Dead Things Float

The corporate apartment complex pool shimmered at 2 AM, blue tiles reflecting moonlight like fractured memories. Elena sat on the edge, legs dangling in chlorinated water, nursing her third wine cooler of the night. That's when she saw him—Marcus, walking toward her with that careful gait, the one he'd developed since the promotion.

"You look like a zombie," he said, settling beside her. Not unkindly. Just stating fact.

She laughed, a hollow sound. "Feel like one. Eighteen months in that department, and I can't remember the last time I felt something real."

Marcus had been her work friend, the one who understood her zombie jokes about corporate life consuming your soul. But lately he'd crossed over to management side, started wearing pressed shirts and talking about "synergy" without irony. She missed the old Marcus, the one who'd sneak vodka into company events and make fun of executives in the supply closet.

"I got engaged," he said quietly.

The words hit harder than they should have. They'd had something, once—drunken kisses at happy hours, hands touching in meetings, the constant almost. But timing was never right, and now he was someone else's.

"Congratulations," she meant it, mostly. "Who's the lucky zombie?"

"Sarah. From accounting." He splashed water with his foot. "She doesn't get the zombie jokes."

"No one does anymore."

They sat in silence, the pool's gentle lapping filling the spaces between all the things they couldn't say. Elena wondered if this was what adulthood felt like—becoming dead inside while pretending everything was fine, watching everyone else do the same.

"You know what they say about dead things," Marcus whispered, leaning closer. His eyes found hers in the darkness. "They float."

He kissed her then, and it wasn't gentle. It was desperate, hungry, like two drowning people finally finding each other in deep water. For a moment, Elena felt alive again—really alive, blood rushing, heart hammering, everything sharp and present and real.

Then he pulled away. "I'm getting married in three weeks."

"I know."

"This can't happen again."

"I know."

She watched him walk away, back to his building, back to his fiancée, back to the life where people made sensible choices. Elena slid into the pool, letting the chlorine water close over her head. Somewhere between holding her breath and breaking the surface, gasping, she decided she'd rather drown slowly in truth than live forever as a walking dead thing.

The pool was empty now. Just her and the moon and the quiet understanding that sometimes, the things that kill us are the only things that make us feel alive.