Title: Thicker Water
Author: Sarken (sarken@gmail.com)
Rating: G
Disclaimer: I'd be drowning in a sea of happiness and swimming in a pool of cash if I owned it. Unfortunately, my swimming pool is still frozen from the winter.
Author's note: "I feel like I'm drowning over here," Faith said to Holly in the second season episode Faith. That was my inspiration for this fic. Surprisingly, I had the title chosen long before finishing this. Air is often described as thick when it's hot and humid or when there's a strong emotion that seems to be hanging around. For the title, I took that idea and applied it to water.
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Drip drop. Plunk.
Drip drop. Plunk.
Water is supposed to be refreshing and cleansing and life-giving, but I can't see it that way. To me, water has long been something oppressive.
Drip drop. Plunk.
I used to love the water. Stanley teased me about growing gills because I spent so much time in it when we were younger. Elizabeth, my best friend, had a swimming pool. Her family was rich; they could have filled the pool with money instead of crystal water that shimmered when the sunlight hit it just so. I couldn't tell that they were, though. They seemed just like everyone else, except for their house and their pool.
Almost each day in the summer, I'd go over to her house to escape. We'd spend the days by the pool. Sometimes we'd have parties there and invite our other friends, other times Stanley and Elizabeth's older brother would have friends over, but most of the time it was just Elizabeth and me. We would go underwater and stare up at the trees -- their yard was big enough for trees and a garden -- pretending we were in the country. She'd been to the country and would tell me all sorts of stories about it. I was -- still am -- a city girl, though, and as much as I liked to pretend, I really had no desire to leave.
Elizabeth and I drifted apart when we got to junior high. I joined the swim team which took up most of my time and she...funny, I can't remember what she did. I remember that, in the beginning, she came to a few of the meets. She and her boyfriend sat on the bleachers, cheering for me and my teammates. She and her boyfriend would be waiting for me, all smiles and fancy clothes and me with wet hair and clothes my brother had outgrown. We didn't change after that. We never changed, we just realized the truth: we were from two different worlds.
The last time we saw each other was the last day of our junior year in high school, when she said she was going to live with her aunt in the country. Maybe it was a last ditch effort to recall when we hadn't been separated by a dollar sign, but I think it was an attempt to make me jealous. I never told her I only liked the country that I observed through eyes burning from chlorine water.
I left the city for the first time that summer. I bought myself a bus ticket and found a cheap place to stay. I loved my city and I didn't want to go, but I couldn't stay in that apartment with my parents. I knew I couldn't live without my water, though, so I got myself a job as a lifeguard. Having the ocean was a consolation for not having my skyscrapers.
I met Fred that summer -- it turned out we went to the same school, but had never seen each other -- and married him three years later. I thought he was my new best friend. When you marry someone, that person is supposed to be your best friend. For six years, I tried to convince myself he was.
And then I found myself drowning in a bad marriage. I never had a problem handling myself before and I knew I was a strong enough swimmer to break the surface of the water for a breath of air. I did, but I had barely inhaled before something began pulling me back down.
I was drowning on the range and he was drowning in the classroom. As we were sinking, we found each other. We helped each other to the surface, but then the current swept me away from him. I was making friends and it looked like I was going places, but then I heard about Officer Boscorelli who wasn't going to make it much longer if he didn't change his attitude.
I had invested too much time in him to ignore that he needed help. Even though I was a rookie myself, they let me partner up with him. I think they felt that no more harm could come of it. I put my career on hold and focused on the man who had saved me, becoming an anchor for him.
He was unaware that his anchor was drowning. I knew he wouldn't notice, at least not until it began to effect me to the point where I could no longer hold him down and he began to drift. So long as he stayed on the calm surface of the water, he would never notice the fierce undertow just below the surface that had pulled me down and prevented me from coming back up.
The more Fred drank, the angrier he grew and the more accident-prone I pretended to be. I couldn't always make an excuse for my injuries, and so I started taking sick days, personal days, anything days to hide the worst of the cuts and bruises from my colleagues. For years I was being torn in half, trying to make certain Bosco stayed afloat while Fred did his damnedest to make sure I drowned.
Ever since I married Fred, I loathed water for bringing me to the man who was trying to hold me down. I didn't realize I could still use it as an escape, not until I found myself in Bosco's bath tub, soaking away the aches I have to explain to him when I decided to come out.
Drip drop. Plunk.
The water is cooling rapidly and my skin is wrinkling, telling me my body has absorbed as much water as it can take. Bosco's calling to me, asking if I'm all right, and I've only just decided what I'm going to tell him -- my history with water, the love affair that turned abusive and is only about to straighten out. I need just one more minute to myself before I can face him, though, so I sink beneath the water and listen to his voice and the leaky faucet.
Drip drop. Plunk.
Drip drop. Plunk.
:end: