Never Ever

49| Save me a kiss

There's been a dull ache in my chest since I got back to campus, one I can't seem to shake. I'm happy to be back here–of course I am. As nice as it was to see my family, college feels more like home these days. But now that the holidays are over, real life is creeping back in. And with it, the question I've been trying to avoid.

What the hell am I going to do about Noah?

I launch into another round of high knees, each lift sharper than the last. By the fourth set, my quads are screaming. By the fifth, they're on fire. But I don't stop. If anything, I push harder, hoping my dryland drills might drown out the anxiety I'd woken up with this morning. 

When I drop into a forearm plank, my elbows dig into the mat, every muscle pulled tight as I push aside thoughts of Noah and think ahead to what will be my first meet in over a year. I can already picture the nerves I'll feel standing on the starting board, the adrenaline. What I don't picture this time is fear, because competing doesn't scare me anymore. The pressure to be perfect is gone, and now it feels exactly how it should feel: like coming home.

Cue thoughts of Noah again. I sigh, flicking a glance toward the corner of my room. His Calbear hoodie is still draped across the ottoman, and every so often,  I catch a faint trace of his aftershave on it. The emotions hit me in waves, first a warmth curling low in my stomach, followed by another sharp stab of anxiety as I remember the decision I have to make tonight.

The problem is that I don't know what I want. No, that's a lie. I do know what I want, but the old me won't stop second-guessing my decision. She keeps whispering that getting back together might derail Noah's recovery. That he'll leave again, and I'll be the one left picking up the pieces. That I should just keep my head down and focus on swimming instead of risking my heart all over again.

I like to think I'm smart enough by now to know that it's all just fear talking. The same fear that kept me out of the pool after the accident and that nearly made me quit for good. It's the part of my mind that thinks it's protecting me, keeping me safe from more pain or heartache. But just because its intentions are good doesn't mean it's right.

If these past few months have taught me anything, it's that surviving isn't the same as living. Living means stepping into the unknown. It means taking risks that might not work out or putting yourself out there even when it terrifies you, because the alternative is moving through life safe but untouched by everything that makes it worth living. And what kind of life is that?

A loud snore breaks through my existential crisis. Addy is starfished across her bed, one leg dangling off the edge, the other wrapped around a pillow, her curls forming a wild halo around her head. She was already asleep when I came in last night, and I didn't have the heart to wake her. But I know the second she sees me, she'll wrap me in a hug that will instantly make me feel a little better, such is the power of a good best friend. 

Once I've finished my last set, I grab my toiletry bag and head to the showers. By the time I'm dressed and back in our room, the ache in my chest has dulled a little to something more manageable. I pull my coat tighter and shove my hands into my pockets as I head out to grab us coffees, hoping the fresh air and a little caffeine will clear my head.

I take my time trudging through campus, taking in all the festivities for the last time. It still looks like a Christmas card with its twinkling lights and wreaths in the store windows, but it won't last. Soon enough, it'll all be packed away, replaced by the grind of classes and assignments and early morning practices, so for now, I'm soaking it up. 

The coffee shop is more crowded than I expected. I tuck my hands into my coat pockets as the warm scent of espresso wraps around me. My fingers find the delicate chain at my throat that Noah gave me for Christmas. I roll the pendant between my fingertips, and warmth sparks low in my chest. By midnight, I could be in his arms again. I let myself imagine his mouth brushing mine at the countdown, his hands steady on my waist, reassuring me he'll never leave again. Or maybe he'll have changed his mind by then. Maybe I'm setting myself up for disappointment.