“Love as Survival”* “The Deep End”

You hadn’t been to school in four days.

Kevin noticed by the second.

He’d texted. Called. Waited outside your house once, sitting on the curb with his hood up, staring at the door that never opened.

But today, you showed up.

Late. Hoodie sleeves too long. Eyes red, not from crying—that would’ve been easier to explain—but from everything else. You looked hollow. Like a shadow of yourself.

You slipped into the back of chemistry, sat down, and didn’t say a word.

Kevin was there too.

You felt him before you saw him. The way your body loosened when you were near him, like a reflex you couldn’t fight anymore.

He passed you a note during the teacher’s lecture. Just five words.

“Tell me what’s hurting.”

You stared at it. Your pen hovered over the edge of the paper, unsure of what to write. So you drew a shaky line. Then another. And then, finally, the truth:

“I don’t know how to keep going.”

When the bell rang, he waited for you to gather your things. You moved like someone carrying too much weight. Kevin didn’t try to talk, not yet. He just walked beside you.

You ended up in the locker room—dark, empty between periods. He locked the door behind you.

You sat on the floor. He did too.

And then you unraveled.

“I don’t want to die,” you said. “But I don’t want to live like this either.”

Kevin’s hand slid into yours, his thumb brushing the inside of your wrist. Right where the sleeves usually hid the worst of it.

“You don’t have to live like this,” he said. “We’ll figure it out.”

“I don’t even know what’s wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” he said. “You’re just drowning in it.”

“And what—you’re my lifeguard?” you said bitterly, trying to laugh it off, trying to push him away before he got too close to the mess.

But Kevin didn’t flinch.

“I’ll go under with you,” he said. “I don’t care how deep it gets. As long as you don’t stop fighting.”

You looked at him then, tears welling but not falling. You hated crying in front of people. Even him. But you were tired. So tired.

He scooted closer, pulled you into his arms slowly—like he was checking for cracks. You buried your face in his chest and let yourself breathe for the first time in days.

There, on the cold locker room floor, surrounded by the echoes of a world that never understood you, Kevin held you like love was something vital. Something that could keep you alive.

And maybe it could.

Maybe it already was.