He turns the boat around, and we start toward the dock.
I try another question. “How long were you in prison for?”
Still no answer. The clippings he has in the drawer come to mind, and I start thinking about the poor girl and what she must have gone through.
What was high school like for her after that happened?
Was she even able to finish?
The feelings of anger and disgust start to push their way back to the number one spot, and I glare at the back of his head.
“What made you do it?”
I notice his back tense up, but apart from that, I get nothing.
“Did it make you feel powerful, huh?” Getting worked up, I raise my voice. “You liked her, didn't you? Did you just get sick of her saying 'no' to you or something? Get sick of waiting?”
The next thing I know, he's putting the boat in reverse and then cutting the engine before turning around, looking super pissed.
In a low menacing voice, he says, “Get the fuckoff my boat.”
Even I know I went a little too far with those questions and have obviously hit a nerve. So I do actually feel bad about that.
Looking to where he's pointing, I see that we're floating alongside the dock. We haven't quite come to a complete stop, but we're pretty close to it.
I lift myself off the ground where I had been sitting the whole time since falling backward and slowly walk over to the side where I'll need to climb off. But it doesn't feel right to leave like this. Looking back over my shoulder, I see that Jacob is now staring at the ground, looking forlorn. I should really apologize to him.
“Look, I'm sorry for what I–”
“Off,” he says, cutting me off.
Well, it doesn't look like he's going to be letting me say anything more, so I step up onto the bench chair along the side, ready to hop across. But, instead of gracefully stepping up onto the dock, I move in the most awkward way possible, causing the boat to shift away from the dock.
And down I go into the ocean with a scream.
The panic is immediate when I hit the water, slithering up and curling its way around my chest and throat. I start flailing my arms around, trying hard to keep my head above water, but I only end up swallowing down some seawater and choking, letting out a gurgled 'help'.
I'm vaguely aware of Jacob leaning over the boat's edge several feet above me. But in my mind, he's miles away. I'm all alone.
“You can't swim?” I don't answer, of course. I'm too busy trying not to drown, with very little success. My head is under the water more than it is above it. “Grab hold of the life preserver!”
I hear him. I do. But he may as well be speaking another language because right now, I'm too far gone. The sheer terror that I'm about to die has taken over, and it's removing all logical thoughts from my brain. I feel like I'm kicking and thrashing as much I can, but my movements are uncoordinated, all over the place, achieving nothing. I can hardly even keep my head above water, let alone move toward a life preserver.
“Shit.”
That's the last thing I hear before I feel myself sinking too much. It feels like I've been struggling for hours, not minutes, or in reality, probably only seconds. My arms are tired, and it feels like they're strapped with weights. My lungs burn from not enough air. I don't have enough energy to keep fighting. This is it. I'm done.
As soon as I stop moving my arms and legs, I sink down deeper, further into the cold darkness. I've heard you're supposed to have some sort of life-flashing-before-your-eyes moment right before you die, but right now, all I can think about is how useless mine has been. I haven't made a difference in anyone's life.
Before I can delve further into how depressing those thoughts are, I'm being hoisted up above the water by a strong body. Jacob's arm is wrapped securely around my waist, holding me up, while his other arm slices through the water, pulling us toward the ladder on the other side of the dock. I splutter and cough all the way there, sucking in lungfuls of air.
He lifts me up onto the ladder, placing my arms over the rungs, still holding onto me from behind.
“You got this?”
“Y-yes,” I answer, even though I don't know if I do. My arms kind of feel like jelly right now.
With a sigh, Jacob ends up climbing the ladder somehow while still holding onto me. I guess he figured I wasn't in any shape to pull myself up, for which I'm thankful. As soon as we reach the top, though, he drops me onto the sturdy wood and steps away, bending at the waist and breathing deeply.