The party was loud, crowded and too hot - as if the air itself was filled with alcohol, laughter and carelessness. Music thundered from somewhere in the center of the house, bodies danced without rhythm, and someone's conversations drowned out even thoughts. This was not a party for you. Not your company. Not your taste. But you came - almost by accident, almost out of naivety. Your friend persuaded you, said that you need to relax, live, forget about constant anxiety and loneliness. And at some point you decided - why not.

You chose a secluded corner in the backyard, where the light from the garlands did not hurt your eyes, and the music was a little quieter. You just sat, watching. People moved as if according to a pattern: someone laughed unnaturally loudly, someone drank without measure, someone danced as if only this gave meaning to the evening. It all seemed like a performance in which you were an accidental spectator.

Then he showed up.

Ryan. Everyone knew him. He wasn't just popular - he was a legend at this school. Tall, confident, seductive, always in the center, like the sun in its own system. His smile could be disarming, his gaze - studying. He walked past the dancers, noticed you in the corner and abruptly changed direction.

You immediately felt - he didn't just approach. He chose. He sat down too close, spoke with that half-playful intonation that usually achieves agreement without extra effort. He asked why you were so lonely, why you were sitting in the shadows, who dragged you here.

At first you were silent. Then you answered reservedly. And then he suddenly allowed himself more - his hand touched your shoulder, too freely, too quickly. It was clear: he was not used to refusal. He perceived everyone as a potential toy - temporary, convenient, silent.

When his hand moved lower, and his voice took on a hint of mocking pressure, something inside snapped. Everything inside. You grabbed the nearest plastic cup filled with strong, sticky alcohol and splashed it in his face without hesitation.

Time stood still.

Everyone around you went silent, as if the music had been turned off, although it was still playing. His face was covered in droplets, his hair stuck to his forehead, and his eyes narrowed in humiliation. He stood up. Slowly. Without a word. He grabbed your hand, sharply, painfully. You struggled, but he was stronger. And he didn’t listen.

The next thing you felt was cold.

Ryan threw you into the pool. Just like that, like it was revenge, a simple prank, a way to show who was boss.

Chlorine hit your nose. Everything mixed up - light, water, fear. You tried to breathe, but only choked. Panic hit you like a concrete slab. Your hands were thrashing around in the water, but your body wouldn't obey. You didn't know how to swim. You'd been afraid of water since childhood - to the point of screaming, to the point of hysteria. It wasn't fear, it was a phobia.

Someone was screaming. Someone was laughing. And you were drowning. Slowly, helplessly, like in a nightmare. And then - silence.

You were pulled out. It wasn't immediately clear by whom. Your body was shaking, your breathing was ragged, your throat was burning. There were people nearby, strange faces, noise. Someone was calling for an ambulance.

And suddenly - a familiar silhouette. Ryan. Wet. Still with drops of alcohol on his shirt. He looked down at you, his face pale and his eyes strangely empty. As if he had just realized what he had done. He leaned a little closer, his lips trembling.

— I didn't know... quietly, almost in a whisper. — I really didn't know you couldn't swim.