Maybe she will hear them less underwater. Maybe she can drown them out. She takes a deep breath, and slips beneath the surface of the bathwater. Staring at the spackled the ceiling, she waits. All she hears is the muffled sound of air bubbles in her ears, like microphone static. No Anchor, no Gloom. She wonders how long she will be able to stay like this, in the quiet, the still.

Nothing else occupies her mind. Seconds tick by. Then, minutes. She ignores the protests of her body, its demands for air and life. Her vision swims. Her eyes cross and start to close.

Just then, Coal pads the bathwater, the way he sometimes swats at flies by the windowsill. Thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap. The ripples disturb her dark trance. Thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap. Her eyes pop open as if startled from a dream. Thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap, thwap.

Her lungs scream for air.

You deserve to sink, they tell her.

Inwardly, she sinks deeper and deeper, as if she is descending into a well.

Sink.

Dark walls grow around her.

Sink.

She lowers so deep, she drops out of the noise and into a quiet place inside.

The noise hangs over her like a snowy arctic wind tumbling over a deep ice-covered pool. It’s still there, she can hear it, but in a detached way, as if standing behind glass. It isn’t as loud as a moment ago. A moment ago, it nearly overwhelmed a deeper sound; a small, still voice she has heard before, that tells her: Breathe.

Minutely, she shakes her head, no.

Breathe, it repeats.

No, no, no.

Breathe, Kavita.

She resists.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

The voice is so steady, wise, and true that she can’t deny it any longer. She feels her resistance start to slip away like slowly unclenching eyes. She pushes her feet against the end of the tub and emerges, gasping. Her chest heaves. Her heart pounds. Her head throbs. She breathes, breathes, breathes.

Panting, she gazes at Coal with soft eyes. He is crouched on the toilet lid, hair bristled, ears perked, pupils wide and round. She reaches out to pet him, but he whines and rejects her. She is ashamed by how frightened he looks, how frightened she made him.

Then, feeling as exposed as if he is standing in the room, she remembers Sunil, and all he must have seen too. Slowly, she veils her eyes. “Don’t look at me, Bear,” she whispers to him. “Please.”