Page 1 of The Intimacy of Control

chapter one

Holding my breath used to be the calmest I’d ever felt.

The dreams were always the same. My chest would start burning, just like my eyes. I’d follow the wavering reflections of light and people from beneath the surface, watching as time passed me by. All while holding my breath, content to let the water hold me there.

Don’t breathe.

Don’t think.

Just sink.

It was my safety. My home away from home. With chlorine in my eyes, soaking deep enough in my skin to find its way into my veins. My element. Swimming was something I’d devoted my entire life to, training my body and mind to do what should’ve been impossible.

They always started off nice, reminding me of everything I’d been missing. I had a deep, instinctual feeling of pure serenity living below my heart, taking up space where everything else should’ve been. There was no peace elsewhere. No serenity. No moments of quiet except for beneath the water’s surface. But it never stayed like that.

At some point, I’d start to struggle. I wouldn’t be in the school’s natatorium anymore. I’d be waking up in that fucking ocean, confused and kicking against the current. It’d be so damn dark. So dark. I’d start thrashing, kicking my legs exactly how I’d been trained to do, but it wouldn’t matter.

The current would be too strong.

No matter how many competitions I’d won, nature would make me lose. And then I’d gasp for air. And my lungs would burn so fucking badly. And I’d see a light, but I’d have no idea if it was finally the sun or if it was death coming to take me again.

I’d wake up gasping with my hands around my throat, panting through yet another panic attack about the entire thing. Just like I was a few minutes ago.

Now, I was stuck in the aftermath. Feeling everything I wished I could stop feeling but never did and feared I never would. I’d lost every dream I’d ever had so early on in life, and I had no idea if I’d get to have more.

The sun came up while I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as if it’d give me the answers to some kind of deep, dark secret wasting away inside me. I could still feel the water in my throat as it poured down into my chest. I could still feel its weight against me, keeping me right where I was. Trapping me.

But I had a life to live and a bar to run, so I sat up, deciding I was done with trying to find sleep again. I let my feet drag as I made it to the kitchen, turning the coffee maker on to warm up. The house was cold, matching the weather outside. That was one thing I’d had a hard time getting used to—how cold New York got in the winter and all the snow that came with it.

I grabbed a fresh cup of coffee and sat at the dining table while my laptop booted up. I had a million things I could be doing aside from moping around my house about a stupid nightmare and a stupid lost part of myself.

Like managing everything for Driftwood instead of letting my employees do it. If I had my way, I wouldn’t even have employees. Instead of seeing it like having help, I couldn’t get past the fact that they had some sort of control I didn’t. They served customers I didn’t get to. They cleaned things differently than I would. They existed in my space; they existed differently than me, and for some reason, that really fucked me up.

Maybe that was called selfishness. I called it liking to have control.

Callum had texted me while I was sleeping. Since he wasn’t much of a texter, it was always a surprise to see.

Cal

When are you off? I want you to come see us.

I can swing by tomorrow. How’s everything going?

Cal

Good. Tobi is doing good. I’m doing good. You need to stop ignoring my calls. Hate texting.

I wasn’t expecting an answer that quickly, nor was I expecting him to call me out like that. I bit my lip, admitting my guilt to myself and the ghosts around me. Sleeping had been difficult lately, leaving me nothing but a zombie on a good day. I’d dived into work so often, I’d neglected everyone and everything else. I was being a shitty friend. He’d been going through a really, really hard time, and I hadn’t been there for him.

My control on life seemed to be slipping, and that just wouldn’t do. Maybe I needed to get laid—get fucked hard enough to put me to sleep, and then the nightmares wouldn’t matter.

Sorry. I’ll definitely see you guys tomorrow.

I didn’t get a reply after that, but I wasn’t really expecting one. He really did hate texting.

Despite the entire cup of coffee I’d downed, I couldn’t focus worth a shit. I rested my head in my hands, seeing numbers even when I closed my eyes. They were swimming behind my eyelids, mocking me relentlessly. I wasn’t in the negative by any means, but I was having a hard time understanding how I could reverse the recent downward trend.

I was getting nowhere. Instead, I took my laptop off the charger and packed it up, deciding to go to the bar rather than waste time at home. I hated wasting time. We didn’t get much of it, so why did I waste this much of my time afraid? Afraid of losing it. Afraid of sleep. Afraid of water. Afraid of losing control.