While arriving Mira finds a mess in the lounge. There is a couple of bottles in the floor, a drunk badly comfortable on the sofa with another bottle in hand and there is a stench of alcohol to which, unfortunately, she is accustomed. There is some puke on the floor, small puddles of beverage and shoes threw with any consideration. Sighs. At least he has come back.

Her father has come back.

She is not sure about what feeling in her inside is bigger, if the fear or the relief of seeing him back. He usually gets lost in alcohol during weekends and returns no later than Monday. Mira doesn't understand how he has survived in his job with that habit; nonetheless, she is not wishing him to be fired, after all he contributes a part for the expenses and pays the mortgage. It must be that Mauricio has a great intellect to support his behavior, Mira hopes to have inherited that intelligence. It is said that daughters inherit their parents' IQ, she hopes vices don't.

She starts collecting the bottles and cleaning up the puddles and his father's mess. She makes it as quiet as she can, she doesn't want to wake him up... she is halfway through the job when her brother comes home, that night he rests. He arrives with a pizza box.

"So, he came back." He places the food on the table.

"He always does."

"Let me help you."

Frank takes a slang to pass it on in the dirty places. Minutes later they have finished and sit down for dinner.

"How has he been?" Asks her brother.

"Good all good. You?"

Listening to herself, Mira wonders how many people don't lie with those simple words. She doesn't blame or judge them, she does it herself. In reality, what catches her attention is everything that this answer hides, because it is easier to say that you are fine than to explain why you are not, who wants to hear the problems of others when everyone is already dealing with their own demons. Sometimes life is easier with lies.

"Same."

There, at the same table sharing food, two liars drowning in their obligations and surviving life clinging tooth and nail to the little hope they have of one day getting ahead. Mira looks at her brother, he has dark circles under his eyes, his cheekbones are protruding more and more, and her skin looks dull. There is not a day that he does not work, and for that same reason he cannot have personal relationships other than with her dipsomaniac father and her sister with a scholarship.

Mirabella learned of his most recent girlfriend, a girl he has already cut up; she also knows the reasons behind his actions. Lack of time and ethics. Frank had said that she was some kind of hottie that he could get some money out of, but when Mira found out she spoke out against it, arguing that they might be poor in monetary terms, but that didn't mean they had to be poor in values as well. In addition, she had accompanied her manifestation with a question: would Frank like it if someone did the same to Mira? She's not sure exactly what made Frank break up with that girl; if it was entirely Mirabella's fault she hoped that whoever she was would one day understand her.

Twenty minutes later, each one goes to their room to rest since they still have a week to go.

Mirabella clenches her fists under the water as she listens to the coach explain to her for the umpteenth time how the backstroke should be. She nods and listens carefully to his words. She's not upset with him, she's upset with herself, because despite being able to float with her face towards the ceiling, the moment she starts to move, the water rises so high that she feels like it's devouring her. That scares her.

"You just have to relax; you're not going to sink."

"Alright."

"Again."

She obeys and, like many times before, on the second stroke she has the urge to change position, there is water burning her nose and airways. The coach denies.

"Enough for today," he says to all his students, "we'll move on to the next class."

Not only his pupils begin to leave the water, the rest of the classmates as well. The swim club has four trainers per pool. There are three of them. Mira watches them leave and decides to stay a while longer, like every afternoon.

She closes her eyes and forgets the noise from outside, gradually settles down with her face towards the sky, and once she feels safe, she begins to move her left arm very slowly, managing to put it perpendicular to her body before the water reaches and betrays her and begins to sink. Again, the water enters through her nose. She curses and she tries one more time, only this time she takes more time before starting the move. Like the last ten times, the water rises and fails.

Her frustration grows. How is it possible that something that it looks so easy to do, is the most complicated? She takes a deep breath to relax and try again. She closes her eyes and hears in the distance a couple of people entering the water. She supposes that they will practice a little more, or they will be the ones of the representative team.

Each attempt of hers takes her longer to start, this time she is barely raising her arm when she feels a pair on her back, she is startled and opens her eyes immediately, and without recognizing it she goes away from him. It takes her nearly two seconds to place his face, though not because he looks different with wet hair and bare skin, but because her brain refuses to believe it.

"What are you doing?" She inquires with the firmest voice that she can.

"I saw that you had problems with this style, I'm good at it."

"What a peeper," she replies to a bit offended.

"No," Gavar answers matter-of-factly. "I only watch what I like."

Mirabella rolls her eyes helplessly, she knows it's not manners, but she finds it impossible to stop. She's not going to fall for the stupid game that Gavar is trying to set up.

"I do not need help."

Gavar smiles at her, that's when Mirabella finds him almost chilling, not because of the cold beauty of his features, but because of the combination of those fangs, slightly larger than average, with those icy eyes that are so big and deep.

"Yes, you need help, you are terrible in back."

She clenches her fists, the truth in her words bothering her.

"Fine," she grumbles, "but first let me see you do it," she says.

Gavar's dark ice analyzes her as if he were considering the possibility of her running away from him.

"Okay."

Gavar adjusts his googles and swims away to the starting area, gets on the structure to mark his entry into the water and, a second later, he does. He hits a perfect reverse arrow, lasting in the water for at least ten seconds; Mirabella does not waste the opportunity to observe him. She takes a deep breath, and she lowers herself into the water just enough and just in time to see him brush past her.

His long legs move without separating, his torso undulates as it should, and the muscles in his arms flex with the effort involved in performing the exercise. Gavar tilts his face enough to give her a small smile. Smug.

Mira ascends again to see him emerge and do what is so difficult for her. He does it perfectly, years of practice and discipline manifesting in those calculated movements. Damned. Gavar touches the other end and returns only this time in freestyle.

"And? He asks once in front of her.

"What?"

"What do you think about it?"

"Not bad," she murmurs casually. "You can help. But I'm not going to change my mind about being your tutoress. I'm sure you don't need it."

Her answer makes Gavar laugh, but he doesn't object. Immediately afterwards, he takes her arm to move her away from the shore, Mirabella knows what to do. She lets herself lie on her back while he supports her. It is in that position that she manages to appreciate the true color of Gavar's eyes, they are like blueberries, so deep, so strong is the color that even indigo specks can be seen in them. Frozen blueberries because there's no warmth in his gaze.

"I did not expect less from you."

"Why do you do it?"

"What?" Gavar moves her hands around her.

"Try to help me."

"I'm doing my good deed for the day."

"I'm a charity project."

"I wouldn't say that."

Mirabella tenses because the water, not because his words.

"Relax, I'm going to help you," he murmurs softly, his eyes looking even more intimidating up close and a stark contrast to the melody of his words.

"I don't know why I can't," she shares.

"Because you're afraid of the water."

"That is not true."

"Yes, and she knows it.

She frowns at the life Gavar is giving something inanimate.

"And what am I supposed to do? Tell her not to be bad?

Her words make him smile.

"Move through it, not fight it.

After several unsuccessful minutes, Gavar moves away just a few inches, allowing Mirabella to return to an upright position. She sighs, so she has exhausted his patience as well. She tries to see the good side of the situation, so he will no longer want to help her, and she will not have him close to her; however, in all fairness, she is disappointed in herself for not being able to.

"Are you okay?"

"Yes, thanks for trying to help me." Her brother always tells her that you must be grateful. "Although I think it's better to stop."

"Let me try one last thing."

She sighs, she's about to deny it, but she finds herself nodding and obeying when Gavar asks her to float off her face by herself. She does it. The boy settles next to her in the same way, then he takes her by the hand, and the guides her little by little. As unlikely as it seems, Mirabella feels for the first time that she doesn't sink.

"Do it with the other arm," she says.

She obeys and they barely make any progress. Mira tilts her face just a few inches to look at him and smile at him.

"It doesn't feel so bad."

"Perfect. Let's get to the other end together."