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Drowning in Puddles

Short story By: Coralie
Young adult



Before AA, before the overdose, before he met Evelyn, Ana and Adrian were meant to be.... or, so he thought. This is a prequel of sorts to Let The Rain Come Down. And this time, it's Ana's turn to tell her story.


Submitted:Feb 9, 2014    Reads: 43    Comments: 3    Likes: 4   


I had always come to terms with the fact that some day I would run out of time.

My whole life had been a series of races, trying to beat everyone else to the finish line first. It never mattered what it took to get me there first, so long as I won. And god, I was so desperate to win.

I wish I knew why I was so obsessed with the thought of winning. It could have been my parents' disapproval for every little thing I did for myself. It could have been the adrenaline and the pride that I would get any time someone said that they were jealous of me, of the things I had accomplished.

Sometimes even I was jealous of myself. Envious that I could do these things only in spite of others but not do it for myself. But I was always far too proud to admit that maybe this wasn't the kind of life I wanted to be living.

There were reprieves I had formulated for myself. Times when i could stop pretending, stop trying to outdo myself. I'd have an "Alone Day", go to a bookstore and read for hours upon hours. It was then and only then that I could smile and not feel weighted down by my life.

As much as it hurt to admit, even finding the love of my life was something I just wanted to accomplish. I wish I could say that I fell easily in love. That it came to us naturally and with ease, like something you'd find in a Nicholas Sparks novel. And oh, would that have made life so much easier for me. I guess that's something that I was just so wanting of. Ease.

But no. The day I met him, I knew. Adrian was the one I would spend the rest of my life with. He was smart, handsome, charming. He had a way with words when he put his mind to it and he was so impressionable that I knew I could model him into someone I should love like he was clay beneath my fingertips. But that's the thing. Once it had gotten to a certain point, I knew I had to love him. There was some kind of threshold I had crossed and there was no turning back.

So maybe I couldn't exactly say that I had loved him, just that I had settled for him. He loved me, though. He loved me until the very last day, very last second. From the minute we met, he was mine without a single question. The thought makes me want to cry and smile at the same time. How this will hurt him. How it will crush his soul.

But for his sake, I hope he can move on..... I pray that he can find consolation somehow. There was no reason for me to ever not love him. He did everything he could for me. He sobered up for me; he abandoned so many friends just to become a man that I would he proud to have meet my parents. Regardless of that not working, he did it.

The thing is, I never gave him reason enough to do all those things for me. And it was that discovery that made me ache so much. It was all of the looks that he would give me that simply broke my heart. The looks... Oh, the looks. They were of pure joy, pure love. There wasn't a single ounce of regret or remorse hidden in his deep blue eyes.

Whereas I could never look at him like that, could never accept the fact that he loved me more than I ever could. The night he had proposed to me, I was tempted to leave. I hoped so desperately that he would forget about me. That the new year would give him leverage enough to want to leave me, to break things off. Instead he did the opposite and I couldn't just say no. Those eyes trapped me again. And I submitted.

As I lay here now, listening to only the sound of mechanical beeps to keep me company, I realize just how much I fucked him over. If I hadn't been so proud, so childish, he could have been so much happier. I had seen the looks that women had given him in college. They adored him. And there was a good chance that infatuation could have been mutual. If only I hadn't ruined it all. But no... That didn't work out how it was supposed to.

As it seems, though, nothing for me ever truly did. Even my own death was supposed to have occurred differently. He was supposed to come home and find me tragically deceased, because even in death, I longed for that poetic quality.

An overdose. That was what should have taken me out. Instead, I'm here, solely alive because of multiple machines and tubes that are forcefully infusing me with life. And I hate it almost as much as I hate myself.

I can't go on living. I know this much. Even though all he and those ocean blue eyes ever gave me, from the moment I determined him as my victim, I've been drowning. I've been struggling to keep afloat in the puddles of his love, of his blueness. And it would be so cruel to survive this physically when it was the only thing that could have ever broken me.

"I'm sorry, Adrian," I want to croak as I shakily lift my hand.

It takes all my strength left in me to flick the little switch to the multitude of industrious machinery off. All it took was one little thing to seal my death. I deserved it. I deserved so much to feel everything in me shut down.

But when I took my last breath as the nurses and doctors futilely struggled to keep me breathing, I was no longer drowning in puddles.





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