The Price Of Gold

03. drowning waters

iii.
OPHELIA ARCHIBALD
19th July 11 p.m.

I stood in front of the lake.

Endless, just like the world I wanted to escape.

Its surface is dark, almost black, just like the night sky above, with only the faintest ripple. The wind is cold, biting against my skin as I stand at the very edge, toes just shy of the water.

I want to jump.

I don’t know why.

The thought comes and just stays in my mind, I've been having these thoughts for a while now every time I looked at this lake from our house, like a pact between me and the water. If I just let go—if I step off this edge, I could disappear. I could sink and vanish and maybe, just maybe, be free from everything that feels like it’s strangling me. Pushing me down.

My chest tightens, and a sharp breath escapes me. It's a stupid thought, isn't it? Dangerous. But it’s there, pulsing through me like a heartbeat, the weight of it pushing me towards the water, the water is pulling me in.

I could just let go.

The wind picks up, through the trees. I hug myself, my hands shaking, but it's not the cold that makes them tremble. It’s the fear of how easy it would be to slip. To fall into this lake—my grandfather’s lake, the part of his estate, the lake that’s been watching over this house, this family, this curse for generations.

I hate it. I hate the way it feels like it's a part of me, like my family’s name is rooted into me. That today even when I want to die, it's going to be something associated with my family's name. It feels like I’ve been standing at the edge of this place for too long, always looking in, never really touching it. Like it’s been waiting for me to step in, to drown in it.

I want to scream at it. Scream at him. At the way he’s broken everything, made everything feel so heavy and cold and impossible. My mind flashes to the memory of my grandfather’s face watching me with that damn stare of his. I see Carver’s face too—his hands, his fists. The way they makes my heart race and my throat close up.

I want to jump. I want to drown out all the noise, all the pressure, all the fear that twists in my chest, because it’s the only thing I know how to do. It feels like it would be the only way to end this. To just let myself disappear into the water.

I step forward, just a little. My shoes scrape against the wet soil.

But then—just as quickly—I step back, my breath shallow. My heart pounds in my chest as I grip the hem of my dress, holding on to something, anything, that makes me feel tethered to this world.

I want to jump. I want to drown.

It’s not the lake that calls me; it’s the weight inside me. The endless questions, the endless doubt that gnaws at me like an insistent itch, but one I can never scratch away.

I think of my grandfather.

He’s always been there, hasn’t he? Always watching, always guiding. He was the one who taught me everything I know. His words have been like chains around me, binding me to him. He made me believe that I could be someone great, that I could be perfect—just like him. He told me I was special, that I was ones of the chosen ones to carry on the family name, to carry on the legacy of the Archibalds. He showed me how to smile the right way, how to speak the right way, how to exist in a world that he created.

And for so long, I believed him.

I believed him.

God, how I believed him.