𝐁𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐌𝐞

9|| Drowning

Celeste / January 16
•••

Most drown victims die because they don't know which direction to swim to.

I often feel like I'm in a similar situation. Especially at times like these.

My head hurts, like I'm so far underneath that the water pressures down on my skull.

There's no light, no faces, no sounds, nowhere to go. And I can't breathe.

There's air, yes. But I can't breathe.

And suddenly, I'm there again.

In a place I only visit in my worst nightmares, during my darkest hours and when my brain turns against me by using my deepest fear.

Home.

•••

"We're.. not supposed to be here," I whispered tensely.

Celia was busy picking flowers from the garden of the prettiest house in our village. We weren't allowed to go passed the gates of the orphanage's property without Mr. Dupont's permission, but Celia said she'd be quick.

I looked up at the big mansion, its ivy grown walls and pretty front door. Its colorful garden and mosaic glass. It all felt too beautiful for me to look at, let alone stand near.

Celia had given me instructions to stay on guard, so she could trespass the borders that divided the pretty place from the ordinary village.

"Don't be so stressed all the time," she said before ripping a yellow flower from the ground, adding it to the rest of her bouquet. "No one will find out, Mr. Dupont is asleep in his office."

The old lazy man wasn't the one I was worried about. Sure, he had strength, a loud voice and access to some very nasty words, but he wasn't attentive. It was his son that always found out.

"Ooh! Look how pretty!" Celia ran to a collection of white roses that grew near a closed off garden house and I cringed at how loud her voice sounded.

Immediately my eyes began scanning the garden we'd broken into, making sure no one had heard us. And just as I was about to clear our environment, a voice came from nearby.

"Pardon?"

With a loud gasp, Celia dropped her flowers to the ground. I instantly moved in front of her. My hand tightened around the stick I'd carved a sharp point into as I held it out towards the threat.

But the threat didn't seem like much of a threat – if one at all. It was a girl of our age, eight years old.

She had beautiful blonde curls and the bluest eyes I'd ever seen. The pink dress she wore made her look like a real life princess.

"Wh-what are you doing in my garden?"

I dropped my stick back to my side and Celia smiled at the girl. "Hi there," she said before eying the amazingly big house with interest. "You really live here?"

"Yes," she said, her eyes nervously shifting to the garden shed we stood near. "You can't go in there. Papa will get angry."

Celia ignored her concern and instead eyed the forbidden door with interest while the girl's eyes went to my stick.

"Did you make that yourself?" she asked.

I froze for a moment, looking at Celia to confirm that she'd really asked me a question. She nodded at me and I turned my head back to nod at the girl, my eyes firmly directed at a stone laying five feet away from her clean white shoes.