The Sweet Smell Of My Ruin
Language: en
When I was seven, my cousin Tabitha pushed me into the deep end of our neighborhood pool and stood at the edge, watching me sink. By the time they dragged me out and pumped the water from my lungs, the terror had already taken root. Ever since, I have been afraid of the water. My family ran a bed-and-breakfast right on the rocky coast of Maine—the Wells Bay Inn. During the peak summer season, it was all hands on deck. My mother forced me to stand on the damp sand to welcome the incoming surfers. I stood there, my limbs trembling so violently that before the guests’ shuttle even arrived, I…