Prologue
My mother, in many ways, was always the first to hurt me.
"The worst of it is the shock. There's a pain, of course. Drowning hurts. Just remember that you'll make me proud if you die. Let yourself go."
My mother lowered my body into the water, cradling the back of my head with kindness. It felt unnatural coming from her hands. Alicia Free was never gentle, not with me. I waited, almost expectantly, for her to curse and slam me into the porcelain. To break me and the tub and the ground with her never-ending anger. To extinguish me.
This time, she didn't.
Her expensive, gold-lined, clawfoot tub sat under us, filled just enough to cover my body and face, barely any room for her lengthy legs. She kept her garter belt on. I worried about how ruined it would get if I fought and how I would pay for it with violence. How I would pay with my skin if her silk bra was damaged, if her stiletto nails were broken. Even her silky hair was tied up in an intricate bun, delicate and ready to spill over and enrage her at the slightest movement. My mother got dressed in her most beautiful lingerie, even to drown her child.
I kept still.
"It's painful the first time you drown, the first time you die. It feels like a million boulders settling roughly in your chest, aching incessantly. You feel a great relief when it's over. Let yourself rest. Try not to think about what you deserve, where else you should be. This is where you belong." She paused dramatically, hands on my shoulders. I lay tilted on my butt in the bathtub, a designer bathing suit covering my body, my hair tied up as tightly as she could get it. I stared at her without blinking.
We did this over and over. We always made it to the part where she plunged my head under, holding me down until bubbles burst from my mouth, and then she would let me up. She would tremble. She would stomp out of the tub and find her way to clean clothing, to a warm bed. She'd hate me more than usual for weeks, and then we would try again. Years and years and years, and now I was a teenager. And now I wanted to live instead.
But I wouldn't fight my mother.
I couldn't get over the fact that she was hesitant about wanting to hurt me for once. I didn't question why she looked so sad hovering over me, her hands gripping my shoulders. I just loved that she was hurt by hurting me for once. The water was near freezing, and my mother was near tears, and I felt happier than I'd ever been.
"Breathe deep once you're under, girl. Let the fear take you. I'm strong enough to hold you through your struggles, so fight. It will help your body feel trapped. When you feel the need, let go. You'll know what I mean as it happens. Let's see how you do." She paused, lifting a hand to my face. "Please. I want to take you with me everywhere, but I need to know you can make it. Do well."
"I will."
And she pushed me back hard, her hands like hammers. I didn't struggle. Not even a little. Her stockings clung tight to her garters. I tried to keep myself flat, away from them. I watched her face warping around the bubbles in the water, struggling to see through my hair products and melting lotion. I didn't move until my body made me.
My lungs ached. They ached. It was the first thing that had ever actually hurt, and I'd broken two ribs before. Beyond all the pain, the water and chemicals filling my lungs, was this panic. My mind raged for me to find some air, to make things normal again. Fingers clenched, I didn't move beyond the faint struggles my body put forth.
I knew, and sometimes I still know, that my mother understood this world better than I could.
The pain turned to pressure, traveling up my veins like blood, and I felt a potent sting growing in my head. My shoulders lurched forward. She pressed them down again, her long stiletto nails digging into my skin. I could see her foggy, empty pupils, so big her eyes were nearly black. And then everything was dark, and I couldn't see anything.
When I opened my eyes, I was still underwater.
Still drowning.
I barely had energy, but I kicked my feet until they stopped moving on their own. Rage pushed me. I wanted to rip her pretty clothes and kill her. The lights above her head seemed blinding, almost chaotic with my movement. Smooth porcelain eased against my nails as I struggled, trying to knock her over and get her off me. The pain increased, my lungs wailed, and again, everything went black.
I opened my eyes and was still underwater. The rocks filled my lungs again. I fought. I drowned. Again. And again. And again. An intense pressure built up in my chest. I felt like I was bloating, filling with gas and poisons. The pain surged into my heart.
She pulled me up, her face blurred by the water in my eyes, and spat, "Astor, please! Do it! Cough!" The world turned to cloudy water again, and I tried to cough. I tried to let anything but water and pain out.
But I couldn't. The next time the world went black, a low whistle filled my ears. Words tried to reach me, but they failed at the surface of the water. Parts of my body vanished, frozen or bruised or broken, and then there was silence. Nothing moved.
"Please. Please, you can't fail! Please!" She pulled me up and whispered in my ear, "I know you're like me, Astor. Just breathe a little. I promise I'll save us both. Just get up."
I tried. Nothing moved. Nothing started or finished, and nothing happened. My mother's hands disappeared from me. The door squeaked.
Don't leave. Take me with you! I'm not dead; I'm not dead! I didn't fail!
I could hear her choking in the hallway. Maybe I heard her getting dressed, sobbing, anguished. Maybe I heard her pick up the shotgun, walk downstairs, and shoot my father in the chest. Maybe I heard Alicia Free pour that gasoline, leaving her dead husband and daughter behind for good, burning us away as if we never existed.
But I can't remember anything but the pretty lights swinging back and forth over my head, warping in the water.