underwater

Amelia stared straight upward, drowning on the living room rug in her green housedress. 

Ripples of light danced across the plaster ceiling, turning and spinning; reflections of the midday sun on puddles outside the living room window. It made her dizzy, but was also mesmerizing, trapping her gaze, leaving her suspended on the bottom of the room. 

The quiet pushed inward, filling her ears like water, surrounding her in a muted world that was a little too dense, a little too close. She had hoped for quiet, had longed for silence. Yet, when she finally had it, it was simply… heavy. Or maybe it was empty.

Her arms moved, laying out to either side, almost of their own accord, algae blue wool itching her elbows and wrists. Her chest rose with a deep breath. Maybe if she filled her lungs, she would float to the top. Drift upward. Find the surface. Break through. 

She didn’t. 

She wasn’t sad about it, really. Just… disappointed. Or maybe, something less than that. Something tempered. Watered down. 

Shouldn’t she be scared? People talk about drowning as if it was terrifying. But it didn’t make her chest tight, didn’t send her into a panic. Maybe it was because she had been treading water for too many days now. Days that had turned into weeks, weeks that had flowed into ambiguous currents of time. No, instead it was just uncomfortable.

Or maybe it wasn’t. 

Her mind told her that drowning wasn’t a good idea. But ideas had a way of getting diluted here, becoming watery, slipping away.

The ripples glistened above. 

“Milly?”

She turned her head toward the voice.

Hugo stood in the doorway, his face wavering between expressions like the ripples on the ceiling. His charming smile. Concern. Encouragement. Confusion. Fear.

“Sweetheart,” he tried to smile, “the baby’s crying again. Are…”

He stepped toward her. “Amelia, are you alright?” 

A tear slipped out, down one side of her face, leaving a track of cool wet. 

The current pulled her deeper.