Page 8 of Swim To Me

I turn my wrist to the ceiling before he can even finish his sentence, offering it to Grey. “Count away.”

The bare pads of his pointer and middle finger slide over the thin patch of skin covering my blue veins without hesitation. Twisting to glance at his watch, I can’t bring myself this time around, to draw my eyes away from Grey’s side profile. His brows furrow as he looks down, counting the seconds, his plush lips squished together in concentration.

With the medical room silent, I can even hear the ticking of Grey’s watch. My breath, the inhale and the exhale through my nose, sounds louder than usual, as does the blood roaring through my ears.

God, this minute feels like it’s lasting a life—

“All done!” The pads of Grey’s fingers slip from my skin. “Heart rate is a little bit higher than average, but that’s to be expected after the shock. I’m pretty sure your blood pressure will be higher too, but I still have to check for the records, so is it alright to bring out the pressure cuff?”

I’ve barely gotten the ‘yes’ rolled from my tongue, before he’s standing up, grabbing the familiar looking piece of equipment and gently pushing back my towel to get to my upper arm.

Once it’s fitted around my arm and tightening each more by the second, Grey whips out the pen-like tool again, clicking the end with the pad of his thumb, until the other side lights up.

“I’ll check your pupil dilation while I’m at it, okay? So, just look straight ahead for me, Delilah. Now look left… right… and up…”

My eyes sting with the movement. I’ve got no doubt they’re probably very bloodshot with the amount of chemical chlorine that had washed over my retinas, but Grey’s quick and thorough about it, placing one finger under my chin to help move my face and eyes better into the bright, white light.

“Everything looks good,” Grey notes softly, drawing the pen further away and then closer again, until I swear I can actually feel my pupils dilating. “Anddd… yep, blood pressure is a tiny bit high too, but that’s to be expected.”

As Grey busies himself with removing the cuff, I try desperately to ignore the deliciously fresh mint aftershave wafting from him.

How unfair is it that I probably appear completely bedraggled – hair so wet I just know it sits heavy on my head in a misshapen lump, with snake like strands clinging to my neck, edges of my swimming costume digging into the thick flesh of my thighs as I sit down, towel uncomfortably wet around my aching shoulders and stinking of chlorine – but lifeguard Grey looks edible.

Ugh.

“I’m really happy with the way everything looks.” Grey retakes his seat, fiddling with the mouse of the old school computer on the desk until it lights up and he can key in a code. “I mean, I’m not happy with you almost drowning, that’s a stupid thing to say, but—”

I have the peculiar urge to laugh, unable to stop it from pouring out. “I know what you mean, Grey.”

He glances over his shoulder at me, showcasing another beaming smile and matching dimples, and then turns back to the computer.

“I’ll just get this complaints form printed out for you to sign and then—”

“I-I don’t want a complaint form, really, it’s fine.” I’m babbling again. “It was my own stupid fault; I don’t need to sign—”

“I’ll cross out the complaints side of it, then,” Grey speaks over the loud shuffling coming from the printer. “But it’s our policy for us to report any and all accidents. If you don’t sign, Delilah, I can’t let you go. Health and safety and all…”

“Fine,” I concede, slurping back the rest of my free water.

Grey rounds the desk to reach the printer, leaning his hip against the desk as he waits for the ink to dry. “You’re not suddenly feeling dizzy or anything? Like you’re going to vomit? No black spots in your vision?”

“Nope.” I pop the ‘p’, forcing myself to stand, emitting a wet, squeaky, almost suction-y, squelch as my bathing costume pulls away from the plastic chair. A red hot wave of embarrassment threatens to spill over me, but when Grey doesn’t even bat an eyelid, I force myself not to draw attention to it.

“Okay, well…” he pinches the freshly printed paper between his fingers. “If youdostart to feel any of those symptoms, you need to ring 111 immediately and tell them it could potentially be a concussion. I also highly recommend, if you live alone, you get somebody to stay with you overnight. That way they can keep an eye out for any warning signs too. Do you have somebody you can call?”

I meet his worried gaze. “Yes, I’ll get my younger sister to come round.”

He nods, scribbling something on the complaints form, before handing it, and a pen, over to me. “And if anythingworsens; you feel like you can’t breathe, you’re falling unconscious, vomiting blood, etcetera, your sister must ring 999, okay? Promise me.”

Taking the pen, I sign my name shakily with a flourish besides Grey’s, adding the date too and my contact number lest they need to contact me.

“I promise.”

Seemingly happy with my answer, Grey folds up the policy, pushes back the lock of his fringe which has fallen into his eyes and opens the door. “I’ve got to take this,” he flaps the policy paper, “to the front desk and dock it in, so I’ll walk you to the changing rooms.”

As we pass the front desk, I can see a group of women have congregated at the front desk now, each wearing gym gear and carrying a rolled-up foam mat on their backs. They stop their conversation to watch as Grey rounds the front desk, eyes lasered on my every wet footstep.

“I won’t be a minute,” I hear him tell the tittering group, while I continue to keep my feet moving forward, not letting my head drop, but not looking anyone in the eye either. I want to say thank you to Grey for essentially saving my life, but he’s busy at work and—

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