Normal Things (Tate Langdon FanFiction)

Chapter Two:

Drowning. I was drowning. My mind was telling me to wake up; my body was telling me to sleep. My lungs were filled with concrete, weighing me down. My eyes were open—the chlorine was burning my eyes, but I didn't have the strength to close them.

    I could see bodies around me, could see them floating in the wateraround me. They hurriedly swam for the surface and I kept sinking lower andlower and lower. The three bodies I hit on my way to the pool clambered backinto the game, Chicken Fight, like nothing had happened and I wasn't drowningbeneath them. One pair's feet missed my head by inches, sluggishly moving awayfrom me. I sank lower and felt the concrete filling my lungs even more.     

The edges of my vision were darkening, the black encroaching into my mind, suffocating. Just before the black completely blinded me, a hand reached down to me, an entire body coming in after me, and I was yanked out of the water.

Yelling and blinding colors and claustrophobia pulsed around me; a high-pitched whine echoed in my ears. I wanted to curl up on the concrete patio and sleep. My lungs wouldn't let me—I rolled onto my side and started to spit out water like a shaky water fountain.

"Penny?" Tate was asking, one hand on my shoulder, the other on my cheek, trying to look me directly in the face. "Penny? Are you OK?"

"Penny," Tate whispered, his face inches from mine, totally fine with the fact that I was spitting out boatloads of water. I finally gasped a breath of fresh air into my lungs and laid down, my cheek pressed against the cold, wet patio.

I rolled onto my back, my lungs raw and my throat sore. Tate was soaking wet above me, his golden hair falling in damp strings around his face, water droplets dripping off his chin onto my neck. His sweater clung to his chest flatteringly, showing the sharp edges of his stomach and the biceps in his arms.

I let out a breath and smiled despite my situation. "Tate," I said. He smiled, the smile with way too many teeth, the smile that split his face, the smile that made him look psychotic. The smile that stole my heart. I looked away and reminded myself to breath, forcing my chest up and down, forcing air in my lungs, making the wet cotton of my dress chafe a red mark onto my collarbone.

I was staring at the stars when Tate spoke up over the continuing party around us; "Let's get out of here," he said. I nodded and slowly sat up, pressing both my hands against the ground to push off, finding out that one hand is chafed raw, taking Tate's helping hand.

Finny Champ was dancing on top of Gary Grent's beer cooler and when we passed she stopped dancing; she must have been somewhat sober. I looked over at her as we walked by; she took in the sight of Tate's arms around me, and her face turned bright red under the white and yellow strobes.

Tate tightened his arms around me, diverting my attention back to getting me out of there, but behind me Finny was screaming at the top of her lungs, waving her hands after us, her mouth open in loud shock. Nobody seemed to care.

We made it into the house, stepping over broken glass, and Tate left me, taking the stairs two at a time. He ducked into a room and was gone.

I pushed my stringy hair from in front of my eyes, and when I turned to look out at the party, Finny was standing with her arms crossed in the doorway. She was glaring poisoned broadswords in my direction. I looked around me, trying to see who she was staring at, but there was no one else. She was staring at me.

"Don't get your hopes up, you stupid bitch," she said, taking two more wide steps into the room. I pulled at the skirt of my dress, uncomfortable. I was never on good terms with Finny. She was the reason I never ate lunch in the lunchroom.