Unconditional

Chapter 3: 2 A.M.

WARNING: Some intense abuse is in this chapter

Chapter 3: 2 A.M.

I was so upset. So upset to the point that I was sitting here drinking and crying outside by the pool at two in the morning. Who cries by a pool at two in the morning? Pools are meant to be fun, an activity of entertainment. But our pool has never been a way for me to have fun. I always sat out here, even when it rained during the summers. I spent most of the time crying and daydreaming. I daydreamed a lot. Mostly about how it would be if I was perfect to my parents. I knew that if I just dropped in this pool and tensed my body, I could drown myself. I could feel the water seep into my lungs and pierce every piece of tissue inside of them. And I could disappear from this Earth and know that my parents would probably adopt a perfect child and go on with their lives.

I stood up at the edge of the pool with my glass of remaining alcohol. I put the glass down beside me before undressing myself. I tugged my shirt off, over my head, and pulled my shorts down my hips, leaving me in my bra and underwear. I kicked my clothes to the side. The color of the pool water is such an intriguing color. The pool lights on the walls of the pool brought out all of the blues, the greens, and even a bit of the whites. It reminded me so much of... Stacy.

I climbed the ladder into the pool, enjoying the coolness of the pool water against the warmth of my lightly toned skin. I held my breath as my head sinks beneath the water's surface. I could feel my lungs gradually intensifying without the lack of oxygen. I wanted to breath, but at the same time, my desire to give my parents what they wanted reigns over oxygen.

As I feel my mind become fainter and fainter, I'm startled from my relaxing peace by an arm dragging me back to the surface of the pool. The natural warmth I felt below has been disrupted by the cold breeze blowing against my hair and face.

I'm dragged completely out of the pool and forced to sit down on a lounge chair. I shrug his hands off of me, feel disgusted by his touch.

"What the fuck is wrong with you," he asked, frowning deeply at me. His voice was so calm and leveled that I wasn't actually listening to him but instead staring at his expression. This is the first time I've fully seen him express any emotion.

It was a few seconds before I finally answered him. "I was swimming," I replied slowly, covering my chest with my arms and crossing my legs.

"That's not fucking swimming! You tried to kill your fucking self," he countered, still speaking in that calm voice, yet using such derogatory words. His face was beginning to grow a dark red hue. I could tell he was upset, his tone, his words, his appearance. They all expressed his mood. But his voice that stayed so tranquil.

"No I wasn't. I was going to come back up, but you snatched me out," I shot back, beginning to grow angry with him.

He stared at me incredulously before biting his lip and running his hand through his wet hair. "Is marrying me so fucking bad that you'd try to kill yourself," he questioned as his voice lowered to a sorrowful whisper.

I wanted him to yell at me, so my parents would hear. I wanted him to hit me, I wanted him to do anything that would be a good reason for me to not marry him.

"Stop cussing at me," I yelled back, standing on my feet. I tried walking away from him, but he grabbed my arm.

"Let me go," I shouted as my back hand went around to slapping him. His free hand was quick. It grabbed at my wrist and held it tightly. I tried kicking him in his leg, but his arms swooped beneath my knees and picked me up in his arms.

He sat on the lounge chair with me still in his arms. "Mr. Sanders, get off," I cried as his arms restraint mine.

"Alright, alright, I'll stop, but you have to calm down," he said against my ear. I relaxed against his chest, feeling his heart rapidly beating against my back.