“Where were we?” she whispers. Her face is dripping with water as she plants a cold kiss on my unresponsive lips. I can’t close my eyes and enjoy it. I can only stare at her, scared for her; because I know what she just did, and I know something is wrong inside her and it’s more wrong than before.

“Phe…”

“Yes?” She is unfalteringly beautiful, with eyes that swim in confidence, but beyond that facade I can see what no one else seems to. Behind her eyes, I see her drowning, and even now as she fiddles with my pants, I push her onto her back and stop her. Those green eyes widen – with fear? with longing? – and I almost shout, “Tell me about the water!”

She doesn’t speak. She just closes her eyes and holds her breath, like drowning. I grab her shoulders, shaking her lightly, begging her to open up to me.

“Tell me!” She opens her eyes. My body untenses and I carress her face, then lie down beside her and hold her hand.

“You need to tell someone, Ophelia,” I say. “I want to be that someone.”