Hold Me Under

by Riley Nash

He swam like he didn’t care if he ever breathed again.

I hate that I look for him whenever he’s not here. I hate the relief when he appears, like all the bad ways he makes me feel are the only anchor I have.

The silver chain around his neck is all crooked, and he’s frowning into the sun, and suddenly he’s so much bigger and smaller at the same time, not a monster but just a guy, just a human, hot skin over weak bones.

I close my eyes and let the world come to me in pieces—gravel crunching under my ass, the burn of smoke in my lungs, my dry mouth and pounding headache. My life is no more, no less, than this.

If my body knows, I’ll follow it anywhere.

I want to know what he dreams about. I want to know what demons chased us here in the first place. I want to invite them to chase me instead, because he’s worn out from running so far and I’m strong enough to take it.

“I need to quit you slow, or it’s going to kill me.”

I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering if he’s ok and how I can live without the pieces of me I gave to him.

I never thought. I never thought I’d be here. I never thought I’d know what it means to be happy. And sometimes we say I love you, and sometimes we say I hate you, and sometimes we just exist together without a name, two stars in the universe, and it doesn’t matter because they’re all different names for the same thing, something that will never belong to anyone but us.