today, for what reason I have no idea.

I don’t like it, there’s something she’s not telling me.

I hear students talking and murmuring behind me.

That’s strange.

My father turns his head to me, locking his eyes in mine with a coldness that freezes my bones. “Your engagement was announced this morning. Behave yourself today, daughter, you represent more than yourself now; you’re a part of him.”

It’s already been announced?

How am I going to figure this out if everybody already knows?

The air feels heavy, suffocating, as if every breath I take is a struggle against the rising tide of panic threatening to engulf me. My heart pounds in my chest, as if the world has suddenly tilted on its axis, leaving me dizzy and disoriented. I hold onto the car door, fighting my body to not faint.

“The wedding will be in two months at the Chapel, now go on, go to class,” he says casually, pointing at the main doors of the school.

My mother stays silent, her head down, playing with her hands.

Traitor.

I close the door and they leave me there, standing under the shock of the news they just told me.

Heat spreads across my skin, flushing my cheeks crimson, while my hands are clenched into fists, nails digging into my palms. I stride towards the main doors of the school, my heart still racing with a mixture of anger and fear. The weight of my parents' expectations presses down on me like a leaden cloak. As I push open the doors and step into the bustling hallway, a wave of murmurs washes over me. Whispers follow me, eyes flickering with curiosity and judgment.

They know.

But I hold my head high, refusing to be cowed by their scrutiny. As I reach my classmates in the main hall, walking toward my locker, I plaster on a forced smile, hiding how broken I am beneath the surface. I can feel their eyes on me, wondering what I did to get myself into the most wanted position of our community.

Perhaps they will assume that I debased myself, offered my virginity or else…

Shaking slightly my head at this thought, I exhale and try to find peace in my breathing.

A voice interrupts me while I open my locker.

“Impressive, Parker, never took you for a whore, but damn, you really put it all out for him,” says Adam, clapping his hands at me. Never liked him, sucker for popularity when the truth is, real popular students don’t need to try this hard. Kind of felt sorry for him until he became the head of the football team and became the most arrogant person I’ve ever met.

I look at him from head to toe with a disgusted face, telling him that one, I’m not impressed by him, and two, he can keep his judgmental comments to himself. Ignoring Adam's taunts, I focus on retrieving my books from my locker, trying to block out the whispers and stares that follow me like a shadow. But his words linger in the air, poisoning the atmosphere around me.

A whore.

I hate the implication of what he just said, because if anything, I've always followed the rules.

And still you’re trapped in this position, Rose.

"Rose?" Turning, I see Jezebel and Greta approaching, making me feel better already at the sight of my friends. Jezebel, with her fiery red hair and joyful energy, steps forward first, her eyes scanning my face for any sign of distress.

"Are you okay?" she asks, her voice laced with genuine concern. Jezebel's fiery spirit ignites as she steps up to Adam. Of course she feels something’s off. It’s not in Adam’s habit to come talk to me.

"You have no right to speak to her like that," she declares, her words cutting through the tension like a knife.

Greta, who’s always been the voice of reason between the two of them, follows closely behind. “We’ve got you.” she says, looking at me with her warm chestnut eyes.

Unable to speak, I nod gratefully, swallowing the tears in my eyes at the sight of my friends. Greta's gentle strength shines as she joins Jezebel.

“Real men don’t need to bully others to feel important, Adam,” she admonishes, her voice calm but firm.

Adam shakes his head, “Whatever,” and walks away.

“Okay, we need to talk,” says Jezebel before taking my elbow and rushing me to the girls’ bathroom where Greta checks every door to make sure we’re alone.

“So… you don’t have to tell us if you don’t want to but…” Jezebel starts, walking on eggshells. I stop her right away and start to sign.

“It’s a mess, girls, the Shepherd decided to take me as his bride, but… It’s stupid but something’s wrong, and, well, I don’t know how to say this, but honestly, I’m terrified,” I sign in a rush, struggling to find the right way to say things. Greta and Jezebel are firm believers like I am.

Like I used to be.

But they’ve always been my friends since I met Greta at daycare and Jezebel in sixth grade.

I need to talk with them otherwise, I'll implode.

I sigh. “It’s just, so much is happening right now and I don’t know how to process it.”

“Rose, breathe, it’s gonna be okay. The Shepherd knows what’s best for all of us. He’s the one in direct contact with the Divine; you must trust him,” Jezebel says, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder. But her words don’t reach my heart.

No, please, that’s not what I need you to say.

“It’s strange but I, I feel trapped,” I sign, carrying the weight of what I just said on my shoulders. They could tell on me if they wanted, they could drag me into the mug and dance on my dead body, but I take the risk.

They exchange a worried look.

“Perhaps it’s because that’s such a big step in your life, Rose, anyone would feel shaken after getting engaged, especially to our Leader,” Greta signs. I’m grateful for them learning sign language after my accident. Apart from my mom, they’re the only ones who took the time to learn it.

But what she says doesn’t calm me at all; it’s quite the opposite.

As much as I need their support, I don’t feel it right now.

“And the wedding… It’s gonna be in two months and I’m afraid I won’t survive it like Savannah last year,” I say, fighting my tears to stay inside me.

"You’ve trained yourself for apnea like us. You really shouldn’t worry!” Jezebel signs, her voice trying to wipe my worries with her kind words.

"Savannah had never been good in the water but you are! It will be okay," Greta nods in agreement.

I don’t know what to do anymore, but I’m stuck in front of my friends and they don’t seem to understand my struggle. It’s not really this idea of being drowned for three minutes in front of the community that scares me the most.

What petrifies me is that, contrary to them, I don’t feel a thrill at the idea of it.

“Thank you, guys,” I sign with a warm fake smile, one I know no one will be able to see behind the perfect facade. I just give up because there’s nothing more to say. Despite being my friends, they don’t understand my struggle because it involves thinking about… more.

About more than what we were raised for.

They hug me and we leave the girls’ bathroom and head to our first class of the day.