SWIM Book 1 (Complete three-hundred pages)

DAY 28

Saturday, December 16, 2017

W

hat have I done? I've ruined my relationship with Jack. I've put Craig in danger—who knows what kind of retaliation Jack and the others were capable of? Jack might want to kill me, or kill Craig—or maybe I was overthinking this.

But George wanted me out of Jack's favor, I knew that, because George was a slime ball and would love to have more of my food. I wonder if Brett would stick up for me and for Craig in case anyone got violent. I don't think Jack would, he wouldn't do that, he wouldn't hurt me, he wouldn't hurt a fly—I know him—he's gentle, he would only be internally upset, yes—he would go write about it probably and never talk to me again. And Travis—I don't know how he would react in the situation that Jack and Craig became pitted against each other. As for Craig, I don't know how he would react to Jack's anger, I don't know if he would say sorry, I hope he would stay in his room until everything cooled down. I'm afraid of what's about to happen as I take a deep breath, count to three, and then pull open the door to step out of the library—I cross the second floor hall, and go up the stairs, past the third floor, and then, as the loud voices get louder from the fourth floor kitchen, I hear a smash of plates hit the countertop and I spring to a halt before reaching the fourth floor. I hear Jack scream. "I'm going to fucking kill somebody!"

In that moment, I held my breath, squat on the stairs out of view as I listen to someone tell Jack to wait a second. "Quiet—listen." It's George—

"There's someone at the stairs. . . I think it's your girlfriend. . ."

I instantly bring my shaking hand to my mouth and cry out loud. I was lying crumpled on the stairs. I felt so heavy. And somehow, I feel betrayed by George for telling Jack what I had done. I wanted Jack to forgive me, to know I was sorry, to just cool down for one moment so we could work this tragedy out-- "Jack," I said, in a purposely pathetic, moaning tone, to gain sympathy from him, to let him know I was just a weak girl in a dire situation who had lost all her senses due to hunger, loneliness and fear. When he did not answer, I simply made my crying more audible. I wanted him to know I was suffering I wanted him to know I was punishing myself enough so that he wouldn't have to. I was certainly afraid of what he might say, of what he might do. I also didn't want to lose him as my boyfriend. I was confused.

"Jack," I said again, even feebler than before. But suddenly I heard another voice, Travis--

"Zara?" Travis's voice filled with empathy, but also obvious fear—"Is Craig with you?"

Quickly I said, "No, no—Craig is not at all with me. I am not with Craig. I'm alone." Maybe I came on too strong. I had no clue how Jack was taking in my voice and my words, because Jack wasn't saying anything. I wanted to climb up the stairs, run across the fourth floor living room and kitchen to show Jack my tears and that I was sorry, but by Travis's command, I stayed low, and thought it would be best to go downstairs to the room that Jack and I usually slept in together. But before I could stand again to leave for the third floor, I heard Jack.

His voice was terrible, filled with anger—and meanness. It made my insides break into bits--

"You fucking bitch! Show your damn face. Get up here. Now!"

I was shaken into silence by Jack's roar. I heard someone, obviously Jack, pick up ceramic plates and smash them one after the other on the floor and the loud crashes echoed through the hall to the stairs in such a vicious boom that I screamed and nearly vomited out my heart.

"FUCK YOU!"

When the plates were all broken and the echo of the destruction carried no longer, my sobs were heavy but silent. Now I was really afraid. No one was telling Jack to stop. I was wondering where Brett was. But I heard Travis say, quietly, disappointed, and scared for the future of the household, "Zara. . ."

"Yes?" I said, almost out of breath. (I wished for nothing more than for Travis to instruct me to go downstairs to my bedroom and lock the door. I surely would. But I would only go with the excuse that Travis told me to, because if I went by my own accord, they might think I was just deliberately trying to run away, and I was afraid, that they, that Jack—might chase me.)

But Travis said, with timidity, and weakness, "Zara. . . Come up here. I think you need to see the pain you've caused."

I was silent for a moment. I couldn't believe Travis's words. But then I nodded to myself, as though they could see me while I was hidden a few steps down the stairs. I slowly held my chest, feeling my heart pound like it was pushing a boulder through my arteries. I stood to my feet, and turned to face the room.

I walked up. The white curtains blew from the balcony. The sea and the sky lit the kitchen and living room in a sad, scary gray glow.

George stood off by the wall, hands in his pockets, head hung low out of guilt for the bad news he gave Jack, and for the fear he had of Jack, because of all the shouting, all the plate breaking, and all the venom Jack spewed.

The room was on edge, and there was Brett, sitting on the couch, head in his hands, looking between his knees, feet flat on the floor. He looked at no one, wishing he were somewhere else, away from all this domestic damage.

Then across from Brett, on the other side of the open balcony doors by the kitchen counter was Travis who stood with a nervous tick that involved hunching his back and rolling his sleeves over and over up his arm and then pulling them back down again, over and over. He looked apologetic to me, and also, extremely afraid for me; while however, he was also disappointed in me and rubbed his forehead with incredible pressure as he agonized over the unnecessary turmoil our six-person unit was now in.

We were supposed to be a family. We were supposed to try to survive this situation without any casualties, and the least we all could have done was get along. But after looking up at me with sadness, sending me guilt and shaking his head in a sorrowful way, he looked over his shoulder to the kitchen, over the counter, by the sink that faced the window on the same side of the wall as the balcony, where the sun hung in the air like a dim silver light in the gray clouds.

Jack's back was to me. Pushed forward on his hands in front of the sink, he stared out at the shining silver sky through the window with the intention to hide his face from me. Jack, whom I called my lover, my confidant, my friend—would not dare turn to me. His hatred was so intense that he knew if he were to turn around, that hatred would surely melt, blast and destroy me. He while looking out into the clouds and the dead ocean. I could tell his arms were shaking, gaining energy as the tense seconds thinned into an unstoppable moment. This was going to hurt. Something would break. I wanted to say his name, tell him I loved him—say something!

But--

The whole room jerked when Jack cursed in a shrieking yell again. He snatched the biggest plate he could reach from the counter, and smashed it with all his might on the counter's hard granite edge that when it hit, the plate burst across the entire room and rained like bullets. Everyone blocked his eyes.

When Jack turned to face me, he looked nothing like himself. His face was that of vicious wolf who'd been struck with a knife in its bloody back. His eyes, darting at me, said it all—