Page 64 of Obsession Under the Southern Stars

No, I’m not going down that road. I walk through to the bathroom, brush my teeth, and get ready for bed. I climb under the covers, turn out the bedside light, roll onto my side, and hug the pillow. It still smells faintly of Joel’s cologne. The scent of the ocean, vast, mysterious, and enigmatic.

My eyelids droop. Part of me doesn’t want to go to sleep because the idea of descending into oblivion also makes me think about the sea. But I’m too tired to stay awake, and it only takes minutes before the calm, quiet darkness engulfs me.

*

“Zoe!”

I jerk awake, disoriented, my heart racing. I forgot to close the curtains last night and it’s still dark outside, but light from the hallway streams through my bedroom door, which is open. Joel is on the bed, sitting next to me.

“It’s me, Zo,” he says, putting a hand on my arm. “It’s all right, I’ve got you, you’re okay.”

I’m trembling, and for a moment I have trouble separating my dream from reality. “I was having a dream.”

“Yeah, I guessed that. Was it about the dive?”

I shake my head, shivering. I left the aircon on last night because I didn’t want it to get stuffy in the room. It’s now coolish, and I’m only wearing a thin pajama top and shorts. As I continue to tremble, Joel slides his legs under the covers, then leans back against the pillows and pulls me into his arms. I curl up next to him. He’s only wearing a pair of boxer-briefs, but his body is beautifully warm, and I sigh as he wraps his arms around me.

“What time is it?” I whisper.

“About one a.m. What were you dreaming about?”

I rest my hand on his chest, comforted by the warmth of his skin. “I was in my parents’ house, in the kitchen. It was nighttime, and black outside, with no moonlight. Mum and Dad were arguing. Olivia and Rory were there, too. Mum and Dad were each holding one of Rory’s arms, and they were both trying to pull him toward them. Olivia was trying to intercede, but they were ignoring her. Rory was crying as he stumbled from side to side. There was a pot of milk on the stove, and it started bubbling furiously. The pot burned through, and smoke started billowing out of it, engulfing us all. It was thick and black, and I couldn’t breathe. I couldn’t see any of them, and I was all alone.” My eyes fill with tears.

“Yeah,” he says, “you weren’t dreaming about the dive at all.”

I press my fingers to my mouth. “I suppose it was connected.”

“It was everything you’ve been feeling over the past few days rising to the surface, that’s all.”

I sigh. “All your analogies are about the sea; did you know that?”

He gives a short laugh. “I guess.”

I play with the hairs on his chest. “Do you ever get nervous or frightened when you dive?”

“No. But then I’ve done an awful lot of training. And I’m neurotic about triple checking everything.”

“I didn’t check the mouthpiece for moisture this morning,” I admit.

He sighs. “It was an unfortunate confluence of events. The rain caused the temperature to drop. It was just one of those things. The important thing is that we’re still alive.”

“I panicked, though.”

“Of course you did. Everyone would in that situation. Actually, from the outside you looked remarkably calm. You didn’t wrench my regulator out of my mouth. That’s very common, and the person panicking can knock off their buddy’s mask or cause them all sorts of problems. You got my attention, you made the correct hand signals, and you waited for me to sort it. It was textbook in that sense. You should be proud of yourself.”

I accidentally on purpose tug one of his hairs.

“Ow,” he says.

“Sorry.”

He sighs and kisses my hair.

“How did you know I was having a bad dream?” I ask.

“I was awake reading. I heard you cry out.”

“You were awake?”

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