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“No,” I murmur, tucking her tighter against me. Like that can stop the waves of self-hatred I can almost feel rolling off her. “Don’t. It’s okay, Paloma. Just breathe.”
She follows my directions easily, as if just the command is enough to settle her.
Chapter 27
THEN: Freshman Year, October
Paloma
The intoxication of being wrapped in Bennett Reiner’s arms post-nightmare is enough for me to miss what he says the first time.
“What?” My voice is scratchy with sleep more than screams this time.
“I have an idea.” He smiles, despite having to repeat himself, but it seems to be more for reassurance than from authentic happiness. “I want to take you somewhere. Did you bring a swimsuit?”
I nod, trying to quell the sudden desperation that fills me. I always have a swimsuit, packed away in my backpack just in case. Bennett grabs a towel and lets me change in the bathroom.
Looking in the mirror after pulling on the tight burnt-orange material, I bite down on my lip and tie my hair back into a braid.
Normally I don’t spend much time looking at myself, preferring to ignore the features that look too much like my mother’s, despite my attempts at changing them. Dying my hair was important, but it’s impossible to erase her in the wide bend of my hip or the height of my rounded cheekbones. Impossible to separate my doe-wide brown eyes and pursed deep peach lips.
Impossible to rid myself of the ample curve of my breasts, though I’ve tried for years to tamp them down.
Looking like that? What did you expect, Polly?
Feeling a little sick, I hunch down, like that might hide the obviously abundant features I’ve learned to despise about myself. I dress a certain way to shield myself from that, when I can.
I was twelve and terrified when I realized there was a reason my classmates weren’t the only ones whispering about me behind my back. I’d overheard the comments from adults, condescending or pitying. Or horrifically inappropriate. So, I’d learned to hide.
It feels stupid to be so scared of showing my body in my athletic swimsuit. I trust Bennett as much as I can, more than I do most anyone else, but this still feels intimidating.
Taking a few deep breaths, I slip my oversized T-shirt back on and exit the bathroom.
I reach for his hand, and even though he didn’t offer to hold mine, he grasps it back just as tightly.
• • •
The pool is definitely closed. But Bennett slips us in easily, confident in the face of my slight uncertainty.
“Are you . . . getting in with me?”
Shaking his head, he sets the towel on one of the bench seats.
“No, but I’m gonna sit right here with you. I just figured it might help you relax. Maybe help you sleep better.”
I know that it will, so I nod and spin away from him, ripping off the shirt and sitting over the side before slipping into the lukewarm pool.
Surfacing just as quickly, I watch him and wade through the water for a moment. He removes his sandals, finding a spot to sit in the middle of the pool and slipping his feet in. His hands grip the pool ledge, the sleeves of his Waterfell hoodie rolled up slightly.
I swim and he watches me.
My nightmares have always been bad—my dreams haven’t been much better. They’re too visceral, haunting me long after I wake up. But this feels different. There’s a peace to knowing he was watching over me, which I usually wouldn’t feel, let alone admit to.
And more than that, he doesn’t seem put off by the entire ordeal.
The water is refreshing over my heated skin. And even obscured through the watery distortion, he’s so beautiful. My heart thrusts in my chest, like it’s reaching for him.
I follow the call, a sailor to a siren, swimming through the placid pool to breach for air by his legs. He’s watching me, as he always does, the steady set of his blue eyes comforting, tracking every movement of my arms as I press by his hands and push my body up, up, up toward him.
