4 Subtlety is a Dead Concept

Having spent a little less than a year glued to Holden's hip, I'm not used to waking up alone. In direct contradiction to this certainty, I wake up this morning to an empty bed and an aching jaw. I must've been grinding my teeth in my sleep again. Ever since last week, I'd taken up the habit of biting down on an imaginary hide, the taste of human flesh with blood following after is irreplaceable and there's no healthy way to cope with its absence. My blunt teeth can't take this sort of abuse and I've been left with head splitting headaches most of the time.

What time is it? The sun is hardly up, yet its weak glare is enough to lash red along my arched back. There is a succinct click as if to answer my unspoken question, the sound of the hotel room's key alerting Holden's entrance. I'm out of bed before she can head to the bathroom, the sun following after and tenderizing my already sensitive skin.

Holden is wearing a green polo shirt and khakis as well as a stunned expression, the latter brought on by my palpable separation anxiety. At any other time I'd be embarrassed, and for all I know, Holden could be afflicted by secondhand embarrassment this very second, but I'm too preoccupied with my face nuzzled along her neck.

Something about waking up alone this morning has hurt more than ever, like I was going to be left alone permanently. Silly, I know, but lately things have seemed... precarious. Like despite all our efforts put into disappearing off the map there's someone watching us. Just waiting for a moment of vulnerability, the state I certainly am in, half dressed with peeling skin from sunburn and half delirious.

Holden is safe though. Realistically she can't do much more than I can but the way she reciprocates my awkward hug makes me feel settled. Like she doesn't have to ask anything, just run gentle fingers down my spine and endure our mutual embarrassment. I wonder if she would take to cuddling more often, which is a thought more akin to a teenage girl's innocence than anything I'd usually think. Her neck has the smell of sweat and grease mingled with her usual cologne, and my mind immediately associates the grease with meat and something else I've been missing all week.

I find myself baring teeth against the joining of her neck and collarbone before I rip myself away and recover the trail of an inquiry.

"What's with the uniform?"

Holden lets a smirk loosen her expression, and like the idiot I am, I only now notice the scarf she's wrapped around her head, the makeup caked on and cracking along the grooves in her cheeks and where the skin between her eyebrows wrinkle. "I thought I told you? I got a job at a Mcdonalds- now we don't have to worry so much about money."

Has she already told me? I can't remember, but that could be attributed to a fault in my memory as opposed to negligence on Holden's part. I haven't exactly been on the up and up, and the realization leaves me flushed in regret. I usher her in, taking her jacket and the slightly crushed to go bag. As I chuck the burgers in the microwave, Holden falls boneless along her bed.

"Wow, look at us. A working man and his loving housewife," she teases.

I fling a water bottle at her in response.

The dinner of stale burgers can only take up so much time, and the usual silence between the two of us is more strained than anything, ready to be stabbed by confrontation.

As if Holden has also been contemplating the silence, she's the one to break it.

She asks of me, "What's your deal," as casual as one can get.

"What deal?"

"The deal where you've been depressed and whatever. Did something happen? Did I mess up?" however unpracticed Holden is in genuine sentiment, her face is open now, searching me as thoroughly as I her. I can't stand it. I know if I told her what I was really thinking, everything we have would fall apart.

So instead of giving into the false hope that honesty tempts with, I dismiss myself in favor of spending time at the hotel's pool. The confusion flitting across her face, highlighted by hurt is understandable. I've never shown interest in hanging around the pool and I can't even swim. I stick with my alibi though, snatching a sports bra from the floor, and dropping a kiss on Holden's forehead before leaving.

The pool has been closed the whole we've stayed here, a byproduct of Corona. Still, it's not exactly hard to break into, and it's no time at all when I dangle my feet in the deep end, idly trying to gauge whether I'd survive jumping in. Whether I'd want to. I've almost drowned a couple times, none of my own volition.

The first time, I thrashed, as one might expect. I remember being tugged out of water by my mother, who scolded me for going too deep. We then spent the following night eating smores, I suppose to relax my guard until my father came home, and the two fought over who was to take the blame for my lackadaisical behavior. This was a common occurrence, and no matter how many people reassured me that I had no part in the dilution of my parents' marriage, I know they resented me. The main topic of my father's lectures were about how much he sacrificed to take care of me, how much he still sacrificed.

It's hardly worth it isn't it? I think he knew what a waste of time I've been all my life, and only kept me around out of guilt. I wonder how many people I've befriended feel the same way. Does Holden?

Without thinking about it, both my legs have slid into the pool, as if encouraging the rest of my body to follow. I give in with no fight, the intense feeling of relief only serving to recall one other memory.

The second time I almost drowned I was a bit more prepared. It was during a swimming lesson, one of the many classes I didn't pay much attention to. The class was separated into two sections, one being for the kids who couldn't swim and the other for the ones who could. I never learned how to swim even after that first incident, but my pride urged me to try the deep end anyway. No one stopped me, and it was a good few seconds before I was rescued. Within those precious seconds, I didn't thrash. I didn't move. I curled in on myself as if to sink faster, and was surprised when someone dived in to rescue me.

Now I'm curling in on myself, but it's not so peaceful. I have to almost smother myself with an open palm so I don't scream, and against my will my legs are thrashing. It's like a self defense mechanism is kicking but I swallow it down, allowing myself to steep, and indulge in the ever tightening pressure.