Unchlorinated
Because he is trying to kill you
It takes a couple of seconds for me to realize. These aren’t my hands around my neck. They’re strong, and they’re choking me, holding my head down underwater.
One minute ago I was sipping orange juice from a plastic cup. One minute ago I took my sunglasses off. One minute ago Tommy smiled at me, and extended his arm like he wanted me to tell him how beautiful I thought he was.
He really is very beautiful, even when he’s trying to kill me.
I’m coughing and spluttering under water, but if I could I’d be smiling. He’s kneeling in the pool next to me, and I assume I’m face down. I’m trying to think of words to describe the situation but the only word that rings through my constricted throat is choke.
Really, I’m hoping he’ll regret this. He won’t though, he’ll lie back and soak up the Georgia sun and congratulate himself.
The blow up kid’s pool is tiny. I’m taller than it is long, and I know this because my legs are doubled over and pressed up against the plastic walls.
Ten minutes ago I vomited his name all over the scorched grass instead of saying, “I love you.” Ten minutes ago I told myself that I loved Tommy, even though I didn’t. I don’t. And he knows it too.
That’s why his hands don’t shake when he throttles me, and that’s definitely why he hisses under his breath like this is my fault. Like I put my neck in his hands and told him to squeeze me like a stress ball.
My eyes are open, bulging slightly too, most likely. And they’re open because I deserve this. He wants to kiss me and I want to kiss his sister. All I can see is the bottom of the tiny pool. Fake blue tiles painted onto scratchy plastic. My eyes sting and I wonder if he’s pissed in this pool.
I wonder if he’s done a lot worse, and the truth is that he probably has.
It seems like it’s been a long time, but when he pulls me up I look at my watch and not even a minute’s passed. There’s water spewing from my nose and I can’t stop coughing. Tommy doesn’t look at me, just reclines back and leans on the wall of the pool like it’s a chair. Like it’s his throne.
The straps of my bikini have fallen down, but I just manage to hold them up before I completely expose myself. He smiles and tries to ruffle my hair. His hand gets caught in the knots he made, stuck like my hair is made of auburn quicksand.
Twenty minutes ago I slipped through the hole in his fence in my little green bikini. Twenty minutes ago I wanted to kiss his sister. I still want to kiss his sister.
“D’you want a smoke?” he asks.
“I’m fourteen,” I say, and only after the words have crawled out of my bruised throat do I realize it probably doesn’t make a difference.
One minute ago I was sipping orange juice from a plastic cup. One minute ago I took my sunglasses off. One minute ago Tommy smiled at me, and extended his arm like he wanted me to tell him how beautiful I thought he was.
He really is very beautiful, even when he’s trying to kill me.
I’m coughing and spluttering under water, but if I could I’d be smiling. He’s kneeling in the pool next to me, and I assume I’m face down. I’m trying to think of words to describe the situation but the only word that rings through my constricted throat is choke.
Really, I’m hoping he’ll regret this. He won’t though, he’ll lie back and soak up the Georgia sun and congratulate himself.
The blow up kid’s pool is tiny. I’m taller than it is long, and I know this because my legs are doubled over and pressed up against the plastic walls.
Ten minutes ago I vomited his name all over the scorched grass instead of saying, “I love you.” Ten minutes ago I told myself that I loved Tommy, even though I didn’t. I don’t. And he knows it too.
That’s why his hands don’t shake when he throttles me, and that’s definitely why he hisses under his breath like this is my fault. Like I put my neck in his hands and told him to squeeze me like a stress ball.
My eyes are open, bulging slightly too, most likely. And they’re open because I deserve this. He wants to kiss me and I want to kiss his sister. All I can see is the bottom of the tiny pool. Fake blue tiles painted onto scratchy plastic. My eyes sting and I wonder if he’s pissed in this pool.
I wonder if he’s done a lot worse, and the truth is that he probably has.
It seems like it’s been a long time, but when he pulls me up I look at my watch and not even a minute’s passed. There’s water spewing from my nose and I can’t stop coughing. Tommy doesn’t look at me, just reclines back and leans on the wall of the pool like it’s a chair. Like it’s his throne.
The straps of my bikini have fallen down, but I just manage to hold them up before I completely expose myself. He smiles and tries to ruffle my hair. His hand gets caught in the knots he made, stuck like my hair is made of auburn quicksand.
Twenty minutes ago I slipped through the hole in his fence in my little green bikini. Twenty minutes ago I wanted to kiss his sister. I still want to kiss his sister.
“D’you want a smoke?” he asks.
“I’m fourteen,” I say, and only after the words have crawled out of my bruised throat do I realize it probably doesn’t make a difference.
♠ ♠ ♠
A bit more heavy than I'm used to, but when inspiration strikes, y'know. The lyrics in the summary are from Marina and the Diamond's Obsessions, which is also one of the prompts I used for this. The main one, however was the first stanza of Richard Siken's poem, A Primer for the Small Weird Loves:The blond boy in the red trunks is holding your head underwater
because he is trying to kill you,
and you deserve it, you do, and you know this,
and you are ready to die in this swimming pool.
Cheery stuff! ^_^