Page 89 of Swim To Me

It’s already gotten too far, I know that. From the way my words hang in the air above Hudson and I, he knows it too. It’s easy to tell how much I like Delilah, how much I care for her, how much I don’t want to see her hurt… especially not at the hand of my own actions.

Dumping his own cup in the sink, Hudson thumps me on the back with a rare smile. It’s his own special way of reassuring me it’s all going to be okay.

I hope he’s right.

Grabbing the ingredients out of the refrigerator and cupboard, I set about making toasted bruschetta for Delilah’s and I’s starter, penne pasta and a creamy mushroom sauce for our main, and a set of chocolate covered strawberries for our dessert.

Cooking gives me a reprieve from thinking about the secret I’m about to uncover tonight; keeping my mind and my hands preoccupied.

I quickly toss together a side salad, pouring a healthy dose of balsamic vinegar on top, and store it in the fridge, while hoping Delilah doesn’t have any allergies I’m not aware about.

Me: You’re not allergic to anything are you?? Xx

Delilah: nope! Can’t wait to see you! Xx

A spark of warmth shoots through me at Delilah’s response, but it soon fizzles out with painful embers zapping across my heart.

Me: Me too. I’ll be sending a car to come pick you up xx

Hopping in the shower, I dress smartly in a pair of black slacks, tucking a midnight blue button down into the waistband. Giddy anticipation at the sheer thought of seeing Delilah begins to grow as I spray some aftershave and set the dining table, placing the bottle of red wine in the middle so it can acclimatize to room temperature.

I wander aimlessly around my apartment while I wait for Delilah to knock on the door, counting down the minutes, until I hear a soft rapt of knuckles.

I peel open the door to reveal Delilah. She’s dressed beautifully in a pair of black straight legged trousers and a skin-tight black lace bodysuit I instantly want to peel away from her body.

“Hey, gorgeous.”

“Hi, yourself.” Delilah steps right into my waiting arms, pulling back only to place a kiss on my lips and look around the place. “Holy shit, this place is amazing.”

“It’s quite something,” I agree, following her across the living room and to the floor to ceiling length windows beyond.

Delilah presses her palm to the cold glass, staring out at the view. Even I’ve got to admit it’s spectacular; London splayed out in all its glory. The still bright sun reflects across the skyscrapers, glinting wildly, while life passes by on the street down below. “Is being a lifeguard secretly a way of getting rich or something?”

“Or something,” I reply, another chunk of guilt eating away at my heart like the monster I used to believe was hidden beneath my bed and would nibble at my limbs if they hung over the side. I soon learnt that monster wasn’t anything compared to the ones hidden in plain sight in the outside world… or the ones we create within ourselves, who lie to use in order to tear us down into nothingness.

I hope Delilah doesn’t think me that monster once I tell her my truth.

Delilah glances out of the corner of her eye at me, questioning, but I can’t say it yet. Literally. The words die on the tip of my tongue, throat closing until I can just about manage to ask her if she’s hungry.

I lead her over to the table I’ve set, pouring each of use a glass of wine and then setting about to scoop a spoonful of perfectly seasoned chopped tomatoes onto the crispy slices of bread.

Eating the starter I’ve prepared for the two of us passes by in a blur, like a movie motion picture on three times fast forward.

In fact, so does the pasta and the chocolate strawberry Delilah presses to my lips.

I want to enjoy it so bad, the food, Delilah’s presence, but I can’t.

Because I’m eating myself up inside.

The food hardly touches the side, simply sitting like lead weights in my stomach. My body itself is oddly calm, no flipping insides or racing heart. I suppose years of conditioning my body into perfect form have helped with my central nervous response.

But my mind races in a way I’m completely unfamiliar with.

This isn’t me. I’m not an overthinker, I’m not someone who dwells on the what-ifs, or the potential outcomes. Sometimes my mind will become cluttered, with day-to-day life, things I need to remember like birthdays or picking up an extra loaf of bread before I come home. In those times, I’ll head straight to the water; pool, shower, bath… it doesn’t matter. The water sorts my head out, gets my thoughts in working order.

But it hadn’t helped today. Not the pool in my building, not my personal shower with its three jet heads.

Nothing had helped with my racing mind.

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