Romy Sommer - Not a Fairy Tale

Not just scared. Fear squeezed her chest. She sagged to the ground and eyed the water.

She didn’t need to shoot in water for the movie. Well, there was one scene in the third book… she swallowed. But that’s what stunt doubles were paid for.

She could call Dom back – tell him she couldn’t do this. And she could call this whole stupid thing off and go back to playing the rom-com princess.

She could, but she wouldn’t. She hauled herself up onto shaking legs. Then, drawing in a deep breath and closing her eyes, she jumped.

The water wasn’t as deep as she’d expected. It only reached to chest height. And at least it was cool, unlike that choking, merciless water she remembered. She began to wade. Water weeds caught at her, wrapping around her legs. Panic set in as she struggled against them. But they only gripped tighter.

She couldn’t breathe.

Survival rule #1: don’t panic . Her father had told her this years ago when she’d climbed too high up a tree and gotten stuck on a branch that had cracked beneath her weight. He’d talked her down, slowly, calmly.

She stopped fighting. Tears burned against her eyelids as the old memory choked her even more than the weeds. Survival rule, my ass. Fat lot of good it had done him.

She tried to move again, but the tangled weeds still held her tight. Trapped.

The tears threatened to spill over. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t do this.

She looked for Dom, but he was far away, circling the dam, not looking her way. She tried to shout for him, but the tears clogged her throat and all she managed was a whimper.

The black spots were back, dancing before her eyes.

I can do this . She breathed deeply to calm the surge of fear and panic. I won’t cry . He mustn’t see me cry.

When she no longer saw black spots before her eyes, she held her breath and dived down to yank the strangling weeds off her legs. It took three dives to finally free herself, then she pushed up to the surface and began to swim, slowly, careful to keep close to the surface to avoid the tangling weeds that still seemed to reach out to her with their greasy tentacles.

Her already aching muscles protested with every stroke, but she pushed forward, keeping her gaze locked on the distant building that slowly, slowly grew nearer.

Just another few feet, another stroke… on the far bank she dragged herself out and lay panting in the dry, prickly grass. The relief was so great she wanted to cry. She’d done it. She’d actually crossed it and it hadn’t killed her.

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