Submerged

They say water runs deep.

For me, it runs like an endless cycle—falling deeper and deeper into an abyss of darkness.

I keep falling.

Falling with the weight of pain and grief, in a life that doesn’t seem to hold meaning.A life without purpose.A life that’s smudged and submerged me into nothing.

The sound of shattered glass woke me from my daydream.

I had been standing by the window, watching the butterflies prance in the sunlight.

They moved like they were dancing to music only they could hear—peaceful, rhythmic, like nature’s private orchestra. God, I wish I could be that free. To spend all day dancing. Living.

I walked to the top of the staircase and called out, “Hey, are you okay down there? Do I need to call a hot, steamy firefighter to the rescue?”

I chuckled at my own humour. My mother came to the staircase dramatically, like one of those helpless women from old movies, and said, “OH HELP, HELP ME, MR. ARMSTRONG!”

We both laughed. She made her way up the stairs, holding the glass cup she’d broken while packing up the kitchen.

My mother was as beautiful as the sun. Her radiant melanin shimmered in the light. Long black braids laced with golden beads waved behind her as she climbed, glowing against her thick, honey-brown complexion.

She hugged me, and I breathed her in—sweet brown sugar and coconut butter, with a hint of cooking oil.

“Girl,” she said, “have you done anything in your room? We’ve got a long drive, and all I see is you standing around dreaming.”

I stopped her before she could keep going. “Yes, I packed everything last night. It’s by the window—see?”

I pointed to the boxes stacked neatly by the door. She crossed her arms, gave me a little side-eye, and said, “Oh okay, Miss im-Prepared-Before-the-Sun-Comes-Up. You didn’t get much sleep last night again, did you?”

Her smile faded a little with concern. I pulled her into another hug.

“I’m fine. I just had the energy to work extra. You know me—I want to be ready for our new life. Away from the city. Away from Grandma. And the mall.”

I tried to change the subject. It didn’t work, but she let me anyway.

“Yeah, my little worker bee... Maja, it’s not bad to want change. We need to let go of the past and be somewhere new. Grandma has Grandpa. We have each other.”

She smiled. “This house is big, quiet, and perfect for us. New memories, like PROM! And DRESSES! And BOYS!”

She placed the broken cup on a cardboard box, grabbed my hand, and twirled me around the room while humming some ballroom song. We spun until we both crashed onto my bed, laughing.

Lying back, I looked up at the ceiling and said, “Yeah... you’re right. A new place, full of new memories.”

But something tightened in my stomach. Fear. Cold and creeping. I felt it rise into my chest until my voice shook as I mumbled,“Does he know where we’re going?”

My mother noticed the change in me instantly. She pulled me into a tight hug.

“No, Maja. He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care to know. When I told him we were moving, he hung up on me.”

She exhaled hard. “That bastard... the only thing he was good for was making a beautiful baby and—”

I finished it for her. “—and hurting you.”

She let me go and sat me up gently, brushing my curls out of my face, holding back tears.

“Don’t think about the bad times, okay? We have to finish packing. Let’s get everything in the car so we can make those new memories.”

She kissed my forehead. I nodded and watched her walk back down the stairs.

As the silence returned, I exhaled with relief—and pushed the memories back down into the sea’s cold, silent belly.

A few hours later, our bags were packed and the house sat behind us like a ghost.

I got into the front seat of our old brown sedan and clicked the seatbelt over my chest. My mother reached across the console and held my hand.

“This is for the best, Maja. A fresh start—we needed this.”

Her voice was cheerful. Too cheerful. I knew the house behind us had nothing but bad memories for her, but she still smiled like leaving it didn’t hurt.

She waited for me to agree.

So I faked a smile and said, “Yeah. A new start is what we needed.”

The drive to Massachusetts was long hours of passing trees and silence. My phone was dead, and Mom’s was running GPS. With nothing else to do, I leaned my head against the window and drifted into sleep.

I felt the warmth of her hand again in my dream... then nothing. Cold.

The taste of blood filled my mouth. I was back in the sea.

No land. No people. Just me and the dark.

The water below me rippled, then formed hands—familiar ones, pale and long-fingered. They pulled. I used to fight them. Now, I just let them.

There’s no winning with the sea. It always wants to drown me.

It sighs for the dead.

I waited for it to take me.

A sudden jolt slammed me forward, my seatbelt stopping me from hitting the glove compartment.

My mother’s arm shot across my chest, holding me back as the car swerved.

I blinked, trying to come back to the world.

A rusted-down truck had cut us off.

I barely had time to catch my breath before the smell hit—like death.

Something rotting. Animal.

My mother honked the horn, but the driver only flipped us off and sped away.

Neither of us saw the dead animal's body fall off the back of his truck.

Until it hit our windshield.

Blood splattered across the glass like red paint in a horror movie. I screamed and covered my eyes, hands shaking as my breath caught in my throat. My ears rang.

My mother turned sharply into a gas station, trying to use the built-in cleaner, but it didn’t work.

She jumped out, grabbed the squeegee, and scraped what she could off the glass.

Then she opened my door.

“Breathe, baby. Just breathe—look at me, Maja.”

I couldn’t. My vision blurred. My pulse was all over. I could feel the blood—not mine, but too much—all over me, even though it wasn’t.

She searched her purse in a panic. Found the injector.

“I’ve got it,” she said, her voice shaking but trying to stay calm.

She gave me the shot in my back and held me until my limbs went slack. My arms were heavy. My legs didn’t respond.

I could only feel my face. My mouth. My eyes.

She laid me gently in the back seat. Closed the door.

Then she disappeared into the gas station to report the truck. To get gas.

All I could do was lie there, half-paralyzed, jerking slightly against the seat as the medicine took over.

This is one of the three phobias I live with.

Hematophobia.

The fear of blood.