Page 80 of Undertow

I shake my head, stiffening when her arms wrap around me from behind.

“I need to shower,” I say, breaking from her hold.

“Shaw.”

“I’m late.”

I push to my feet.

“Okay, but just stop for a second. Let’s?—”

“I’ll eat during my shift.”

I grab my shorts.

“Will you just… Shaw! Look at me!”

No.

I.

Can’t.

I’m saved by the eruptions of her phone. She grunts as she reaches for it, and I continue to the door like I’m going to the bathroom. Instead, I hover just out of sight in the hall.

“Hey. What’s up?” she says. “No. Why? Are you serious?” Her tone changes from bored to tense. “How?! Shit… Yeah, he has a shift at the resort today, what about it?… I really don’t think that’s a good idea.” Her voice lowers so I know she doesn’t want me to hear this next part. “Because we’ve used him enough,” she hisses. “I’m tired of watching him come back as a fucking mess. This isn’t right.”

My stomach tightens. I close my eyes and lean my head against the wall.

She’s fighting for you. What are you doing for her?

“Okay! Fine. But I swear if he gets hurt again I will hurt you back… I said, okay!”

“Dammit,” she mumbles a second later.

Lucidity doesn’t come easy, or rather I don’t allow it to. To be vividly living in color when all I long for is a muted response to my anguish

I’ll always savor the bitterness that comes with knowing time is working against us.

Vividly aware that I could never keep it, I guess the truth really is hard to swallow.

Longing to lose myself in the warmth of your breath, like the chill of my fate was extinguished whenever you chose to share the air in your lungs.

If only for a moment, you were my lifeline.

You left me wanting more right as I began to surrender to the weightlessness dragging me away from a life I could no longer keep myself grounded in.

-JD August 17

16

CASUAL VIOLENCE

Hana Nakamura.

The Hartford “mole” makes a pass around her tables with a pleasant smile on her face. Her Palmetto Grande uniform fits snugly over her full figure, her dark hair twisted back in a clip like most of the staff here. She’s pretty, probably early thirties, and totally devoted to her job as a server in one of the resort’s upscale restaurants.

A mix of relief and dread washes through me as I watch her work. No wonder their precious “mole” hadn’t warned them about McArthur’s relationship with the RLC. She probably can’t help with any intel, other than small operational insights and guest information.

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