Maybe they’ll think of me the next time they are on the ocean, feel me in the wind that blows through their hair, but that’s it. They won’t feel obligated to me in any way other than just living their lives.
The pain starts, and the panic sets in as my lungs continue to fill more and more with saltwater instead of the oxygen they desperately desire.
I may let the ocean take me, but I don’t want to drown. I want my death to be easy and quick, as do all humans. So I remove my hand from my chest, letting the blood spill quicker from my wound. But I think the saltwater—the very thing that’s trying to kill me by drowning me—is also saving me. Because my blood should be flowing much faster from my chest. Instead, the water pressure is keeping the blood within my veins.
Dammit.
I kick harder, determined to die at least on my own terms. I try to get my chest above the water, I try floating on my back, but the waves fight harder, pushing me back under.
No, I will not let you win.
I force my legs to kick, my arms to paddle; I urge my body to float. Dammit, float!
But my heavy body doesn’t have the buoyancy to float. My arms are exhausted, barely doing more than a toddler would who has just learned to splash in a pool of water. My legs carry all my strength—but my strength floated away with Kai, and Enzo, and Langston. My strength is still on that yacht. My strength is gone.
The pain is the only thing keeping me alive. The agony triggers adrenaline—the need to survive deep in my body. But I don’t want to survive, not like this. I don’t want to spend hours more floating in this water waiting for death to come.
So much for quick and painless.
My death may not be painless, but it will at least be quick. I’m done suffering. And I know I have enough willpower left in my body to die on my own terms.
Drowning it is.
I take a couple more deep breaths, trying to get one or two moments of comfort, security, and warmth inside my body before I take the plunge, but when you’re dying, even that simple breath of oxygen isn’t comforting. It’s pain and pain and pain. It is all I feel. It is all I think about—the pain.
I’ve never been one to fear death, and I won’t let myself be scared right now. Even if I could feel fear, the pain wouldn’t let me—my body trembles as my muscles fatigue. My chest makes an awful wheezing sound with each anguished breath. My eyes burn as more saltwater enters them. And my heart—my heart pumps harder and more distressed with each thump, trying to decide between holding on and giving out as the pain possesses my body.
It’s time.
My body switches from trying to survive to just trying to get rid of the pain. I need to end; the suffering is too much. So I take one more big breath, and then I dive under the heavy waves and into the darkness.
Death should come quickly but not painlessly. I have to endure more torment in order for the pain to stop. But right now, with every nerve-ending in my body begging me to make it stop, it’s a trade-off I will gladly endure.
Deeper into the darkness, I descend.
Deeper.
Deeper.
Deeper.
I force myself to kick as hard as I can to get as deep as I can because I know that once my lungs start filling with water, my fight or flight response will kick in again, and I’ll try to save myself. And I can’t handle any more moments of pain.
With each kick deeper, I feel my lungs tightening, the pressure constricting around my body, intensifying the discomfort.
Just a little further, I think.
If I can get just a little deeper, I won’t be able to get to the surface fast enough when I start to panic. This is the end, being surrounded by nothing but water, darkness—alone.
But then I feel it, a jolt in my body, a reverse in direction. Instead of traveling deeper into the depths of the ocean, I’m making a break for the surface.
What the hell?
I have no idea what’s happening. Did my body spontaneously change directions? Or am I already dead, and an angel is grabbing me and taking me to heaven?
I don’t know, but I don’t have the strength to fight it. So I let whatever force is pulling me back toward the surface do its job.
Time moves fast again as I hit the surface. My mouth opens, gasping for air, getting just enough oxygen to keep me firmly on the side of living instead of dying.
I feel a hand over my face sweeping the wet mop of my hair clear from my eyes and mouth, making it easier to breathe. I don’t know how I’m staying afloat because I’m not kicking or treading water, I’m completely dead weight.
But once the hair is gone from my face, I hear a sigh relief.
I open my eyes and come face-to-face with my savior. And what a face it is. Striking brown eyes loom into mine, examining my face quickly and thoroughly to ensure that I am alive and not dead. Long dark hair frames her face parted perfectly down the middle, like a model coming out of the water instead of the sea monster I must look like. Her red lips pout, disappointed in something she sees in me. But all I can think is her lips are magical.
This can’t be real. I must be imagining some perfect woman in my last moments here on Earth. I’m not really here; I’m still deep within the heart of the ocean. But if my fantasies are going to try to give me one last moment of pleasure before I leave this earth, I’m not gonna fight them.
The woman grabs my arm harshly and jerks me toward her.
“Come on,” she says.
Come on? I’m not sure what she expects me to do, I have no energy to swim, there is no way I can save myself; I’m drowning in the middle of the ocean with no boat, island, or person to save me. But I let her pull me, assuming she’s a current dragging me deeper into the ocean, waiting until my lungs give out.
She pulls hard, and I feel my body moving, dragging behind her. I don’t know where we’re going or what she wants me to see before I die, but it seems urgent. Probably because she knows I only have seconds left to live. Maybe it’s something beautiful like a seahorse or whale or dolphin—something beautiful she wants me to see before I die. But all I can think is that there’s nothing more beautiful than her.
She swims harder now, more determined than before. But I’m not desperate or hurried, not in the final moments. I study everything about her. The way her arm darts into the water with beautifully tanned skin that shows just how much time she spends in the sun. I watch her toned legs kicking with the efficiency of a dolphin. I watch her ass bob up and down over the waves in bright red bikini bottoms.
If only she were real. If only I found a woman like her while I was still living.
But then Kai would be dead. There would’ve been no one there to save her if I had fallen in love with a woman like this. Because there’s no way I would’ve sacrificed myself to save a friend when I had a woman I loved who desperately needed me to live. Maybe that’s why I never found love. Because it would’ve made me a worse version of myself.
“Can you help me at all, you big oaf?” The woman says, throwing her head over her shoulder, shooting daggers with her eyes in my direction.
I smile. I don’t know why the woman is so angry at me, but I devour the look on her face.
When I don’t move to help her, she huffs and then starts kicking wildly again, lugging me along behind her.
I see the sky changing from dark to light. It must be the light that everyone talks about seeming just before they die. And I know my time is almost up.