Sharp coldness envelops me and fills my mouth, and I swing out my arms as I’m plunged deeper, pushed forward. It’s dark and icy and all at once I’m terrified—lashing out for something to grab onto. I fight to breathe, but take in a mouthful of water instead, gagging as my body convulses. Oh, God. I’m drowning! The pressure closes in on my chest, and I realize that I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die here!
Just then my body slams against a rock, hoisting me halfway out of the water. I hold on to it, vomiting up river until I’m sure I’ll pass out and die anyway. My throat burns, my lungs ache. My arm is numb and I think it may be broken. I’m focused on trying to breathe, even though my throat feels too tight. My adrenaline is keeping me conscious, but beyond that is a fear I’ve never known. Vulnerability I’ve never felt—and never want to feel again. I start to whimper.
The river rushes by, my legs pulled downstream, but I hang on, listening to the sound of my shallow breaths. My eyes feel swollen and raw, and I blink as I see the world around me. The green of the leaves, the gray of the rock, the glistening of the setting sun on the water.
I lay my head on my broken arm, my clothes stuck to me as I stare at my ring. I couldn’t kill myself, couldn’t let go like so many others had. I wonder if in their last moments they’d changed their minds, but there was no boulder to grab on to. I start to sob as I think about Brady and about how I should have gotten to him in the water sooner. Maybe he wanted to live. Maybe it’s my fault that he didn’t.
I cling to the rock, crying until the thoughts fade and my body’s spent. When I feel empty, I gather my strength and climb across the boulder, dragging myself to the shore. My legs are so numb from the cold that I can barely feel them touch the ground. My arm starts to throb at my side, and one of my shoes is lost in the river. It’s dark when I finally make it back to the car. I’d left my key in the ignition, and when I turn it, I crank the heat to slowly thaw underneath the warm air.
I stare through the windshield and think about how James will return from The Program. They might not let me near him for a while, but they will eventually. And James isn’t like other people. He’s smart. Resourceful. What if he doesn’t get hollowed out? What if he comes back and remembers me? If it were me, if I’d been sent to The Program, I’d do everything I could to remember him. I’d find a way. I have to believe that James will too. I have to believe in him.
• • •
My father is sitting on the porch stairs when I pull the car into the driveway. He jumps up immediately, rushing toward me. I shut off the engine and wait until he wrenches open the door.
“Sloane!” he calls, and then stops when he sees me. “What happened?”
I slowly drag my eyes over to his. “I was trying to learn to swim,” I say, and shrug. But when I do a sharp pain tears through my arm. I wince and look down at it.
“Are you hurt?” He leans in to touch me but I shrink away.
“Don’t touch it,” I say. “I think it’s broken. The current was too strong and it—”
“Helen!” my father yells over his shoulder, calling to my mother. “Come on, sweetheart,” he says to me, gently taking my uninjured elbow to help me out.
“Where were you?” My mother’s voice is frantic as she jogs from the house, her skin pale in the light of the front porch. Her hands search me, brushing back my wet hair, looking at the cuts on my cheek.
“I was trying to swim,” I say, and meet her tired eyes. “I know I’ve been horrible to you lately, and I thought maybe this could make up for it.” My mother has always wanted me to learn how to swim, even though I was scared of the water. Once my brother was gone, I vowed never to learn. But I hope this lie makes her feel better. “I’m sorry,” I add, lowering my head.
“Oh, Sloane,” she says, hugging me.