Evermore

I remember everything about him.  His green eyes.  His soulful fucking eyes.  I hated them.
I hated how he would hold my hand so tenderly, as though he would break me.
I hated how he would brush his nose against my neck, making my knees become fuzzy and frail.
I hated how he would be talking so excitedly while walking ahead of me, and then he would turn his head over his shoulder, grinning crookedly at me.
I hated how when his life became so hectic he told me to let him sink.
______
 
      "Vi?"  His soft gaze tried to meet mine.  But I refused to look at him with tears clouding my vision.  He pulled his large hands around my small ones, "Please."
     I forced myself to look at him.  But  I could only reach his shaggy brown hair.
     "Let me drown."  He was whispering.  "Let me drown, and eventually I'll be able to swim to the surface and see you on the shore."
     My teeth were clenching.  "Let me help."  He smiled sadly.
     "This is something you can't help with."
     "You haven't let me try!"  I leaned forward, squeezing his hands desperately.
     And then he brought his mouth to my forehead.  And he rested there for several moments.  Just before he pulled away he murmured, "I love you.  I can't let you be hurt."
     I sneered, "How ironic."  I pushed away, whipping my hands out and away from him.  And I rushed out of his flat, into the busy California streets.  It was colder than usual, so I tugged my wind breaker tight around me, not knowing whether my trembling was from him or the wind.
And I walked away.
______

Years ago, when he and I had just met, we were sophomores at an uptight private school.  We didn't have any classes together, but his and my lockers were right next to each other.  So each day, we would be at our lockers and we would say hello.  Every day.  For the entire year.
I never thought of him as anything other than an acquaintance until he approached me during the first week of junior year.  His hair was really long, licking the base of his jaw and swept up away from his eyes.  It looked messily beautiful.
     He leaned his hands against the outdoor table, an odd gleam in his eyes that matched the crooked grin plastered to his face.
     "Violet, right?"    He wore a deep red t-shirt with a high v-neck.  But I couldn't stop staring at his eyes.  They were such a clear, dark green.  I had never seen something so amazing.
     I nodded, stiff with surprise.
     "We had lockers next to each other last year."
     I nodded again.
     He stood up straight, adjusting his shirt to fall against the rim of his navy black jeans.  "Zaylen."          He coughed slightly, a pink blush sweeping under his eyes.
     I nodded, unsure what to say.
     He cleared his throat, "Any ways, I was invited to this party," He waved his hand, "Or get together or something..."  He caught himself, "And I thought, I dunno.  If you wanted to come, I could introduce you to some people."
     "Are you saying I don't know any one?"  I spoke before my mind could stop myself.  I winced at how mean I had sounded.  He seemed unfazed as his grin returned.
     "No- no, it's just..."  He glanced to the side and leaned in, "Everyone talks about you, but I barely see you with anyone."  His endless eyes stared into my own, "So you should meet everyone who is talking about you."  Zaylen shrugged his hand into his front jean pocket, pulling out a folded piece of paper.  As I opened my mouth in protest he unfolded the lined paper.  "My phone number, the party's address and the password to enter."  He moved the paper towards me like a bribe, "This Friday, ten o'clock.  When you get in call me and I'll meet up with you."
     "What if I'm busy this Friday?"  I inquired as I rose my dirty blond eyebrows.
     "Well you are."  He tapped the paper, "You're coming to a party and you will hang out with me and you will have a great time."  Before I could respond he began walking away, and that was the first time he looked over his shoulder grinning wildly, "See you Friday, Vi!"
______

I hated how when I met up with him he placed his hand flat against my shoulder blade.
I hated how coolly he introduced me to every one.
I hated how he brought me drinks with the cap sealed tightly and unopened.
I hated how he shoved some guy who was intoxicated off of me.
I hated how he didn't drink anything, and how he got me home safely.
I hated how when he stopped the car he leaned across the arm rest and brushed his lips so gently across my cheek that it felt like a rose petal.
I hated how he told me he'd call me so we could hang out again.
I hated how I nodded dumbly and said yes.
I hated how he made it seem like he cared about me.
______

Zaylen didn't formally ask me out until we had hung out a total of nine times.  He explained to me, that proper etiquette was to wait until we had met up the same amount of times as his favourite number.
     "For good luck."  He said smiling.
     I said yes.  And we went to parties.  And we stayed at his place.  And we toured around Cali.  We went to the beach almost everyday, running into the endless waves and falling back into the velvet sand.
     There we lay one day, huffing and out of breath.  We were on our backs, staring up at the pale pink setting sky.  I turned my head and looked at him.  God, I loved looking at him.  He had tiny water droplets that lay on the tips of his thick black eyelashes.  He blinked and turned to me.  But there was something different.  He looked at me, and it felt like he was placing a blanket around me.  I felt secure.  We had been together for almost a year.  But it felt like I wasn't caring about him less, but intensely more.
     "I'm in love with you."  I didn't see his lips move, but his low voice echoed through my ears.  He and I had told each other we loved one another a few months ago, but to hear that he was in love... I felt it.
     Zaylen and I stared at each other, and he didn't give me a look as though he was expecting me to say it back.  But I did.  I said it so many times.
______

Senior year took us by surprise.  College applications had to be going out, parents were fumbling and being melancholic about how they'll miss their kids.  I had already said goodbye to my parents because Zaylen had convinced me to move in with him in a new apartment.
     We went through school focused, but coming home to him gave me such euphoria, that I couldn't believe how much I loved him.  I loved Zaylen so much that it physically hurt.  My heart would race, my stomach would churn, and my legs were immobile.
     But he was there to catch me.
     He always caught me.
______

After a few months, he would get home and be quiet.  He wasn't eating as much and sleeping more.          He had permanent black lines under his eyes, and he never seemed energetic.
     We still went on walks, but his excitement for life seemed drained.
     We sat on the dock on a Sunday.  I remember it being a Sunday because I pointed to the horizon, trying to cheer him up.  "As the last bit of sun fades into the horizon, Sunday becomes Monday."
     He tried to smile.  He really did.  But it seemed fractured.  He kissed my temple.
     When he got back to the apartment, he sat down on the love seat.  As I was about to go to the bedroom he called me.  "Vi."  He sounded weak.
     I remember freezing.  I was scared suddenly.  I knew something was happening.
     "Can you come sit down, Vi?"  Zaylen's voice cracked, and I hesitantly moved towards him.
     I sat about a foot away from him, but he shuffled closer to me.  His long hair strung in front of his eyes, and he seemed to fade out looking at the carpet.  I pulled his hands onto my lap, and I brushed my thumb across the back of his hand.  He squeezed my hand with reassurance, and looked up in response.
     "I did what you asked."  I blinked, not understanding what he was talking about.  He nodded his head slightly, "Therapist."  A wave of realization shot through me as he continued, "To try to feel better.  It's kind of working.  Sometimes.  I don't know.  They're going to be letting me try different medications."  I was crying suddenly.  I don't know why.  To hear his pain was so hard.  It felt like I was being torn apart.  "There are times where I feel better, but then it gets worse for a bit.  They said it's normal, but it's just hard."  His green eyes looked at me.
______

I hated how he wouldn't let me try to help him.
I hated how I couldn't understand why he was sad.
I hated how he couldn't explain it.
I hated how helpless I felt.  How I feel.
I hated how hopeless he was.
______

It was a few weeks after he told me he was seeing so many people about his struggles.  He thought that we should get a dog.  That maybe something love-able and cuddly would help.  I agreed completely.  She was a Finnish Spitz crossed with husky, and the tiniest pup you could imagine.  She was the runt, but Azzy was the sweetest dog that we could have hoped for.  She made Zaylen smile more.  And he was willing to take her on walks.  But the time with me was minimal.  I would offer to come, or to take her for a walk alone, but he insisted differently.
     After a few more weeks he became distant from Azzy as well.  Our attempt was beginning to fail.  That's when he sat me down again.  And this time he told me he was leaving.  That he needed an intensive therapy program where he would live for a few months.
     I knew it was coming, but I didn't stop crying that night.  I was also crying in my dreams.
______

I hated how he hugged me, and told me he loved me as he walked away with his suitcase.
I hated how he didn't want me to see him for several weeks.
I hated how the doctors and nurses didn't let me talk to him.
I hated how I got used to Zaylen not being in the apartment.
I hated how I felt abandoned, when he was the one struggling so terribly.
______

He was right when he said he'd be there for more than a few months.  I finished school and began prepping for a University I got accepted to.
     I began seeing my parents more,  They lived in the same gray blue house, with the same beige carpet.  As my mother handed me a teacup filled with steaming green tea, my stomach dropped into a pit of guilt.
     She sat next to me on the large floral couch, resting her free hand on my knee as she held her own cup with the other.  "Tell me, Vi, how have you been?"
     And I talked to her.  I told her about how painful it was without him.  How he changed, and how I want him to get better.  How I want my Zaylen back.  We spoke for hours, tears emerged from both of us.  Laughter bubbled from both of us.  Daddy didn't get home until around dinner, so I stayed with them that night.  A constant warm comfort stayed with me.  Even as I strode up the staircase into my old bedroom, which was now the guest room.  I was now a guest.
______

The first time I visited Zaylen, a dense silence filled the space between us.  I didn't force him to speak.  I didn't give idle chit chat.  So we sat, studying each other.  Finally he reached over to me, slowly placing his hand on top of my thigh.
     His green eyes sparkled, "I'm going to be discharged in about a month, Violet." I wanted to smile, to hug him.   To expel all the relief that had seized up inside of me.  But that's what it did.  It froze inside of me.  And I couldn't tell him how my insides twisted with joy, how my heart began thumping as though it hadn't for the past four months.  But he squeezed my thigh to tell me he understood.  He always understood.
______

When he was released from the hospital, I ordered dinner so we could have a calm evening at home.  We sat on the couch quietly, and I felt odd for a reason I couldn't pin point.  And when we went to bed it felt odd to have him by my side.
     When we got up in the morning it felt odd.
     When we went out it felt odd.
     And I couldn't figure out why.
______

When he told me to let him go, so he could fix himself, I did.  And I didn't hate him for it.  I hated myself.
     Everything I hated about him, I only hated myself for enjoying it.
     I hated myself because when Zaylen had gone away for the five months, I had gotten used to the creaking of the apartment.  I had gotten used to cooking for one.  I had gotten used to walking Azzy alone.  I had gotten used to being alone.
     And in that time, I had fallen out of love with him.
     The boy I was head over heals in love with, the boy who stole my heart at fifteen, who was my first love, was just that.  My first love.
      And I hated that I had torn that love a part.
______

He knew.  He could tell.  And I saw the hurt in his eyes every day until I kissed him goodbye.  I kissed Azzy goodbye.
     And as I know now, the time I had with Zaylen was magical.
______

I remember everything about Zaylen.  His hair, eyes, mouth, clothing, vocabulary, favourite food, favourite joke.  Favourite everything.
______

I remember when he took me out on the roof and we lay and stared at the fireworks exploding and popping above us.
______

I remember how he blushed when he bumped his hand against my thigh for the first time.
______

I remember his tiny freckles at the base of his neck.
______

I remember, but I will not let these memories consume me.  I loved him.  I always will.  And I love all the memories we had and made.
     But I'm not in love with him anymore.
     Even though I wish I was.
______

I don't know where he is anymore.  We stayed in touch for a month or so.  Then we kind of parted.  Not in a negative way.  In a way that said "I love you, and thank you."  The beautiful thing about first loves, is that that is simply what they are.  First.  That doesn't mean the last.   And as I, Violet Hatcher write this, I can tell you that I have fallen in love three times.  One, with Zaylen Daniels.  Two, with Azzy Daniels-Hatcher.  Three, with the person I'm with now.  Liam Adamson.   And I don't know if he'll be my last, and I know I will not have the same memories as I did with Zaylen, but that's okay.  It's okay because it makes every love unique.   Every love is unique.

To a Pessimist

Her ashy ringlets bobbed as she skipped her tiny legs across the sidewalk.   Her little hands gripped the cottony rose bag that held her school kits.  As she made her way by each brown house with the same muddy windows and deceased grass, she hummed the new nursery rhyme she learned in school.   She stepped on cue to each syllable, giggling when she came across the tricky beat scheme.    Her bright emerald eyes scanned the sky, chasing the birds that glided through the air.  She gazed at the planes that carried hundreds of people, hoping each one of them felt like a bird.

     Her thoughts walked home with her, until she reached the large wooden door with a brittle wreathe that hung melancholy.   But her humming didn’t cease as she stepped through the door.   She slid off her small black dress shoes, tucking them safely by the door.  She turned, taking in the dust filled cabinets and sheet of cat hair bunched throughout the laminate floor.  Although she barely blinked as she hobbled into the kitchen.  Pots and filthy dishes filled the sink and counter tops, mold brewed in a stale pot of tea, broken glass was dotting the floor and the fridge was bare.  All except for a rotten apple. 

     Her feet danced over the glass as she pulled down an old box of cereal, popping a few dry pieces in her slim lips.  She spun into the living room, holding her box of cereal affectionately as she sighed into the fraying, worn couch.  She sat there for a bit, listening to the dead clock that hung on the wall.   The big hand stuck on three.  She imagined the clock ticking joyously, greeting her with every click.  She crunched the cereal melodically, humming as she kicked her feet.   Her eyes scraped the pattern on the curtains before her.  The damaged material wasn’t as pink as it used to be, instead a creamy yellow filled the shades.  She placed the box on the floor of the couch and leapt to the stereo.  She adjusted the antenna, flipping it to the current eighties mix.  She twirled and jumped, sang and belted her heart out to Michael Jackson.  But as she jumped against the ground, the stereo silenced.  Her cheeks flushed as she attempted to fix it, but she simply pulled out her homework when it became clear that the technology was fried. 

     Slight creaking sounded from the wooden staircase, and she pulled herself to her feet as she padded to the base of the stairs.  A woman who looked older than she was placed her frail hands against the railing.  Her sunken green eyes met the little girl’s, and a shaky smile formed on her mouth.  

     “Lynn dear, how was your day?”  Her legs shook as she stepped down, but she pulled the child into a weak hug.  Lynn smiled widely, pulling the woman’s hand to lead her excitingly into the living room.

     “Oh, mama I learned a new song today!  And little Jimmy—the one down the road, he tore my music sheet into confetti.”  The woman’s smile grew sad, but Lynn continued, “But don’t worry, mama.  I used the confetti to throw into the air.  Everyone was having so much fun with the tiny bits of paper that they tore theirs up too.”  Her tiny lungs exhaled, waiting for the woman’s response.

     Her bony legs moved to the couch, as she sat down the couch sunk with her.  She patted the cushion next to her, “Lynn that was terrible what that boy did.  He ruined your song and didn’t apologize for it.”

     “But he did-“

     “How could you know he meant it?  No one means anything now a day.  They’re all just a bunch of liars.”  The woman pulled her fingers lovingly through Lynn’s curls. 

     Lynn chuckled as she poked the woman’s ribs.  Her mother frowned thoughtfully.  They sat there with Lynn’s head in her lap as the woman stared at the ragged curtains.   Finally her mother spoke.

     “Sweetie, I spoke to the doctor’s today.” 

     Lynn jumped up with joy, twirling off the couch.  Her mother’s lips didn’t twitch though. 

     “They told me I’m getting worse.  We are going to have to find you a foster home soon.”  Lynn tilted her head.  

     “But did they tell you when you’d be at your worst?”  As her mother shook her head Lynn gripped her hand affectionately, “It’s okay then mama, because we still have time.”   Her mother dropped her head, the room filled with echoed sobs.  But Lynn still gripped her hand tightly, “Mama.”  She spoke firmly, “I know you’re dying.  I know we won’t be together for much longer, but with the time we do have… we can make everything special.”  Her eyes glowed as her mother raised her head to look at Lynn.  Her face was solemn.  The wrinkles creased around her eyes and mouth as she parted her cracked lips.  Lynn’s mother took in her daughter.  She furrowed her eyebrows as Lynn watched her curiously.  Usually when her mother spoke, she couldn’t stop listing off everything negative.  She expected her mother to say something about there not being a point to do anything if she was about to die anyways.  But instead, her mother lifted herself slowly off the couch, her legs shaking with all the effort.  She shuffled down the hallway, her feet never fully leaving the cold ground.  Finally, she reached the door.  With all her strength she pulled the door open.  She lifted the wreath carefully, allowing no more pines to break off.  As she turned back into the house, her eyes caught Lynn’s.  Lynn watched her mother move more than she had in the past six months.  She watched her mother limp into the kitchen, open the garbage bin and place the wreath in it thoughtfully.

     And then she smiled at Lynn.  Ever so slightly.

 

As Gravity Pulled Me Under

The steps grew heavier with each push against the cool concrete. Gravity dragging me like a magnet to the Earth. But my eyes stayed focused on the point on the horizon where my goal was.
And then I rose my foot again. I looked up at the startling blue above me, and as I grew nearer to the lamppost, my steps lightened.  My hands locked onto the freezing metal post, and I felt my legs slowly raising upward, into the sea above.
My light hair danced around my face, licking the air down into blue.
Or was it up?
Pain staggered through my arms as I held onto the post. The sky below seemed endlessly clear.
And I saw a dot.
Just a small dot.
Laughter evaded my mouth.
A dot?
My fingers loosened, my heart lept into my throat.
Air sung across my face, kissing me with teeth.
But I began falling upward.
Gravity tugged me up, and I was flipped.
Suddenly the dot was growing the larger, and I saw a glimpse of the pale hair.
Wind surged around, and I was shocked by the sudden shattering of the mirror I was in.
The waves were smooth around me, and I looked up at the thick metal grates above.
And I looked down as gravity pulled me under.
As gravity pulled me under.

James

The morning where the rain wasn't falling.
The air that didn't hold a tinge of guilt.
All came whirling when I looked at my reflection.
The splotchy skin.
The red eyes.
The way that hiccups still escaped my sobbing mouth.
But I looked into the mirror and saw my large forehead. How the thin, oily strands of hair clung around my ears. But in the cold green eyes, I saw something someone told me about.
I think the word was, adventitious.
I hadn't heard that word before he had said it. That's why it stuck.
He was holding me. We were arguing before he grabbed my wrist. The wrist that was attached to the hand I was going to slap him with. Because he told me I was 'Too damn adventitious.'
And I thought that was a bad thing. In his context, it was.
But to be a person to go with the flow of things...
That's a good character.
And as I was huffing, and he was fuming, his grip released and I started laughing.
It wasn't the tiny giggles that bubble out from a child's' throat when they find something cute. Oh no. It was the laughter that was so obnoxiously loud that startled both of us.
It sounds like an odd memory. And you may ask why I like it so much.
Because after I stopped laughing, his face froze.
And my breathing stopped.
I wasn't scared.
I was...
Adventitious.
Because I let him kiss me.
And then I let him kiss me again.
And again.
He held me then. His hands gripping my waist, pulling me closer as I laced my shaken hands through his silky brown hair.
I never felt so light until it happened.
We practically fell down the beach steps, crashing into the sand in a fit of the childish giggles.
James.

Seven months ago.
And here I stand in front of my mirror. Greasy brown hair and puffy eyes.

I dreamt of him.
Again.
It was the memory of us fighting again.
But this time I truly did slap him.
And he never spoke to me again.
But as he was rushing off in a fit of rage, he turned onto the road. Screaming at me.
"It's okay for control, Abbi. But don't always follow the way of life. Do something to manipulate it."
Because then he stands there with tears in his eyes.
He's trying to help.
And I see the way the light of the setting sun falls onto his side. How it reflects into his eyes and bloody Hell, he catches me out of breath.
And he steps forward.
Five steps from the sidewalk.
Four.
Three.

But the light on his side isn't from the deep reds of the sun.
It's his blood. Seeping through his shirt.
And he knew.

I woke up then. Before he could fall to the road.
That's how I woke up sobbing.
I think I was crying during the dream too.
I think I knew.

Seven months ago, my James died.
The James who taught me control, freedom and love.
My James. Who woke up at four in the morning, would jog all the way to my front yard (which was well over 10 miles) and bring me coffee so we could drink it and go for another run.
My James. Who showed me how to surf.
Who I punched in the eye because he was such a jack ass.
Who I kissed one thousand times because he was so sincere.

My James. Who was hit by a car while we were walking home after the best surf of the year.
Who never ran with me again.
Who never cried with me when my father passed away.
Or screamed with utter joy when my sister walked across her Ballet performance for the Black Swan.

My James. Who I loved so heartachingly. So wholefully.

So I stand in front of my mirror without his lips caressing my shoulder.
With my dirty hair and sullen eyes.

And I bring the cold water onto my face.

My body burning from the sadness revolting within me.

And I breathe.

Because James isn't breathing right now.

And I want to breathe for him.

Untitled

The damp curls were blown across her forehead, and her pale green eyes traced the waves outlines against the moon's illumination. You wouldn't be able to tell she was whispering, because the harsh wind knocked her words into the sea.  But she was.  She was calling to the large, sinking ship before her.  Her bloodied nails grasped the stone she lay on, her body beaten and torn from the crashing ocean.   The curls of her black locks twisted down her arms and down the nape of her neck as though clockwork.  The thick hair tangled around the long silver chain around her neck.  She gripped the cool silver charm, but her silent cries never ceased.  The howling wind never breathed for a pause.  But here she lay, in the moonlight on a spring storm.   The rain slashed her face, and became anchors to the boat.  With each drop the boat filled.  With each drop, the men on the ship were drowning.  Her blood soaked hands came to her face, not knowing if she was wiping more than just rain away.  But there she clung, with thick grey clouds rolling above her.  With the pitch sea churning beneath.  Her strangled cries halted.  Her throat swelling and choking against the salt water.  Her mind flashed to the man in the ship- the captain's left hand man.  His thick blond hair tousled against his forehead, with the bright sun's rays behind him.  His laughter filled her heart, and the way his eyes grew crinkles when he smiled tugged at her stomach.  
A large wave crashed against her head, a sudden pulse against the jagged silver stone sent her into the sea. 
But she was still breathing.  Better now that she was submerged.  She inhaled the ocean and kissed the broken skin of her hands.  
She could see the ship's stern from here.  Her throat became tangled in screams.  She swam forward with exceptional strength, to find none of the glass paneling would open.  Her dark tangles enveloped her waist as she peered in through the  pot hole.  She could see the deep red velvet swiped couch, and water-logged bookshelf.  The lantern was out, reflecting no light throughout the hollow room.  Her eyes narrowed as she gripped the edge of the window, looking down in to the endless sea below.  Darkness consumed her below.  It would consume the brave men who ventured to this part of the sea.  She rose her eyes to meet clouded, glassy eyes floating before her.  His lips were pale and slightly parted, with high cheekbones and soaked brown hair.  A scream filled her head, she flung back away from the window, holding her ever leaving sanity with each thump of her heart.  The body drifted up into the ceiling, and she forced herself against the window with her entire strength.  It broke inward, sending her tumbling into the room.  As she looked up to where the body had drifted, his fitted body seemed to grab the wooden paneling above.  But his other hand seemed to be outstretched to her.  Her stomach twisted uneasily, and she moved her gaze away from the man.  She swam to the large wooden dual doors across from the bookshelf, and looked both ways down the hallway.  To her left was a stairway that most likely led to the top of the ship, whereas to her right there were numerous wooden doors.  Her left.  She swam quickly to the the top, only to find the ship wasn't completely submerged yet.  She was struggling immensely to get onto the deck, until a flash of movement caught her eyes. There, lying on the bow, with blond damp hair plastered to his neck was the man.  Water coated his body, and his loose white shirt was clinging to his chest.  A rage filled inside her body.  This ship was not meant to go down.  This crew was not meant to suffer. 
His eyelids fluttered for a moment, and his deep brown eyes met her own.  And in that moment, she stopped struggling to get up.  Her hands lay flat against the wood as she watched him helplessly.  His pale pink lips moved ever so slightly, his eyes never leaving hers.  She tried pulling herself up again, but his mouth formed a heartwarming smile. He lifted his hand from the thick level of water beginning to fill the top deck, and he coughed up the rain water that was filling his mouth.  He turned onto his stomach abruptly, half of his face was in the water as he stared at her.   His eyes fell to her neck, and he reached into his pocket.  The girl's green eyes swept over the small silver charm that he now held.  She could barely see the shape of it, but she knew what it was.  It was a fishing hook.  The same fishing hook.  This time, as she wiped at her eyes she knew most of the water tapered to her face were from the tears she held from her chest.  As the water level grew deeper, she tried pulling herself onto the deck.  Her arms were weak, but with help from a crashing wave, she finally lay on the deck with him.  His eyes widened curiously as she moved towards him.  .  Finally, once she was in reach of him, he pulled her tightly against her chest.

The rain pounded around them, and another large wave crashed on top of them, but he gripped onto her.  He was giving her hope.  They lay there, as the storm was raging, and as the ship was sinking.  The waves kept crashing angrily against the ship, until with a final battle it crumbled a part.  His cry filled her ears as she was knocked away from him.  Her hand was cut from the hook he was holding, but she felt nothing from it.  She only felt the fear that was gnawing at her mind.  That was gnawing at her thoughts. 

The light’s rays were bouncing off his hair as though he were an angel.  And she stayed hidden there, watching this odd man throwing a thin string into the water and pulling it back out.  Curiosity eventually got the better of her, and she swam towards him.  But the thing he was throwing out caught her and she was so surprised, that she yelped.  His head swivelled towards her, but before he could see her, she was pulling the thing down with her.  In a safe location she pulled the metal spike out of her, and swearing as the water around her became tinged with scarlet. She rose back up to give the sharp-pointed hook back to him, but when she breathed in the air, he was gone.

She saw his head floating on the surface of the black water, and she pushed through the broken pieces of wood to get to him.  As she grew closer, she saw a steady stream of blood falling from his skull.

She waited there. For a while.  She wanted to return it. She didn’t want to steal it.  So she waited until the sun went down.  And then the next day. And the next.  She would sit on the rock he was casting from, and pretend to be doing what he was doing.  Bu she was using stones.  Throwing them against the flat water, breaking it into a thousand cracks, and swimming in after it only to do that again, and again. 

She turned him over, his lovely russet eyes blinking at her.  A choke rose in her throat as she collapsed into his chest.  His hand fell to her back, steadying her.

Then she heard a voice. It was a timid voice at first.  Greeting her carefully.  And when she turned, she was met with his face.  A slim face with a firm jaw.  But it wasn’t fear or anger in his face. No, it was amusement.  He moved towards her steadily, and he reached out to shake her hand.  Of course, she thought he was trying to grab her so she leaped into the water, only to come up to the surface to see a plastered grin on his face as he wiped off water from his neck.  Then she heard his chuckling.

She heard his chuckling now, too.  She could hear it through the rain.  And the waves.  And her heartbeat.

She came up to him slowly, reaching out to give him the hook.  But he shook his head and showed another one. He said they were a pair, and that it was okay to lose one. She turned her head, confused.  Thinking if it was a pair, they should always be together.  But at those words he smiled again, and crouched closer to the water. Closer to her face. No, he said. If something is truly a pair, it doesn’t matter where one of the two goes. If they’re paired, then they have a connection that cannot be seen.  It’s like their secret.

He showed her the silver hook again, trying to force it into her palm.  He was choking against the salt.

She met him every evening.  He would fish and she would watch. They spoke about many things.  They spoke about nothing. And every time, before he left, he would turn his head to her ever so slightly and the sun would catch his eyes, turning them into flame.  And he would grin.  A stupid half-grin that never ceased to make her smile too.  It never stopped making her feel warmth in her chest.

The moon’s light casted into his eyes, making them a soft, clear brown.  And the corner of his mouth lifted. Ever so slightly.

He spoke about how ships were his life- just as the sea were hers. He never probed about her. He just knew. And every evening, he would walk away from the rocks into the forest behind and disappear into the blackness. Just as she would disappear into the ocean in front of them, becoming cloaked by the blue.

He opened his mouth, having it fill with water.  She pulled him up onto a flat broken board, holding him up onto it. The sail broken off, and the post screamed under its weight, crashing on to their bodies. 

She found a thin chain in the sand one day.  And she laced the hook through it.  She didn’t care when it nicked her skin, because it was his.  She didn’t have to ask him about his, because she always saw the outline of it in his pocket. She once reached for it.  She wanted to compare them. But he grabbed her wrist gently. And instead he brought his mouth to hers.

She was dizzy, tumbling under the waves, and she saw his body sinking under.

She asked him what it was.

Her head howled in pain as she swam lethargically towards him.

“Love.”

Bubbled cries filled the sea around her as she tried grabbing his arms.

She asked what love was.

Tiny air bubbles left his mouth as he was being consumed by the ocean.

“Love, is when a pair can be on opposite sides of the Earth, but still have a tiny, brilliant string that ties their souls together in a way that is almost impossible.”

Her arms flailed, panicking to catch him.

Her face lit up.  She asked if that was why the hooks could be separated.

His weight dragged her deeper, an aura of scarlet coating around them.

“Yes,” He kissed her, “And that’s why we can leave every day and come back again. Because of love. We will always have that in us. It’ll be hidden sometimes. Sometimes it’ll seem broken or lost, but know that it is always there.”

Darkness was surrounding them.

He jumped into the water and kicked around with her until the sun set. But he stayed that night. They kept talking about love. She kept asking about love. She felt as though something inside was swelling with such an intense joy, as though such a strong flame could not be drowned by water.

She gripped his hand, and looked at the top of the ocean. From below it seemed peaceful. Iron filled her mouth, and she began choking.  She clung onto him tighter. Not wanting to let go.

She looked at him. Truly looked at him. He pointed to the ship he would be on soon. It was stunning. Shiny deep wooden oak that was finely cut. Large white sails that were wrapped up tightly. And a stunning wooden sculpture of a woman with long tousled hair and slender arms holding onto the bow. Her head turned up to him, her face gleaming. He gripped her hand thoughtfully and brought each of her fingers to his lips.  She looked solemnly to the giant rippling mirror before them.

She thrashed in the water, trying to pull him up.

He brought her close to his chest and brought his mouth her ear.

Her jaw clenched angrily with her weakness.

“It’s okay to let go.”

She stopped.

His voice was hushed.

She stared at the man before her.  His once brown eyes were now glossy and pale.  She closed his eyes gently. His body was lax in her grip. And his pale mouth was parted.

“I know it’s scary.”

She brought her mouth to his. Taking in the last bit of him she would ever have again.

“But that’s because sometimes, something needs to be scary for you to do it.”

She looked at his clenched hand, and brought her own to her chain.

“Because then it gets easier.”

Her fingers began relaxing.

“And you get stronger.”

His body was falling.
“But I promise you, it gets better.”

She stayed floating there. In the darkest part of the water, watching him disappear.  She stayed there. For a while. And eventually rose back up to the surface. Most of the ship was gone now, and the rain had become a drizzle. She swam slowly. Away from the ship. Away from the wreckage. And she waited as the sun came up. It took a long time for her to stop shaking, but she never let go of the hook on her chain.

She didn’t take the hook in his hand. She knew she didn’t have to.

She climbed up onto a rock by the shore where he fished.

She stared in to a small pool. And she saw her green eyes and dark hair. But she didn’t look at her eyes. She looked at her mouth.

She inhaled deeply, feeling the rhythm of her heart increasing.

“Love.”

The throbbing in the shadows never ending and constant hold my eyes exposed to the stars the wonder of the abyss gentle and heart breaking in the most lovely way the breathless sighs that envelope my lungs dance within the roaring sea below and my stomach lurches and my heart is screeching and my mouth is sewn from words. the wind is cutting my face as it tugs me with fire wailing at me not to fly but I see the rocks' fins and I see their frozen teeth and I push away from the white speckled void and I don't feel the ice nor the shattering agony that pierces through my gut because my head was wrecked too long ago to feel anything else

-e.w