Dead Man Floating

The pool was empty at 3 AM, the water still and black as oil. Elena sat on the edge, legs dangling in, watching the ripples distort her pale reflection. She'd come here to escape—the corporate retreat, the networking, the relentless performance of competence.

"You look like shit," a voice said.

Marcus. Her college friend, her almost-lover, the one who'd moved to Seattle and sent Christmas cards. He sat beside her, close enough that she could smell whiskey and that same sandalwood soap from twenty years ago.

"I feel like a zombie," she admitted. "Just going through the motions. Marriage, career, the whole package. It's like I'm watching someone else live my life."

Marcus snorted. "That's bull, El. You were never one to just coast."

"Maybe that's the problem." She slid into the water, letting it swallow her up to her neck. "David doesn't even see me anymore. We haven't had sex in six months. We don't fight—we just... don't."

The silence stretched between them, heavy with all the words they'd never spoken. Then Marcus was in the water too, treading water beside her, not touching her but close enough that the heat from his body cut through the chill.

"I got divorced," he said quietly. "Last year."

Elena turned to face him. Water dripped from her eyelashes. "Why?"

"Because I realized I'd rather be alone than settle for good enough." He reached for her hand underwater, his fingers warm against her cold skin. "Some people still feel like drowning's worth it, if it's the right person."

The pool lights flickered on—timer malfunction or staff closing up. In the artificial blue glow, Marcus looked exactly as he had at twenty-two, before she'd chosen stability over uncertainty, before she'd chosen David.

His thumb traced circles on her palm. Water lapped against their bodies. Somewhere in the distance, someone laughed—a sharp, lonely sound.

"I'm thirty-eight," Elena whispered. "It's a little late for starting over."

"You're not dead yet," Marcus said. "Unless that's what you want."

She looked at the hotel room above them where David was probably sleeping, peaceful and undisturbed. Then she looked at Marcus, who was waiting—not pushing, just present in a way she hadn't felt in years.

Elena squeezed his hand and didn't let go. The water buoyed them both, weightless for the first time in forever.