Not Too Well

Entry 5: Part 5

I was brought to my swim lesson a few hours ago. At least, as far as I know it's been a few hours. If it's still daytime, and I just woke up, it makes sense for it to have been a only few hours since my lesson.

Anyway. Things were as normal as this abnormal place goes: I put on my one-piece bathing suit. I pulled my hair into a little white cap. I somehow managed to stay afloat, drugged up as I was, as I swam a few slow laps before Victoria and her long, long hands arrived to start the practice. As always, she spoke very little.

"Let's try to beat your best times today," she offered at the start.

In silent reply, I nodded, eyes glued to the water as she pulled out her stopwatch. With the press of her slender fingers on a few of the buttons, I was on my way in no time.

The lesson passed like any other. I swam back and forth and back and forth endlessly, pretending to be preoccupied with my cap whenever Victoria said something that required me to look at her hands. We started with the breaststroke, then the backstroke, then the freestyle, and repeated them as necessary. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't swim any faster.

This wasn't anything new—my personal best was established within my first week at the wellness center, so I was actually of sound mind back then. But even though this is a regular occurrence, Victoria is always so disappointed when I'm unable to beat my times.

At the end of a practice she'll usually just sigh and dismiss me to the locker room. Today, however, she refused to let me stop until I'd finally swam faster.

"Lackadaisical," she said when I surfaced from a breaststroke. "You went even slower than the last time."

"I'm trying," I told her.

"You're not trying. If you were trying, and letting the cure do its job, your times would be getting better with every practice."

The cure.

The cure.

The goddamn cure.

Every single person at the wellness center seems to promise something of it. The doctor advises that the cure will take away my hallucinations. Rosemary tells me it'll keep me rejuvenated and healthy for the rest of my life. My meditation leaders say it'll constantly and continuously introduce me to deeper parts of myself. And here was Victoria, insisting that it'll make me swim faster.

I didn't know what to say, so I told her again that I was trying my best.

"Why is your head down, Lilith?" she asked.

I shook my head. The thought of her hands made my skin crawl. The water suddenly felt as if it was infested with bugs.

"Lilith, could you look at me?"

When I didn't answer again, Victoria's voice grew louder. This wasn't normal at all—I know her as a soft-spoken person. A chill ran down my spine as she said my name, deep and dark like a curse.

"Lilith."

"Let me just do the breaststroke again," I said. "Another lap. I'll try it again, and I'll do so much better."

"I don't believe that."

"Just let me try, I promise I'll––"

"LOOK AT ME, LILITH."