We Are Tidal

Chapter Twenty-Four - We Are Tidal

*I am heading the chapter with one of my favourite fictional characters, Arya Stark, with our good pal Gendry*

Chapter Twenty-Four

We Are Tidal

After parking the car, it takes me several minutes before I get out and brave the crisp winter air. For a while, I just sit with my hands on the wheel, looking out the windscreen. When I do eventually get my legs to move, it is with a sinking stomach that I follow the cobbled path from the car park to the wooden planks toward the water. 

Sunset is looming. On the horizon, a peach-coloured streak is beginning to emerge, surrounded by a golden glow. Still, it's winter and the air is bitingly cold and frigid. I braided around my head like a crown to avoid it getting caught in the wind. I wrap my arms around myself as my vans begin to slide over the sand. 

The main beach is littered with several walkers, people and their dogs mainly. Everyone is wrapped up in thick winter coats, hats, and scarves. I take off towards the south of the beach, kicking off my vans and moving towards the rocky coastline. It's here where the real locals spend their time, those in the know struggle and clamber their way over limestone slabs and through pools to the hidden beaches that emerge out of view of the public. The waves are violently rough as they pound against the show. I watch the surfers, they must be thrilled. It's perfect weather for them.

Thankfully, the tide is on its way out and the rock-pools are shallow. I try to pick my way around the anemones and sea sponges, doing my best to ignore the small crabs emerging from their hidden homes admit nooks and crannies of rock and shell. Once or twice I wince, feeling the soles of my feet tearing as I stumble over mussels. Still, there is something wonderfully calm about the feel of the saltwater slowly ebbing and flowing around my feet. It is grounding for the soul. 

Mom always took me here after school. Sometimes her day at work had been stressful and she needed the break as much as I did. She was a nurse but she was also an insomniac. She was bone-weary, but her face would light up when I arrived home on the school bus. We'd climb these rocks together and later that evening, Dad and I would clean and polish the shells I'd gathered. One year, for Christmas, my father had wrapped up an expensive new rock tumbler and put it under the tree. I spent Christmas morning shining and polishing rocks with him while Mom tried to get us to focus on It's a Wonderful Life.

I couldn't help but hold those memories dear and close to her heart as she set foot on the soft sand of the nearby shore. I saw him, sitting with his legs crossed. He wore a black hoodie and khaki pants, the legs of which were rolled up. His hood was up and from this distance, I couldn't make out his face. His shoes were off, his feet the only part of him close enough to the water to touch the cool swash. In this wind trap of the beach, the waves are even higher. 

As I stepped forward, Art rises to his feet. For a moment, I wildly hope that he is going to turn to me, smile and run to me. This insane spark of hope dies the moment he takes several steps towards the water. My legs turn leaden as I watch, time seeming to slow and stop with a thud in my chest, as the first high wave catches Art. And he doesn't fight. 

The boy who loves swimming, surfing, and deep-sea diving, did not fight. 

I tore away from the rocks, dropping my shoes and ripping my hoodie over my head. The water was positively glacial as it hit my ankles, shins and then thighs. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I dove forward, ducking under the waves, trying to deny the bone-deep chill settling into my chest. 

I hadn't swum in a long time, but Dad had made sure I learned from a young age. Before dance came into my life, swimming was everything. I force my legs to move harder, faster, pushing through the ever-increasing burning in my chest. Blue skies in, grey skies out, I chant in my mind, wondering what crevice of my mind opened up to remind me of my Mom's favourite words to cool my anxiety as a child. 

When I crest above the waves for air, I catch sight of Art, slipping under, letting himself fall. I take the largest gulp of air that I can and throw myself back into the water. The escaping tide is pushing and dragging me towards Art. I open my eyes underwater, welcoming the biting salt as I barely make out his black hoodie, sinking. The waves are violent, the wind whipping them faster and faster. This is the exact kind of weather that leads to whirlpools and riptides with a sinister undertow. 

I reach him, grabbing hold of the hood of tugging sharply, it catches on his throat but I have no choice but to pull harder. He doesn't respond and my heart begins to pound more forcefully against my ribcage as I use all of the strength I can muster to tug him upward. The pain in my arms from carrying his dead weight is agony, but I don't let go. Heavy as a sack of potatoes, Art rises slowly, so slowly I think that I will drown with him. I kick hard, beating my legs building momentum, barely resisting the urge to open my mouth and seek some precious air. It is either moments or years before our heads burst above the water. 

Gasping for air, I don't let the adrenaline pumping through my veins fade as I begin the drag Art towards the shore. A muscle in my shoulder gives out painfully, but I keep moving, kicking. I drag him under one armpit, using my remaining arm to pushing the water under us. 

The waves crash over and over our heads. When we are nearly at the shore, I hear a splutter and cough. I swear I can feel every movement of Art's ragged breathing against my back as he heaves backward, seeking air. I cry out, whimpering with joy as my knees hit the sand. I feel him let go and crawl beside me to shore, where we stay panting and coughing for a long, our twin breaths the only sounds on the beach. 

N/A: 

Hello, darlings, 

I hope you've enjoyed the chapter - as always, I'm having fun. I was in a similar position to Dylan in this chapter once before and it was terrifying! 

Jen x