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It's warm, like your hands. Like the feeling of blood rushing from a heart that's hardly yours anymore. The sun sets and you're facing it.
It's cold, like her hands. Like the snow when you would step into it barefoot years ago to feel how it hurt. She brings you deeper into the lake and she blocks the light.
You want her to stop, the same way she wanted you to stop. She can see the fear in your eyes and feel the shake in your hands, and you know this because she smiles for a moment and she tightens her grip.
You want her to stop, yet you tell her to proceed.
Even though she told you to not let go of her hands, she takes them away. You can't tell if she's holding your head down or if she's playing with your hair. You think she wants to kill you, and you think you deserve it, because you do. You never wanted to hurt her or Berdly but you did. You do.
The truth is you're both under together.
She told you she wanted you to drag her down with you. She was ready to die in this lake before you were. You were busy believing this wasn't your choice, and it really wasn't, but you're still killing her. She's killing you too.
Your lungs are full and cold and so are hers. Her hands have stopped fighting the top of your head. You use what little strength you have to grab them again and wish Susie got the ice cream.