Tears In the Water, page 19
“You’d do that?”
“Of course I would,” he replied. “Once you feel ready to delve into it, Uriah and I will both be happy to help you figure yourself out.”
I groaned softly in frustration. “I should stop thinking. Is there a way of stopping my brain from thinking? It seems like every time something happens my brain suddenly starts finding problems. It’s a never-ending cycle.”
“Well, learning about yourself and who you are is never a linear journey.”
Tate brought his hand to my hair again, putting a strand behind my ear. I felt myself melt against his palm, his lips turning into a soft smile at that. His eyes were filled with affection and I hoped mine were able to portray the same kind of emotion. I'd never had to express my feelings and affection with words, so I prayed he could still feel how much he meant to me in other ways.
His gaze then fell to my lips. “This asexual thing doesn’t mean we can’t make out, though.”
I burst out laughing, not expecting him to go there after such a serious conversation.
I grinned back at him. “I mean, if you want to, who am I to say no?”
TWENTY-THREE
Lately, tension during training had been pretty high and, if that weren’t already making everyone anxious, our coaches decided to tell us the date of the qualifying rounds for the Olympics, which were in just five months’ time.
As soon as we heard the news, my stomach started hurting. I thought back to my performance of the previous year, how it had all gone to shit just as I was doing my best. I didn’t want a repeat of that and the pressure of trying to get into the Olympics surely wouldn’t help my fear, but if I wanted to become a professional I had to find a way of doing well in more challenging situations. I was going to try for it no matter what it cost me. I only hoped I wouldn’t burn myself out trying to make my dreams come true.
If I wanted a chance, I needed to work harder. Ever since I’d started seeing Tate I’d cut down on my extra practice to spend time with him, but I needed to start focusing on my career again. He was an athlete too, so he would understand.
After official training finished I told Xiuying to head out without me. She was visibly surprised and I was sure she was also thinking that I hadn’t done that in a while, but she didn’t stop me or tell me to take it easy. She, too, was feeling the tension the announcement had caused and she knew why I was doing it. With the whole pool to myself, I kept swimming until my muscles burned so much I could barely move.
Usually, swimming helped me relax and keep my mind clear, but this time the more I swam the more my mind wandered. I recalled how I’d messed up in a previous competition, about a mistake I’d made once that I needed to be aware of when swimming so I didn’t make it again, of how my posture wasn’t perfect when I rewatched a video my brother had taken of me when we were getting into position to dive into the pool.
I got so distracted by everything that I didn’t realize I’d reached the end of the pool, hitting my hand on the wall. Thankfully I managed to stop myself before I hit my head as well. I paused and lifted my head out of the water, cussing quietly.
No, that’s not okay. I can’t slack off. I can’t be negligent. I need to be attentive every second, or I’ll mess everything up.
I pushed myself away from the wall and kept swimming and swimming and swimming. My muscles protesting didn’t matter, I needed to improve. I kept going until I wasn’t even swimming anymore, just violently slapping the water.
After training, in the changing room, my mind didn’t leave me alone either. I thought I’d had a lot of thoughts while I was swimming, but those were nothing compared to the doubt and self-hatred I felt once my mind didn’t have to coordinate my movements anymore.
I don’t deserve to be here. I’m not good enough to try out for the Olympics. There are so many swimmers that don’t get panic attacks for something as silly as a competition. I have no right to be here.
A cold shower didn’t help, nor did the calming music in my ears.
I didn’t want to go back to my room. I didn’t want to be alone with my thoughts because I was scared of what I could do to myself, and I didn’t want Xiuying’s company or for her to see me like this. I felt bad at the thought that I didn’t want to be around Xiuying, but I wasn’t in the right state of mind to appreciate her efforts. Whatever she might have done to distract or cheer me up would only have ended up making me feel more miserable, or irritable. I didn’t want to be mean to her accidentally.
I sent Tate a quick text to ask if it would be alright for me to go by his room and I got a reply in less than a minute. I was so tired and distracted that I entered his dorm by the official entrance instead of going to his window. I didn’t care if anyone saw me, I could have just been passing by to pick something up for all they knew.
I knocked on Tate’s door and waited. He opened it and stepped aside to let me in, his initial surprise turning into a gentle smile. His smile quickly turned into a frown, however, as I walked past him into the room. Thankfully Uriah wasn’t there with him.
“Is everything alright?” Tate asked worriedly.
My first instinct was always to answer yes to that question, out of habit so people wouldn’t ask more, but he wasn’t people, he was Tate. I looked at him and shook my head.
“What’s wrong?”
I tried to force my mouth open, to speak, to say anything even just make a noise, but it was like my body didn’t want to follow my orders. The more I thought I needed to talk, the more my body shut down on me. Tate waited patiently for me to reply in any way. I brought my hand to my upper chest, to just under my neck, and hit it lightly, shaking my head, praying he would understand.
I wasn’t really surprised when Tate looked confused by my actions. “Your chest hurts?”
I shook my head, moving my hand up to my throat, and tried to open my mouth again to speak, but nothing came out. My lips formed a tight line as I tried to hold back frustrated tears.
“You can’t speak?” He asked hesitantly.
This time I nodded.
His concern turned to panic in a second. “Does it hurt? Do you need a doctor?”
I shook my head once more.
“Just…” That one word sounded so strained and quiet, both starting and ending the sentence I couldn’t bring myself to continue. My body wasn’t cooperating and it made me so mad I wanted to punch something— I wanted to hurt myself.
Tate stopped and looked at me so intensely that I felt the need to be completely still as well. He focused on me in silence for a while, then seemed to put together the pieces.
“You can’t speak… because you’re exhausted?”
I nodded, feeling my body relax a little in relief.
“Mentally or physically?”
I didn’t know how to tell him, how to communicate with him in this state.
“Both?”
I nodded again.
He walked over to his bed and got the pillows, putting them together to make one big soft surface towards the headboard. He sat on the bed and patted the space next to him.
“Come on,” he said. “You don’t need to talk if you can’t, or if you don’t want to. We can just rest today.”
He lay down while he watched me walk towards the bed, and lay down next to him. As I put my head in the crook of his neck I felt my entire body give up, dropping as if it were a dead weight. Tate wrapped an arm around me, pulling me closer. When he squeezed me a little tighter, I realized I was shaking. A single tear trailed down my cheek.
“Is it okay if I speak, or would you rather have some quiet?” Tate asked.
I looked up at him, trying to think of how to reply, but realization hit him before I could think of a solution.
“Shit, sorry. Yes or no questions,” he reminded himself, then tried again. “Is it okay if I speak?”
I nodded. It seemed to be the only thing I could manage. I wished I could tell him I liked hearing him talk, that his voice soothed me. I wished I could force my voice to tell him how thankful I was at that moment, but now that I was in his arms, my body started shutting down and the exhaustion I was previously fighting came crashing down on me.
“You can relax now,” he said softly. “You’re safe here. It’s okay.”
My body shaking from exhaustion turned into uncontrollable sobbing before I even realized it. The only sounds coming from me were sobs and whimpers and I was so tired that I didn’t even get a chance to feel embarrassed by it. Tate held me through the whole crisis, whispering comforting words in my ear.
◈
When I opened my eyes again, light was streaming in through the window. It took me a moment to realize that I was not in my bedroom. I jerked and stood up in panic. Uriah, who was looking through his wardrobe, quickly turned towards me, surprised by the noise.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry,” I mumbled, voice rough. “I’m so, so sorry.”
How had I fallen asleep there? Why had nobody woken me up?
“Why are you apologizing?” Uriah asked, confused.
“I slept here in your room,” I said, matter-of-factly. “I have no idea how that happened, I’m so sorry.”
“Alex, it’s okay, don’t worry.”
I was going to apologize once more when the door opened and my boyfriend walked in.
“Oh, you’re awake,” he said smiling.
I waited for him to come closer in order to whisper aggressively, “Why didn’t you wake me up?”
“You were sleeping so soundly I couldn’t bring myself to wake you up and tell you to go back to your dorm.”
Is he actually serious?
“Tate you don’t live alone. You have a roommate! You can’t just do that.”
Had Uriah seen what a mess I’d looked last night? Wait… how do I look like right now? Probably like I’d survived a nasty storm…
“I asked Uriah if it were okay and he said yes,” Tate replied. Then he turned to his friend. “Right?”
Uriah nodded. “I don’t have a problem with you staying over as long as you don’t act overly affectionate in my presence.”
Still, I didn’t feel like it was right for me to crash there, especially without warning or personally asking Uriah if he were okay with it. I hadn’t had any intention of staying over when I’d come by the night before, I’d just wanted to be with Tate to make my brain stop hurting me.
Apparently Uriah had somewhere to be and headed off, leaving us alone. Tate gently guided me back to the bed and sat me down.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his tone getting softer.
I sighed, defeated. “Better, I think.”
My mind was quiet for the moment, which was a good sign.
“Did you sleep well?”
“Yes, I think so,” I replied, a little hesitantly. “I didn’t wake up once, which is pretty rare for me.”
Tate’s fingers grazed mine gently. “Well, you were exhausted.”
I shrugged, embarrassedly. “I’m not usually that weak, I don’t really know what happened to be honest. I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”
I felt Tate shift on the bed and when I looked up he was frowning. “Why the hell are you apologizing?”
I was taken aback for a moment. “Well, I… I just… I don’t know. I should be able to deal with things on my own. Breaking down on you like that was really rude.”
“You already deal with everything else on your own,” Tate replied. “I’m your boyfriend, it’s kind of my job to take care of you and make sure you don’t wear yourself out.”
“Exactly, you’re my boyfriend, not my babysitter.”
Tate tilted his head, thoughtfully. “I don’t think babysitters offer emotional support.”
I hit him lightly on the chest and he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.
“What I’m trying to say,” Tate started, his tone back to serious, “is that we’re supposed to help each other out and be there when the other is feeling down. I want to do that for you, I want to make sure you’re alright.”
“It’s always you who takes care of me, though,” I replied. “I never seem to do anything for you.”
“You do a lot, actually. Even when you don’t realize it, you’re always helping me, cheering me up, comforting me.”
My eyes narrowed. “I do?”
“Yes, you do.” He smiled and leaned forwards to kiss the tip of my nose.
I sighed, feeling calmer. I lay back down, taking his pillow and hiding my face under it.
“Does it happen often?” I heard Tate ask. “You not being able to speak.”
I lifted the pillow just enough so that he could hear me clearly. “Not often, but it happens sometimes when I’m really tired, or really anxious, or really frustrated. I guess you could say whenever my emotions become too much. My mouth won’t do what I tell it to and forcing myself to talk feels physically painful.”
Tate reached out and squeezed my side gently.
“When, or if, it happens again, you can come to me,” he started. “We can have quiet days and just relax. We don’t need to talk or do anything else.”
I let what he'd said sink in. Tate was always so kind and ready to help. He was always there for me and I never did anything in exchange. No matter what he said, I felt useless.
I had no idea what any of my feelings— the exhaustion, the heaviness, the sadness— meant. Maybe there was a name for it, a name that would make all of it real and official, but I wasn’t ready for that yet. I wasn’t even sure if putting a name to it would make me feel better or not. Labelling things often gave me a sense of comfort, or certainty, but avoiding problems was my preferred approach in the end.
“I know my boyfriend is a fighter,” he added, “but he doesn’t have to fight alone.”
All it took was for him to use a different term and pronoun for me to feel the weight on my chest lessen slightly. I knew he had done it on purpose, and it had actually worked. It was the first step along the path of properly understanding myself.
“Thank you for being there for me,” I whispered eventually. My tone sounded funny and I cursed inwardly at my inability to ever sound sincere.
“Thank you for letting me be there for you,” was his reply.
TWENTY-FOUR
A few days later I woke up grumpy, tired and lazy for no real reason. Well, maybe it was the build-up of general anxiety and exhaustion from training, or the heaviness and mid-numbness that had stayed with me despite Tate’s best efforts to comfort me a couple days before. But I was going to pretend there wasn’t a reason either way since it made me feel less guilty about it all.
While I got ready to go to the pool to train for the day, I made the mistake of looking at myself in the mirror and all I could think was how desperately I wanted to punch my reflection. I couldn’t stand looking at myself and hated the fact that people around me could see me. I wanted to be invisible, actually invisible for once, to go on with my life as if I were just a ghost, with no real physical form that anyone could perceive.
Xiuying noticed my bad mood and made sure to talk as little as possible, hoping that would prevent me from exploding and snapping at her or anyone else. When we arrived at the gym, we found Tate standing outside the building.
“I’ll wait for you inside,” Xiuying announced, before quietly greeting my boyfriend and walking off.
Tate stepped closer to me with a bright smile on his lips, genuinely happy to see me, and I immediately felt guilty for my messy emotional state.
“Good morning,” he said softly.
“Hi.” I cringed at myself. He seemed to notice my mood but luckily my short reply didn’t kill his smile.
“I wanted to say ‘hello’ before I went to the match,” he announced.
Oh god, the match.
“Shit, I forgot,” I blurted out. “I’m so sorry.”
He laughed softly and shook his head. “It’s okay, you already said you wouldn’t be able to come.”
“Yeah but I should still have remembered,” I replied. Why am I so stupid? “You know, to at least say ‘good luck’ or something.”
“It’s okay, it’s not like we need luck anyway,” he said, puffing out his chest. “We’re the best.”
I sighed. “Sometimes I can’t decide if you’re rightfully confident or just arrogant.”
He grinned proudly. “Both.”
I glared at him, trying to look playful, but I had a feeling my mood was interfering with my intentions. As much as I loved his presence and his bright self, his cheerfulness was somehow making me even more upset.
“Is my boyfriend in a bad mood today?” Tate asked softly.
Boyfriend didn’t feel good at all today.
I grimaced before I could stop myself. “I got out on the wrong side of the bed I guess.”
He stepped closer slowly, giving me time to stop him. I didn’t say anything and let him put his hand on my waist. “Anything I can do to make my boyfriend feel better?”
Again, the word felt like a punch in the gut. It had been fine these past days so why did it feel weird today? Why couldn’t I stand it? Why didn’t it feel right anymore?
Tate sensed me drifting deeper into my bad thoughts and his expression became concerned. “What’s wrong?”
“I’m not really feeling it today,” I said quietly. Trying to hold it together was becoming hard. “Is it okay if we use neutral terms for a while?”
“Of course,” he replied softly. “They and them?”
