Submerge

D R I F T

Standing at the other end of the pool, watching me, was Coach Anderson, his face a mixture of surprise and concern. My heart sank; the last person I wanted to see in this moment of raw vulnerability was him.

"Mason?" Coach Anderson called out, his voice echoing in the vast space. "Is that you?"

I couldn't respond. The water dripping from my face mingled with a sudden rush of tears - tears of frustration. Coach had been more than just a mentor; he had been a guiding force in my life, a pillar in my swimming career. But now, he represented a part of my life I thought I had left behind.

I pulled myself out of the pool, feeling exposed and fragile under his gaze. "I... I just needed to swim," I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Mason, it's good to see you back in the water," he said softly, but his words felt like shards of glass.

I wrapped my arms around myself, the onset of a panic attack imminent. The pool, the water, Coach Simmons – it was all too much. The memories of training sessions, competitions, and Emma cheering from the sidelines were overwhelming. I had been a champion, Emma's proud brother, but now, I was just a shadow, a remnant of that person.

Coach Anderson seemed to sense my distress. "Mason, if you need to talk..."

"I can't," I cut him off, the words a gasp as the panic took hold. My breathing was erratic, my chest tight. The world seemed to spin, the edges of my vision blurring.

I couldn't respond. My throat felt tight, my breaths shallow. The walls of the pool seemed to close in on me, and the water that had once been my sanctuary now felt like a trap.

Coach Anderson approached cautiously, sensing my distress. "Are you alright, son?" His voice was tinged with genuine concern, but it only amplified my panic.

I tried to back away, but my movements were erratic, uncoordinated. My breathing became erratic, each inhale a struggle, each exhale a desperate attempt to stay afloat in the rising tide of panic.

Coach Anderson reached out, trying to offer support. "Mason, take a deep breath. It's okay."

But his words, meant to comfort, felt like chains, pulling me deeper into the panic. The world spun, a dizzying vortex of water, light, and echoing memories.

My knees buckled, and I collapsed on the poolside, my body trembling uncontrollably. Coach Anderson knelt beside me, his presence a looming shadow. "Mason, listen to me. Focus on my voice."

But his voice was a distant rumble, drowned out by the roaring in my ears.

The coach's attempts to calm me only served to remind me of everything I had lost. His presence, once a symbol of my aspirations and achievements, was now a stark reminder of my downfall, of the dreams that lay shattered at the bottom of a pool I could no longer call home.

The memories came rushing in – the water, the race, Emma's laughter, her scream, the coldness of the water that day. It was all my fault. If only I had been faster, stronger...

My fault my fault my fault my fault

"Sorry," I gasped, the word a whisper of desperation. "It's my fault, it's my fault, my fa"

Coach Anderson's expression shifted from concern to alarm. "Mason, listen to me. You're having a panic attack. You need to breathe."

Breathe? How could I breathe when every breath was tainted with guilt?

"I couldn't save her," I choked out between ragged breaths. The world was spinning, the edges of my vision blurring.

"Mason, focus on my voice," Coach Anderson urged, but his voice was just another layer in the cacophony of my despair.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry..." The word became a mantra, a futile attempt to atone for a sin that was etched into my soul.