Page 1 of Swim To Me

Chapter 1

Delilah

The first thing I see as I step into the changing rooms is a stranger’s bare pair of tits.

“Shit! Sorry!” Second nature has me slapping a hand over my eyes, cutting off my vision to avoid looking further, unable to stop the expletive from rolling off my tongue.

I’m not unfamiliar with seeing naked bodies, I’ve seen my little sister’s one too many times while she’s parading around my flat like it’s a fashion show, but it’s something else to unexpectedly walk slap bang into a stranger’s naked chest.

“No worries,” comes the stranger’s soft voice, followed by the soft pad of her feet against the tiled floor as she glides away.

I drop my hand once the coast is clear, thankful that the changing room isn’ttooswamped. Although, there’s still several women dotted around, each in varying stages of undress.

Gripping the textured straps of my brand-new gym bag even tighter, and forcibly unsticking the soles of my flip flops from the grooved floor, I search past the other partially naked bodies, careful not to make eye contact with anybody else, for a changing cubicle.

Spotting one just off to the left, I stalk towards it, desperately trying to blend in with the crowd… as if I know exactly whatI’m doing. Once I’ve slipped behind the wooden door, locking it securely with a dullclick,I allow myself to sag against the plain, whitewashed wall.

Mentally I tick off the first to-do in my carefully put together plan.

It’ll be a disaster, otherwise.

Blowing out a breath so heavy it dislodges the freshly trimmed layers surrounding my face, I push off from the, hopefully, sanitised wall.

My own nervous wreck of a reflection stares back at me in the long length mirror upon the other cubicle wall; two bright spots visibly sit upon my cheekbones, while a ring of uneven pink splotches decorates the base of my neck.

What the fuck I am doing?

Why don’t I just turn around, go back home and forget this ever happened? I could put this all behind me–

“But then you’d be a failure…” singsongs the chip on my shoulder.

Over my dead body.

Turning away from my quivering reflection, I drop my bag onto the bench, yank open the zipper and rifle through its organised contents.

One large, extra fluffy, white towel.

One spare hair tie.

One hairbrush.

One brand new all-in-one bathing costume, paper tag still attached.

There.

My next exhale comes slipping past my lips in an audiblewhoosh,as I catalogue the next stage in my carefully thought-out plan.

I can do this. I can do this, I can do this, I can–

Quickly slipping off my flip flops - unable, for a split second, to stop my mind from sliding down the path of wondering about how many bacteria particles must be harbouring this very second upon the floor, the walls, the bench, the door – I shimmy out of my denim shorts and whip my purple camisole over my head, leaving me in nothing but my underwear.

I strip out of those too, seizing the brand new black swimsuit I’ve picked up for myself, the slippery fabric pooling through my fingertips.

The paper tag comes away with an easysnap,as does the sticky hygiene sticker hidden in the crotch… it takes me a second longer to pluck out the little plastic end which never seems to come away properly and always digs into your flesh if left there, but then I’m stepping into the costume and pulling it up my thighs.

I wiggle and lunge, yanking and tugging, already semi out of breath, until finally the bathing costume sits on my body.

Hands nervously fluttering, I smooth the skin-tight material over my stomach - the small bump I can never seem to get rid of no matter how many yoga classes I attend – down to my upper thighs,high cut really isn’t messing around,I can see every silvery stretch mark decorating the softest parts of my skin.I goback up the ladder of my ribs to my chest to ensure the girls are securely in – what I wouldn’t do to be a small perky B cup right now and not a natural double E – and finally, to my hair tickling my back.

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