Page 42 of Naughty Nelle

The insult stings, but I bite back my tongue. “I’m not dressed for a swim.” And it’s not my thing.

“Just take off your clothes and go for a skinny dip. Or should I say fatty dip.” She laughs at her own cleverness.

Rage whips through my bloodstream like an angry cobra. I want to sink my fangs into her. But I can’t. She’s my boss’s fiancée.

“Katrina, I’m going to head in.”

Her face darkens. “Please don’t. We need to have a little chat.”

“There’s nothing to chat about.”

Her eyes narrow into poisonous arrows. “I don’t like you hanging around Brandon so much. I want you to stop it.”

“That’s my job and I don’t take orders from you.”

“Well, you better get used to it because soon I’m going to be the boss of this house.”

I’ve had enough. “I’m leaving.”

Katrina scowls at my defiance. “Show a little respect, Zo-eeeey.”

“Excuse me.” I push myself off the chaise to a standing position.

“Don’t leave me.”

I don’t respond and start to walk away.

“Excuse me. Do you have a hearing problem? I said not to leave.”

On my next step, I feel a cold clamp clutching my ankle. I look down. It’s Katrina. I try to free my foot from her grip, but her hand grasps it tight like a shackle.

“Let go!” I yell, struggling to free myself.

“Bitch! You’re not going anywhere.”

Tightening her grip, she yanks my ankle so forcefully I lose my balance, and on my next breath, I’m flying into the deep end of the pool. I hit the water hard and open my mouth to scream, but as I go under, the warm salt water rushes in, choking me, burning my throat. Tumbling in all directions, I somehow manage to rise to the surface.

“Enjoy your little swim,” snickers Katrina as she hoists herself out of the pool.

Flailing, I plead, “Don’t leave me.”

She looms above me and scoffs. “Funny, that’s just what I said to you.”

My head goes back under. Water rushes through my mouth and my nose, this time filling and searing my lungs. I frantically wave my hands and kick my legs in all directions. I rise to the surface again, only to see Katrina loping toward her robe. Terror fills me.

“Katrina,” I shout out. “Come back! I can’t swim.”

She ignores me. Panic sets in.

Oh, God! I’m drowning! I’m going to die the same way my mother did.

The weight of my soaked sweatshirt—and pure panic—pulls me under again. I try breathing through my nose, only to have more water break in and enter my lungs. The terrifying cycle repeats itself. I manage to surface, but it’s only a few seconds until I’m back under. More water gathers in my lungs, permeating and burning every crevice.

Gasping for air, I resurface, my head barely above the water. I struggle not to sink back under, but I’m literally and figuratively in over my head. I shout out another desperate plea for help. I glimpse Katrina, smirking. Tears of despair gather in my eyes.

In full-blown panic mode, my mind races. Think, Zoey. Think! If I could only grab on to the edge. It’s my only hope. But all my thrashing is pulling me farther and farther away, closer to the middle of the pool. I feel helpless and hopeless. And I’m growing exhausted.

This time when I go under, I squeeze my eyes shut. Maybe it’s just a nightmare. A bad dream. This can’t be happening to me. No, it can’t be! It’s not my time. I try to wish it away. But as more water seeps through my lungs, my horrid reality sets back in. I don’t know how to swim. The pool is my nemesis. I’m a drowning fool.

---