The Art of Not Breathing(35)

“What’s wrong?” I ask, looking up at him.

“Nothing.”

“Okay. Right—if you say the drop-off is beyond my limits, then I need to practice. There must be places that I can practice going deeper, like down to thirty meters, maybe.”

“Elsie, stop. This isn’t going to work.”

“What do you mean?” I don’t understand what he’s saying, but I know I don’t like it. My breath catches and I feel hot.

“I mean I’m going to be quite busy from now on and I won’t be able to see you as much.”

“I’m going to busy too—my exams start next week—but I’ll still make time for you.”

“No. We can’t see each other.”

“What’s happened? Yesterday we were planning our secret night dives, and now you’re dumping me?”

I knew yesterday was too good to be true.

“Is this because of everything I told you about Eddie? I’m such an idiot. I don’t know why I thought you’d understand. If it is, that isn’t really fair, because you were the one who got me in the water in the first place and made me think about everything. And now you’re going to leave because you can’t handle it?”

“No, that’s not true at all.”

“Okay, so it must be to do with Danny, then. I can’t believe you’re such a coward. Why do you listen to him when he clearly hates you?”

“Don’t do this, El. It’s nothing to do with anyone—it’s just me. I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You already have,” I say. My voice wobbles.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters. “You’re better off without me in your life.”

Nothing makes sense. He stares at me, focused on something on my face. I feel my cheek, but there’s nothing there. He reaches out and strokes my cheek over and over again, until I feel quite scared.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

He pulls his hand away like I’ve given him an electric shock. Then he kisses me really hard on the lips. So hard, it actually hurts. His hands are all over my body, trying to feel every inch of me. As I try to pull away, I smack my head against the wall.

“Sorry,” he gasps. He staggers back, then grabs his stuff and leaves.

I follow him outside, but he’s vanished.

I wander down to the water and wade in. I don’t even bother to take my shoes off. I’m not sure the sea does come alive at night. The water looks black and lifeless here.

At home an hour later, I lie on my bed with my soaking-wet trainers still on and cry. It’s a different kind of crying to how I used to do it. Now the tears fall silently from my face and I don’t sob, because if I did, the air would be coming out.





16



DILLON IS DRYING OUT. HIS SKIN IS ALL SHRIVELED AND FLAKY, and it stretches across his collarbone so tightly, I almost expect the bones to pop out. His bulging knuckles are rough, with small dots of blood on them. It looks painful, and he rubs them and blows on them every now and then. If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect he’d been in a fight.

He scrapes the sand into a pile using his bare feet. After each fresh heap, he shakes the grains from his feet and starts again. It’s the warmest day of the year so far, and we both wear cutoffs. The trip to the beach takes my mind off Tay and the dull ache in the back of my skull.

“What are we making?” I ask, and drag more sand onto his pile. “A mermaid?”

“What are you, twelve? But okay. You can do the tail.”

“That’s not fair! I should do the top part.”

“No, that’s a man’s job.”

I shove him and he falls right into his pile, squashing it flat. While he’s lying there, I kick sand onto his stomach, trying not to get it in his face. He’s laughing and his cheeks are the pinkest I’ve seen them in a long time, and then I’m laughing so much, I’m crying and get a stitch.

“Bury me, then,” he says, almost choking through his laughter.

We dig a bit of a hole, and then Dillon jumps in. As I fill it up with Dillon inside, I notice frown lines on his forehead that never used to be there. I try to smooth the creases from his forehead with my fingers. He yells when the sand from my hands falls into his eyes. He has his face scrunched up like the inside of a cabbage.

“Relax,” I say. “I’m just exfoliating you.” I feel the grains scratch my skin as I crunch them into the creases.

When only Dillon’s head is poking through the sand, I sit beside him and look out to sea. The water is calm and flat. I feel as though I could pick it up and hold it in my hands without it slipping off. It’s funny how water can look and feel so different depending on what day it is. I’m starting to understand what Tay meant about different light.

“I miss our days like this. When your exams are over, can we do it more and have picnics like we used to?” I ask.

“You have exams too, remember?” Dillon says.

“I’ll be fine. Everyone says it’s impossible to fail technology, so at least I’ll pass one.” I give him the biggest smile I can muster.

“Are you okay?” he asks. “You look like you’ve been crying.”

“I will be,” I say. Even though I don’t think I’ll ever be okay again. “So, picnic soon?”