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The ocean is darker than it is deep, and Alec is on his way to the bottom; cinderblock shoes and a broken air tank.
The ocean is calm, serene, and gentle when he’s not there. When he arrived it became violent and scary.
You can swim, he heard, or you can drown.
It draws him in, the salt aches in his cuts but he ignores it for the cool bliss that washes over him; drenching his clothes and rinses his thoughts, he hopes they come back cleaner.
He was ankle deep not moments ago, but now he chokes and sputters on his own mistakes and regret.
The water sparkles around him, glittering greens and blues infect his vision; crystal clear if not for the dark so thick he doesn’t even try to open his eyes. The light from above breaks the surface just barely, it reflects his crimson disappearing in the particles of blue.
He’s sinking.
He has been sinking.
He doesn’t fight it, he knows he put himself here.
No one pushed him in; he walked in on his own.
No one drove him here; he was lead by nothing but his heart.
Now, his heart is beating harshly; he can feel it through his chest as it rattles his rib cage.
Sinking farther and farther down, Alec doesn’t try to reach for the surface again; he knows he’s already much too deep, too entangled in the sharp seaweed to escape.
(he’s can)
(nothing is pulling him down but himself)
(he’s the one who deflated his lungs)
(he’s the one who took one look at the sea and gave up before even trying)
The screams of his name are muffled, he’s not truly sure they’re even there; they can’t break the surface tension.
(they are)
The gentle hands reaching for him, desperate to pull him miles up, are just as weak as him. He’s sure it’s because they aren’t sure he’s worth jumping after.
(he is)
That doesn’t matter, though.
The sea is harsh and unforgiving.
(it’s gentle, and forgave him long ago)
But, you’re not going to swim if you think you’ve already drowned.