It was late and the beach was a series of ever-darkening shadows, the only light coming from the luminescent moon above us and the streetlamps down the block. The ones on the beach were dark, the quick, unrelenting violence of the storm having blown them out a few hours before.
I could still see the waves, though. Or maybe it was just that I could sense them, much like I had last night. No matter how hard I tried to distance myself while I was on land or how hard I tried to be completely human, the rhythm of the water—of the tides—was always a part of me. It had always been like that, from the time I was a small child. But lately it had become more obvious, more all-encompassing, until it felt like even the beat of my heart echoed the push-pull of the waves as they crashed against the land.
Which was fine, I told myself. Good, even, because that was just one more tie I had to the ocean. One more thing that would distance me from Mark and my family.
As we walked, the wind picked up, tangling in my long blond hair and whipping it against my frigid cheeks. I gasped at the stinging contact and at the violence of the wind as it slapped and whirled around us. A particularly strong gust came up, tore right through the dubious protection of the dress I was wearing, and a violent shiver worked its way through me—though I was pretty sure the wind was just an excuse. I’d been freezing since I’d made my decision earlier in the day, my body turning frigid in response to the shocking chill in my mind.
I shivered again, and Mark slipped off his suit jacket, draped it over my shoulders. Then he slipped a scarf out of the jacket’s pocket and wrapped it gently around my neck.
“Better?” he asked.
I nodded, then looked away as I blinked tears out of my eyes. I wouldn’t cry tonight. Mark deserved better than that.
“Since when do you wear a scarf?” I demanded, trying to inject a lightness into my voice that I was far from feeling.
“I don’t.” He wrapped his arm around my shoulder, pulled me back against the warm, lean length of him. Immediately some of the chills subsided, though I knew they’d be back soon enough.
I tugged on the scarf around my neck as proof to the contrary.
“I started carrying one around about the time my girlfriend grew a tail. Blue lips aren’t exactly the best look for you.”
He was smiling, expecting me to laugh, but I couldn’t. Instead, I glanced away, my cheeks burning with pleasure—and shame. I never knew quite what to say when Mark revealed just how closely he watched me or how much he saw, despite my efforts to keep things hidden. I’d had so much to hide for so long that it felt strange now that there were no secrets between us. Good, but strange.
The good feeling lasted only as long as it took to remember that soon there would be a giant secret between us. Soon I would have to convince him that I didn’t love him, that I didn’t want to be with him. If I didn’t, I knew he would never let me walk away.
With that in mind, I decided to start laying the groundwork. To get him thinking about the way things were versus the way he wanted them to be. The way we both wanted them to be. After all, if I focused on everything that was wrong between us, maybe it would drown out the soul-deep rightness I felt whenever I was near him.
“Do you ever regret it?”
“Regret what?” Mark’s voice was low, teasing, and I knew he was aware of what I was asking. That this was his way of telling me it didn’t matter.
But it did matter, and now that I’d worked up the nerve to start this conversation, I wasn’t going to be shut down. Not now, when it was so important. “Come on, seriously. Doesn’t it bother you?”
“That my girlfriend’s a mermaid?”
“Obviously.”“Not even a little bit.” He bent down, brushed a kiss across my cheek.
It wasn’t the answer I was after, and so it rocked me back on my heels a little, left me floundering for what I was supposed to say next. Any other time I would be jumping for joy—his willingness to accept unquestioningly who, and what, I was, was one of Mark’s greatest gifts to me.
I knew he was waiting for me to say something, but I couldn’t. Instead I savored the exquisite pain brought on by his answer for long moments. Then, when it grew more and more impossible to suck air in through my closed-up throat, I shoved it deep down inside of myself so that I could do what had to be done. “Really? It doesn’t bother you even a tiny bit?”
“Why should it? You’re still the same girl I fell in love with, just with a little something extra now.”
“But can’t you see? I’m not that girl! I haven’t been her for a long, long time.”
“Why do you always do that?” he demanded, shoving a frustrated hand through his hair. “Every time I turn around, you’re vilifying yourself. Finding something else to blame yourself for. You’re the only one who doesn’t see how amazing you are.”
Yeah, I was so amazing I was about to break his heart. “You don’t understand.”
“I understand more than you think. Why do you keep putting this mermaid thing between us like it’s some huge, insurmountable problem?”
I laughed, but the sound was harsh. Painful. “It’s a pretty gigantic problem, Mark. You’re the only one who doesn’t see that.”
“Why? Because you grow a tail every once in a while?” he scoffed. “So what? You’re still you. Besides, do you have any idea how many guys fantasize about the whole mermaid thing?”
I knew he said it as a joke, as a way to lighten up the tension that stretched between us, taut as a circus high wire. But I didn’t see the humor in it. “I’m nobody’s fantasy,” I said with a glare.
“You’re mine. Doesn’t that count for something?” As he said it, he gave me his most blatantly smoldering look—the one he brought out when he was making fun of both of us—and I couldn’t help it. That time I laughed.
“Seriously?” I demanded. “That’s the best line you’ve got? That somehow I’ve become your twisted little fantasy?”
He laughed, his brown eyes sparkling even in the dim light. But he grew serious quickly, the moments of levity disappearing like they had never happened. “You want to tell me what’s going on, Tempest? You’ve been acting weird all night.”
I froze, my stomach dropping to somewhere near the vicinity of my toes. I’d told myself I was ready to do this, but now that the moment was here, now that he was ready to listen, I wasn’t sure I had it in me. “Have I?” I prevaricated.
His mouth grew grim. “Don’t play me, Tempest. I can put up with a lot from you, but not that. If something’s wrong, just spit it out.”
Despite his obvious concern—or maybe because of it—Mark had kept his arm around me. And I let him, even as I searched for the words that would end us completely.
It was wrong. I knew it, but I couldn’t help myself. Couldn’t help drawing the moment out, letting the warmth between us linger. It was going to be a long time before I felt warm like this again.
We kept walking, Mark’s question hanging heavily between us, and eventually we got to the rock I’d claimed as my own when I was little more than a toddler. Black and hulking, it stood about eight feet tall, with a flat top that was perfect for sitting. It also curved on both sides so that a small hollow—big enough for one or two people—existed on the side facing away from the ocean.