Chlorine and Empty Calories

The hotel pool was empty at 4 AM, which was exactly how Marcus wanted it. He floated on his back, staring at the painted ceiling, wondering how many vitamin supplements it would take to fix what was broken inside him. The blood test results had arrived yesterday: severe deficiencies in everything that mattered. His body was slowly eating itself alive, and he'd been too busy to notice.

"You're working like a bull in a china shop," Elena had told him two nights ago, her voice tired. "You're going to break something you can't fix."

She was right. She'd packed a bag and left for her sister's place, taking nothing but her own weariness. Marcus had stayed behind, drowning in spreadsheets and quarterly projections, convinced that if he just worked harder, proved himself more valuable, everything would somehow resolve itself.

He climbed out of the pool, water dripping onto the concrete. The breakfast cart was already set up in the lobby—continental service for the business travelers who couldn't sleep. Marcus took a plastic container of fruit cocktail, picking out an orange wedge with wet fingers. The artificial sweetness made his teeth hurt.

There was spinach wilting in his hotel room's mini-fridge, part of his halfhearted attempt at self-care. He'd meant to make himself a proper dinner. Instead, he'd ordered room service—a burger, medium rare, with extra cheese—and eaten it standing over the desk, reviewing contract amendments while grease stained the pages.

His phone lit up with a notification: RICHARDSON: Conference call moved to 6 AM.

Marcus stared at the message. Then he blocked Richardson's number.

He got back into the pool, clothes and all. The heavy fabric pulled him down, and for a moment he let it. Then he kicked upward, breaking the surface, gasping. The sun was beginning to rise over the parking lot, painting the sky in bruised purples and tentative golds.

He climbed out again, dripping wet, and walked to the lobby phone. He dialed Elena's number from memory.

"I'm sorry," he said when she answered. "I think I'm ready to listen now."

The spinach could wait. The vitamins would have to wait. But this—this small, desperate attempt to float instead of sink—this couldn't wait any longer.