08.01 TOM – Depth of Silence 16.7. at 06:00 – 00:30

16.7.

A short midnight thunderstorm varnished the streets with black lacquer, in which street lamps blur into golden beads. The rain has stopped, but ozone still crackles in the lungs when one takes a breath. Silence spreads like a velvet throw and footsteps sound hollow within it, almost solemnly. In the distance, a tire hisses – the sole signature of a human – and vanishes at once, as if it had changed its mind.

Tom's note [Hum of the filtration turbine: 40 Hz, +2 dB. It reminded me of the beating of an umbilical cord; regular and unconditional. In that rumbling, all other voices were lost and I heard only the water that once gave birth to me.]

TOM

I burst into the mist-filled hall as if going off to war. Chlorine stings my nose, but what I've got inside burns much more. I don't know if it's rage or something else. Something I don't want to name.

I throw my backpack on the bench and feel my stomach tighten. Yesterday I fucked Veru and then I vanished like some fucking asshole. I didn't even say bye to her. What the fuck is wrong with me? Am I a moron or what?

This thinking is distracting me. I need to focus. I need to swim.

I see Adam flashing new times. He's showing off, as always. Always the same old song. His time for the hundred breaststroke is 1:02:55. Jirka is egging Mára on again, who just smirks. A normal morning. A normal world. Except nothing is normal anymore.

Jakub yells splits, a vein on his neck throbbing.

"Záhoš! You've got lane two today! Get a move on!"

I toss my towel onto the bench and pull off my shirt. I feel the cool air on my skin and instinctively search for Viktor with my eyes.

He's already in the water. Of course. That asshole never wastes time. He's swimming in his typical style – light, almost as if he were floating. I have no clue how he does it. Maybe if he wasn't pissing me off so much, I could learn something from him.

I jump into the lane next to him. The water embraces me, cold and hard like reality. I feel every breath filling my lungs with pure rage. With every stroke, I imagine I'm overtaking him, leaving him behind, that I'm… that I'm what, actually? Do I want to beat him? Or do I want to…

"Záhoš! Where's your head at?" yells Jakub. "You're going like a grandma on a shopping trip!"

I focus on the technique. Hands, legs, breathe in, breathe out. Over and over again. Only when I turn at the wall, I see him next to me. His eyes. His gaze. His body gliding through the water like some fucking mermaid.

On the last lap, I deliberately slow down. Not because I couldn't keep going, but because I want him to get into his own rhythm. And then I speed up. Sharply. I feel his pace waver. His rhythm falling apart. I know I've thrown him off, and I get a perverse sense of joy from it.

I touch the wall and water slaps against the edge. Jakub whistles so loudly it almost tears my ears off.

„STOP! What the fuck was that?!“ Jakub yells across the entire pool. „Záhorský, Polesný – what was that supposed to be?!“

I hang onto the wall, gasping for air. I turn my head and his eyes are there. Those damned eyes of his. Piercing me. I feel the memory coming back—right here, by the showers. His leg against my leg. The way I blew up. The way I pushed him away. The way I was scared. Not of him. Of myself.

I feel my chest tighten. It's not just from the swimming. It's something deeper. Something darker. Hatred? Fear? Something in between? Something mixing with the drops of water on the surface, something I can't get my hands on.

„Once more!“ shouts Jakub. „And this time focus on your own lane! You're not here to play demolition derby!“

I push off the wall and plunge back into the water. But it's not the same anymore. I feel the water flowing around my body, but I don't feel that lightness, that freedom. Instead, I have the feeling like something is dragging me down. Like something is gripping me.

When I finish the next lap, I climb out of the pool. My own heartbeat roars in my ears. Blood pulses in my temples. I feel water streaming down my body, but I have the feeling it isn't cleaning me. That it isn't ridding me of what I carry inside.

Viktor pulls himself out of the water too. I watch him run a hand through his wet hair. Water streams down his body. Over his shoulders. Across his chest. Along that line of hair leading...

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

He doesn't look away. Quite the opposite. He looks straight at me. There's something in his gaze I can't read. Something that annoys me. Something that draws me in. Something that terrifies me.

The atmosphere between us grows thick enough to cut with a knife. I feel my stomach tighten. My throat goes dry. My palms are sweating, even though I'm soaking wet.

Jakub must sense it, because he blows the whistle again. „End of swimming! Gym! Move your asses!“

I turn around and head for the showers. I feel his gaze on my back. As if it's burning right through me. As if he can see right through me. As if he knows...

„Hey, Tom,“ comes from behind me. His voice. His damn voice.

I stop, but I don't turn around. I can't. I don't want to. I'm afraid of what I'll see. I'm afraid of what he'll see.

"What do you want?" I say, trying to make it sound angry. To make it sound like he's pissing me off. Not to make it sound like I'm...

"We can't just leave it like this," Viktor says quietly. So quietly I can barely hear him over the roar of the water and the shouting of the other guys.

"Leave what like this?" I ask, finally turning around. Mistake. His eyes are too close. His body is too close. I can smell him—chlorine, sweat, and something that's just him.

"This," he gestures with his hand between us. "What's happening. What you're doing."

"I'm not doing anything," I defend myself, even though I know I'm lying. I am. I'm fucking doing way too much. Thinking too much. Feeling too much. Too...

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he says and takes a step closer. So close I could... "Why did you do that? Why did you beat me up in the shower? Why did you today...?"

"Shut the fuck up," I hiss, looking around to see if anyone's listening. "Just shut the fuck up."

"No," he shakes his head. "I'm sick of it. These games of yours. This fear of yours. I know what you feel. I can see it in you. I see it every single day."

"You don't know anything," I say, but my voice is cracking. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. "You don't know a damn thing about me."