Elena
Panic was the first thing to set in — before the water even finished soaking my clothes, before the icy cold clawed at my marrow. I fought and thrashed — it was a losing battle — I didn't even know what was up or down. The tide pulled me under — fast, hard, and unrelenting.
Just like my father.
I could feel his hand around my throat, pushing me down deeper. Holding me beneath the surface longer. Teaching me a lesson. My heart rate shot up. My lungs began to burn. The crushing pressure threatened to consume me.
An arm wrapped around my middle. My thrashing became animalistic — I wouldn't let him pull me under. I wouldn't let him finally finish what he had been dragging out for so long. Black spots began to form in my vision — salt burned in my throat. I couldn't yell or scream
