Deep End

by Ali Hazelwood

The difference between Jan’s Lukas and mine is mostly in the u and s, and it makes me almost morbidly eager to find out how Lukas pronounces his own name. Is it weird, the way we all twist it into something else?

What’s it like, living in a second language? Maybe I’ll ask, if it ever comes up.

“Sorry the weather is so unseasonably warm while you visit,” I tell Jan. “The heat is rough.” “Oh, not at all. We’re Swedish. There’s no such thing as bad weather—” “—just bad clothes,” he and Lukas finish together.

I lift my chin and meet Lukas’s eyes, a little combative. Maybe I thought about you after what we did. Maybe I find you interesting. Maybe I like you without being liked back. I refuse to be ashamed.

“It’s his thing. His way of feeling in control. But it’s foolish—we are humans. We are not in control. Self-determination is a myth.”

“How long?” He knows what I mean. How long were you going to deny yourself, this time? How long till you planned to reach out to me again?

“Did you consider that I’m not a bed, or a condiment. I’m not hot water.” I try to sound as disengaged as he seems to be, but I doubt I’m succeeding. “Did you consider that I might be the type to hold a grudge? Or self-respecting enough to pick up the phone on the fifteenth day and say, ‘Fuck off’?”

The quiet, impersonal civility of this conversation is…devastating, actually.

“Because sometimes I can’t breathe when you’re around.”

“I’m…not sure I enjoy it. Not being in control.” Welcome to the club, Lukas.

“Even if it’s just sex, it’s not a good idea for me to be with someone who resents wanting me.”

Preseason meets are much smaller in size, and it’s understood that no athlete is expected to be in tip-top shape yet. Records or personal bests are unlikely, they are not televised, and the atmosphere more convivial. If we win, good. If we lose: See you in March.

What I need is more alcohol. Once I’m drunk, my neurons will be too drenched in ethanol to process their own firing. The ouroboros of defeat that is my life will fade into the great unknown.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t immediately process what happened. I felt out of control, and panicked. I acted like an asshole. I put my own fear before your feelings, and that’s…the most fucked-up thing I’ve ever done, without a doubt.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” I start, but he’s already shaking his head. “I owe you respect, I owe you care, and I owe you the truth. You, on the other hand, do not owe me forgiveness. But if you ever enter this kind of relationship with someone else…”

“It’s okay,” I say at last. This time it’s a decision, not an automatic response. I mean it. “I’m also not the best with…” I make an all-encompassing, hyper-vague gesture before letting my hand drop on my knee. “With?” “Emotions. Mine or otherwise.”

“I’m sure you can find something better.” “I have heard great things about being stuck in traffic?” “Vacuuming is excellent, too.” I laugh. “Sadly, I don’t have a car. Or—and you’re not going to like this—a vacuum cleaner.” He looks genuinely worried. “What conditions do you live in?”

😂

“After,” he starts. “Don’t just leave.” My brow wrinkles. “Wake me up if you need to. But don’t leave without saying anything.”

“You’re so good at doing what I ask you, aren’t you?”

“You can take some more. My good girl.”

“So obedient,”

“Look at you.” Lukas presses a sliding kiss into my lower lip, adjusts himself with a hand between our bodies. “A fucking dream.”

“Deep breaths, Scarlett.”

“That’s too bad,” he says, his voice at once mean and fond, like he contains every multitude I’ll ever need. “Since you’ll take what I fucking give you.”

“Lukas,” I exhale. “I know, baby.”

“Can you be quiet?” He wouldn’t believe a lie, so I shake my head.

“Quiet. You’ll take what you’re given and thank me for it. Won’t you, baby?”

“I never cry,” I say, sniffling, in lieu of an apology. “Liar.” He presses a kiss against my temple. “I’ve made you cry plenty of times.” “It’s different—” “Is it?” “—and you just have a dacryphilia kink.”

“Confidence is not about being able to do shit, Vandy. Confidence is showing up, and trying, and not giving up because deep in your heart you know who you are and what you’re capable of.”

I feel like an object, created for him. By him. Did I exist before the first time he fucked me? I have no memory of it. Do I exist when we’re not together? I’m just a toy. His favorite. Irreplaceable.

The prospect of him disappearing from my life tears through me with such violence, the only person who could sew me back together is… Lukas. With whom, I fear, I might be a little bit in love.

Lukas: Just come over to spend the night. I sleep better when you’re around. Scarlett: Why? Lukas: Because I know you’re safe. Lukas: And you smell good. Lukas: And you’re soft.

God 😭😭😭

It’s Lukas who’s perfect. Who knows how to push my boundaries but never cross them. To make me hurt just enough to feel good. Maybe we’re just perfect for each other.

That’s where it lives, my love for him. In the space between the things he could do, and what he chooses instead. Care, swallowing violence, swallowing care. Over and over again, until it’s all exquisitely tangled up together.