I take the long way home, walking along the beach and kicking sand as I go. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, but it accomplishes nothing.
Kyle. Is. In. My. Effing. Town. Any moment I could turn a corner and find him wearing his cocky smirk on his stupid face—one that shows no obvious remorse.
My fists clench as the image of him standing in the supermarket aisle quickly morphs into the image of him standing next to the caution tape two years ago, cop car lights flashing across his face, my sister already dead. I glance over my shoulder, as if Kyle might have followed me to the beach. But everything is quiet. If Tiny drove past, I didn’t see her. I also wasn’t looking.
The calm water laps at the shore as I kick off my shoes. I pull my shirt over my head and take my wallet and phone out of my pocket, chucking them into the sand. I dive in, the cold water pricking my skin and shortening my breath. The rhythm of the ocean grabs me, pulling me along with it.
I swim. And I swim, and I swim, until my eyes burn from salt and my shoulders feel like jelly. But even here, in the one place my mind has always quieted—I spiral.
I’m not doing this with you, I think, adamant in my position, even though I’m not sure if “you” is referring to my thoughts, Kyle, or the drawing that’s formed on the dark water in front of me.