*cue opening music*

Either my ass or my ego is going to be grinded to nullity today, and I'm putting her savings on both.

My butt burns against the rough flooring of the kayak. Numbness gnaws at my leg, and the rudder stick knifes my feet. The water around me ripples as I shake and tremble in her seat.

Hell would be better than this.

A wave slaps into the side of my boat and I flail for a second before regaining my balance. I don't want to capsize, not here, not where everyone can watch me swim like an overweight fish through the rubbish-infused waters.

Water drenches my face and beside me, my best friend Liz laughs.

“Not funny. I wasn’t going to wash my hair until I got home,” I scowl at her but it only amuses Liz further.

Honestly, I love paddling. It just…gets really hard. Like the way boats are thinner than the average chair, your ass gets squeezed to dust, balancing is basically like tight roping, and everyone pees in the reservoir—which, ew.

“See you if you ever reach the end of the lanes.” Liz winks at me, and sprints off. Me? I don’t have that luxury. I'm two seconds away from face-flopping and sinking to the bottom of the water in shame.

As I dig the paddle into the water, a lock of hair whips into my mouth and I grit my teeth, trying to push it out with my tongue.

From behind her, there’s a panicked yelp and a splash!

Don’t look back, or you’ll capsize. I pin my gaze to the horizon and take my next wobbly stroke forward.

But another wave strikes me, and behind there’s the deadly whirr of an engine. Shit.

The speedboat purrs, low and husky, the femme fatale of the reservoir. It sashays close, its heels spelling doom. No, no, no. My muscles burn and my paddle smacks the water, sending a jolt up my arm.

Another wave comes, and this time I don’t win.

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, and it’s the last thing I get out before I flip. The kayak flips with me, and I'm plunged into the dark, shit-and-pee infested waters of the reservoir

Here's the golden guide to falling off a kayak, listen close: Flip the boat. The longer it stays upside down, the more water streams in, the higher the chances you’re going to sink five grand. Grab anything that floated out, like your bottle, paddle, anything you were dumb enough to bring. Swim like hell to shore.

I break the surface of the water, sucking in deep to replace the lost air in my lungs. The boat floats idly beside me, daring me to ride it again.

But just as I lash an arm around the bow, when a piercing pain shoots up my ankle. Fiery hot, thousand needles stab at my foot, devouring my skin. Oh shit. My vision goes red for a second. A whimper escapes my lips.

Get up on the boat, my brain urges me. Come on, come on.

I flip the boat, grabbing my paddle and bottle and chucking both into the boat. My hands shake. The pain does not recede. It throbs, crashing over me again and again in ruthless waves. It’s mind numbing and it makes me want to scream.

Something soft curls around my foot and starts to drag me down. I latch onto the boat, muscles straining against the unseen force. What the hell? Never, never, have I ever heard of this kind of thing happening in the reservoir. Dozens of schools, thousands of students, and out of all the kayakers and canoeists, why is this happening only now?

The bow tips down into the water; the stern is rising. Whatever is pulling me is winning. My shirt rides up. My shorts billow with water.

I'm going to drown.

The water creeps up my neck and tickles my jawline.

I'm going to die.

Water laps at my lips. If I don’t do something now, I'm as good as dead.

I force my lips open and scream.

The first kayaker arrives in seconds. He stops by me, jamming his paddle into the water. “Are you okay?”

“Help." My voice sounds weak, barely a raw croak. It's embarrassing, but everything hurts too much for me to really care. “Something’s pulling me down.” As I say it, the force drags me down a little more and water enters my lips. I spit it out, pursing my lips together.

The boy’s eyes widen and he reaches for me. In turn, I reach out for him and my hands encircle each other’s wrists.

“Shit!” The boy gasps as he tilts and almost capsizes. “Help! Someone’s drowning!” He yells, knuckles white on my arm.

This is bad.

The next person who comes is Liz. Her brows furrow. “What’s happening?”

I shiver as the boy explains the situation quickly to Liz.

“Haven, hey, you’re so pale.” Liz grabs my other arm. “Coach! Coach! We need help!” Liz’s bullhorn voice carries across the entire reservoir.

The weight of whatever it is becomes heavier on my legs, and the pain intensifies. A yelp escapes my throat. I might be crying. I don't know.

I don't know what's going on, don't know what's on my leg, don't know why this is happening, I don't know I don't know I don't know.

So why won't God spare me?

It’s work, trying to get air into my lungs. There's shouting, yelling, then a pair of large hands, sliding under my arms and pulling me out of the water. The pressure on my leg eases and dissipates.

“Breathe.” Liz murmurs in my ear. "Deep breaths. Nice and slow."

Okay, I was definitely crying. My eyes are puffy.

“Let me see your leg,” Liz says. I stick my leg out of the boat, still too tired to look. Chances are, it's perfectly fine. No matter how harrowing it was, there's no way it could be anything real. I wish I could just wipe my memory of the event.

Who knows? Maybe I just had a panic attack, or there was a fish on my leg, or-

“Oh my god!” Liz gasps.

Or maybe not.

“Should I look?” I turn to Liz wearily, pointedly turning my gaze from my leg. Liz shakes her head firmly.

That doesn’t sound good.

Coach paddles me back to shore, strokes short and furious, stopping every while to chance a glance back. The second they hit land, Coach jumps out and steadies the boat.

“Come on, come on.” Coach slides her arms under me. As I'm being picked up, I catch sight of the blood swirling around the boat. Is it really that bad?

Every step Coach takes is a throb in my ankle. I want to see what's going on but the only thing I see is the cloudless sky. It would have been a beautiful day.

Coach sets me down in front of our shed, a dilapidated shack we use to store our boats.

“Get me the first aid box,” she tells Liz as she places Haven's leg on her lap. For the first time, her ankle is in full sight.

And it isn’t looking pretty. There are two puncture wounds on my ankle, the edges red and slightly puffy. The wound goes down so deep I can see flesh, blood dribbling down her pale skin.

Whoops, I'm beginning to get a little lightheaded. Blood was never really my thing, if it could be anybody’s thing at all.

Liz comes back with the first aid kit, but I know before she opens it that there won’t be anything in there. I remember checking it before and finding nothing but a bottle of contaminated iodine and a couple of dirty Band-Aids.

Sure enough, Coach curses when the box reveals a couple of mud-encrusted wrappers and some black mold. “It’s going to get infected."

Then Coach takes a bottle out from the shed and tips it over Haven's foot.

“No!” Haven yelps and covers the wound with her hands. The water splashes over her hands and drip to the floor but it doesn’t touch her ankle. “Haha, uh, I think I’m fine. You don’t have to wash it.” She grins sheepishly. The puncture is still throbbing, and her stomach turns when she thinks of the pain the water will bring.

Coach rolls her eyes, pushes her hands away (No!), and dumps the water on her ankle.

So.

Much.

Pain.

Haven curses, trying not to shout. She's crying again, the tears mixing with the reservoir water on my face. The pain is concentrated mostly in those two little holes in my ankle, the stinging-to-the-point-of-decapitation, bone-aching, flesh-eating kind of pain.

As I swear my life out, my brain rings with questions.

What had done this?

Why was this happening to me?

And most of all: what now?

Liz brings me home, and she might wrap my wound like she's a five year old with no fingers, but it does

the job.

Before I go to sleep, I probe my foot through the thick swath of bandages. My thumb kneads its way gently down my ankle until something like a hundred knives pierce my foot and I stop.

I'm asleep before I hit the pillow. My eyes fall shut so fast it must be record-breaking, all curled up in my silk pajamas. The silk pajamas are important.

Because when I wake up the next day, I am definitely not wearing silks.

___________________

I KNOW IT'S A LONG CHAPTER but i swear they're not all like this! i've got most of this book planned out already but i would so appreciate your feedback because this is one of my first stories and i'm so nervous but so excited to show you guys what's coming ahead! thank you so so much for reading, if you'd like to se extra content as the story goes on, as well as tips on writing stories (for all aspiring writers!) please subscribe to me on patreon here: