Deep End

by Ali Hazelwood

Used to be in control. Used to live in pursuit of excellence. At this point, I’m just trying to avoid explosive failures. Wouldn’t it be lovely if I could manage not to constantly let down the people around me?

The truth is, being together is simple and requires little emotional labor from either of us. And when you’re like me (a goal-oriented, control-focused, overachieving perfectionist), finding someone like Maryam is a gift.

Would I? “It’s lots of things garbled together.” The ease of pre-negotiating a social interaction. Having, for once, specific instructions. The stable quiet in the never-ending chaos of my brain. The satisfaction of doing something right, of being told as much. Disconnecting from the rest of the world and going with the flow. And yeah: I’m not sure why I’m wired like that, but pain and pleasure have always mixed up in my head, and it feels good when someone I trust pinches my nipples. It’s that simple, sometimes. “To me, it’s about freedom.”

shrug, because that’s the problem, isn’t it? There is no right or wrong way to exist. Real life doesn’t come with an instruction manual.

“Come on, Luk. I know you think she’s hot. You said so.” Silence. “And I see the way you look at her.” A buzz of unease bursts in the back of my skull. “How do I look at her?” “You know how.”

Not all men, I’m sure. Maybe not even most men. But with my past, I cannot help distrusting them until they give me reason not to.

“Maybe the elephant’s just…blindfolded?” He nods slowly. “And tied up.” “And doing as it’s told.” He looks like he might find that more appealing. “What a good elephant.”

“Come closer,” he orders. Lukas stopped a step behind me. I turn and frown up at him. “Why?” “Because I just asked you to, Scarlett.”

The subject line just reads What you need. The body: If you decide to go for it, I think it should be me.

I’m starving, but my walk to the athlete dining hall is slow, because I’m busy writing an email to one Dr. Olive Smith.

Not to mention that of late, my body has accomplished very little. Being a good athlete, a good student, reaching for perfect—those were the building blocks of me. Now that I’m struggling with almost everything, do I still have a fully fleshed identity? Or am I just an assembly of meat pieces, to be sold separately on clearance?

Scarlett: Do you really want to be reminded of my computational superiority that often? Unknown: I do. I have a thing for women who are smarter than me.

I don’t get to finish that sentence. Because Lukas Blomqvist takes a long step, pushes me into the wall, and kisses me.

I used to define myself by how well I could perform. I used to flail myself alive when I got less than nines for my dives, or wasn’t first in my class. Now, I’d just like to not crash and burn.

“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.”

It takes him a while to answer. When he does, he’s not looking at me. “Because sometimes I can’t breathe when you’re around.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” My belly swoops at the endearment. His tone lives somewhere between sympathy and amusement. “If you don’t think that I’m very aware of your presence, always, you have no idea what’s going on.”

I smile, because he’s right. I’m going to try an inward dive, and if it works, great. If it doesn’t…nothing hangs on this specific dive, does it? Actually, nothing hangs on most dives. If I’m honest, nothing hangs on my overall ability to dive, either. It’s true. Whether I manage to do this or not, when I get out of the pool, I’m still going to be me. And Lukas…Lukas is still going to be here. And admitting it to myself is such an odd relief, I find myself laughing.

“I fuck you because you’re the most perfect thing I’ve ever felt, Scarlett.”

“I’m afraid of the unpredictability of existing. I’m afraid of not being able to control the direction of my life. I’m afraid that no matter how much I plan, I won’t be able to avoid hurtful and sad things. But above all…” I take a deep breath and laugh softly, because what I’m about to say is ridiculous, even if it’s true. Even if it’s me. “Mostly, I’m afraid of attempting something and not being perfect at it.”

“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.”

“But I can’t remember whether I told you how beautiful you are. And it’s been driving me crazy.”