Chapter Text
When Fareeha was younger, she went waterfall diving with friends. The first jump went well, the second, the third, the fourth, but the fifth—the fifth was different, was beautiful when she was in the air, was the happiest she had ever been, eyes closed, wind tugging at her hair on the way down.
That joy ended the instant she tried to surface. At the bottom of the creek, there was milfoil, and she, unaware, had been falling towards it all the way down. It caught her, trapped her by the ankles, and the more she struggled, the tighter it held her in its grip, and the light of the surface began to look farther and dimmer, the waters deeper and murkier. Nothing she could do might end it, might free her, and she became aware, all at once, that she might die here.
When they brought her to the surface, she was only half-alive, waterlogged lungs and clammy skin, but half-alive is enough, enough for rescue breathing and chest compressions, enough to cough and be ill in the reeds, and to shakily stand up and say she was fine, she was fine, no need to call for help or her mother.
What she wanted was to pretend it never happened, even if the abrasions around her ankles would not let her, would remind her every time she moved, would open and bleed for weeks when she pointed her toes just wrong.
Now, when Angela looks at her ankles, notes the strange scars, just as she always does, and does not ask about the source, even if she wants to, Fareeha thinks of that day, thinks of drowning, how endless and deep and alone, of waking up with no water in her lungs though she thinks there should be, there should be, and realizes that love is nothing like it.
What she feels instead is the jump, right before, eyes closed, unable—unwilling—to see what might lurk in the waters beneath, ignoring all danger just to have one perfect moment.
Her scars never bother her anymore.