Chapter 8
That tank, that water, hovered in memory. That merciless overhead lighting. That body, heavy and slack in the way of lifeless shapes.
He suppressed a shiver, in the present.
He knew he should’ve mentioned the whole water-related anxiety to someone on this production, especially given the amount of time Captain Lanyon spent on boats or diving in to save a shipmate, in the script.
He hadn’t said anything. He couldn’t. He wanted this role. He needed this role. And he could handle it, anyway. He was a trained professional. He knew how to put fears aside, and that wasn’t even a real fear anyway, right? Just a memory. Not a serious trauma. Not one involving his own life. Shouldn’t be an issue, two years and several films in the past.
He’d always previously been fine in water. He knew how to swim, and even liked to; he knew about water safety; nothing this historical period piece demanded would be more complicated than a dive and a grabbing of a fellow cast member.