A single tear escaped the corner of her eye and merged with the pool water. She didn't wipe it away. There was no one here to see it. That, she realized, was perhaps the most terrifying and liberating thing about being alone: the freedom to feel without editing. She flipped over and started swimming—not laps, nothing disciplined, just movement for the sake of movement. Breaststroke to the ladder. Backstroke to the floating thermometer. She ducked under the surface and opened her eyes. The chlorine stung, but the underwater world was beautiful in its distortion: the blue tiles blurring into azure mosaics, her own pale legs stretching out like a dreamer’s limbs, the LED lights casting long shadows that danced along the bottom.
When she surfaced, she was in the deep end, where the water came up to her chin. She treaded water, legs scissoring slowly, and looked back at the house. emily 18 alone in the pool at nightrar
For five minutes, they kept each other company in silence. Then the cat stood, stretched, and disappeared back into the bushes. Emily was alone again. But now, the solitude felt different. Less like abandonment. More like a choice. She swam to the steps and sat on the second one, water lapping at her waist. The night air raised goosebumps on her arms. She hugged herself and thought about all the questions she had been avoiding: A single tear escaped the corner of her
Tomorrow, she would call her grandmother. Tomorrow, she would dig out the guitar from the basement. Tomorrow, she would start answering the questions instead of running from them. That, she realized, was perhaps the most terrifying
Floating felt like the opposite of everything she had been taught to do. In school, she learned to push, to strive, to achieve. On social media, she learned to perform. But floating required none of that. It required surrender. She had to trust that the water would hold her. That she wouldn't sink. That even in the dark, even alone, she was still supported.