Haunt me in my sleep
There's the briefest moment when she comes up for air and you fear you've gone too far. Sputtering, coughing, her face a mask of some shock you cannot understand or answer. Did you hold her too long (it was less than a minute), shove her too hard (the water should have held your weight)? You remember watching Ray tumble through the waves and come out sobbing because he'd been caught in the undertow and held down longer than expected.
But then, he'd always run back in again.
And that's what Melita seems to be doing, the shadows fading from her eyes as she once again readies her stance. You want to stop and ask what happened, to make sure she's okay- but she isn't your child, isn't a child at all, and if the young woman wants to keep going you are not going to tell her she can't. You lift your lips in a smile at her defiance, planting your feet and preparing for her to strike.
And when she does, instead of fighting against her with fists and blows you let her weight be her own undoing, sinking down beneath the surface as far as you can before pushing up and back. The hope is that it will unsettle and unseat her enough for her to let go, that she will not want to place her own head above the water in pursuit of you - and that if she does, she will lose her footing and be taken off-balance as you surge back up again.
Sinking in my sea
