MELISSA MARR
Tonight, unlike every other night I have walked on the shore, a man stands on the beach near my hiding place. I can’t pass him. He lifts his hands, palms open, and holds them out to his sides to show me that he is harmless. If he weren’t looking at me so fixedly, I might believe him, but I don’t think I should trust this one.
He is young, maybe nineteen, and fit. In the water, I could escape him, but we are standing on the sand. He has dark trousers and a black shirt; the only lightness is his pale blond hair. I hadn’t seen it, hadn’t seen him, until I was almost upon the crevice. Until this moment, until him, I’d been singing along with the steady rising and falling of the waves as they stretched toward the sand and fell short. Now I stand bare under moon and sky on a beach, and this stranger stares at me with a look of hunger.
No, I do not believe he is harmless at all.
“I won’t hurt you,” he lies.
Something in his voice feels like it wants to be truth, but I shiver all the same. I hadn’t expected anyone to be on the beach at this hour, and I’m not sure what to do about the man who stands watching me with such intensity that I want to flee. Men do not look at you like that without wanting something, and in their wanting, they often hurt. My mother told me that truth long before I ever set foot on the shore. It is why I am careful when I come here.
Waves lap around my ankles as I try to think of a solution. I wish I could jump into the water and escape, but I am bound by rules as old as the ebb and flow of the water at my feet. I cannot leave without the very thing that he is preventing me from reaching. The best I can do is to avoid looking at the shadows of the crevice and hope he has no idea what I am.
“Are you alone?” he asks. His gaze leaves me then, sliding away. The moon is only half full, but it is enough to cast the light he needs. The beach has few barriers, nothing to hide others. It takes only a moment for him to determine that I am isolated, that I am trapped.
As his gaze returns, traveling over the whole of me as if to weigh and measure my flesh, words feel too complicated. Everything feels complicated. He is waiting for my answer, so I nod to indicate that I am alone, confirming what he already has discerned, showing him that I am truthful and good. Maybe that will spare me. Maybe goodness will make him turn away. Still, I tug my hair forward, hiding myself as best I can. Dreadlocks don’t cover me as truly as untangled hair might, but I am in the waters too much to have any other sort of hair. The thick tendrils drape over my shoulders like so many ropes hiding my bareness.
“I’m Leo,” he says, and then he walks over to the shadows and eliminates any chance I had of escape. He pulls the carefully folded skin from the crevice where I had hidden it. He is careful, knowingly handling it as if it were a living thing. It is, of course, but I do not expect land-dwellers to know that. Not now. Not in this country.
Then he walks away, his arms laden with the part of me that I’d hoped he wouldn’t see, and I have no choice but to follow. He who holds it, holds me. It is as an anchor, and I am tethered. The sea would swallow me whole if I tried to return with my other-self still here on land. I’m trapped more truly than if I were in a cage. This man, Leo, has my soul in his hands.
“That’s mine,” I say. “Please give it back.”
“No.” He stops then, turns, and looks at me. “Since I have it, you are mine.” He strokes the skin in his arms as he stares at me. “Tell me your name.”
“Eden,” I say. “I’m called Eden.”
“Let’s go home, Eden.”
I cannot go home. Instead, I have to obey him. It is the order of things, and so I walk away from my home. “Yes, Leo.”
He smiles, trying to appear kind, pretending he means me no harm. Hate ripples through me like the waves during a storm as he leads me farther onto land. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling. I hate many of the humans who spill their refuse into my sea, who leave their rubbish on the sands, who desecrate my world with their noise and filth.
I whimper at the weight of loss, at the freedom that might never be mine again.
His gaze falls to my bare feet. “Would you like me to carry you?”
“No,” I manage to say. He is carrying part of me and that is the reason I am trying not to weep. I cannot say anything to change this: while he keeps my skin in his possession, I, too, am a possession. I am bound to obey the words he speaks, trapped under his whim and will.
Leo is quiet as we walk. I study him and find that he is strangely beautiful in that way that the very assured often are. He’s taller than me, but he looks to be only a bit older. He’s young and handsome. In times long gone, he would’ve been the sort of man a selchie felt lucky to have as a captor, but I never expected to be a captive. I believed that they had forgotten how to ensnare us. When a selchie woman’s skin is found, she has no choice. Many husbands could be unsightly or brutish, but a selchie must follow, must stay, where her skin is kept. Once one of them takes your other-skin, your soul, into his arms, you are his.
I want to weep; I want to run from him. I can’t do either. All I can do is wait and hope that he will slip, that he will do one of the two things that will set me free. If he strikes me three times in anger or if he allows me to have possession of my other-skin, I can return to the sea. I hope that he does not know the truths, that his ignorance will lead to my escape, that I will be whole again one day, that I will not lose myself in captivity. I know my history, but most of the land-dwellers have forgotten that we are here. Their ignorance is our safety.
But I am following a boy who owns me now, and I think that he was watching for me tonight. Those of us who live in the waters look much like the land-dwelling—at least when we are wearing only this skin. He glances at me, and I know that he sees only the part of me that looks like I belong on land. Other men have looked at me that way. I’ve walked on shore, and I’ve known men. None of them knew that there was another shape to me. They saw only this skin.
Leo knows more, and so I am trapped. The sea calls out, beckoning as waves do, but Leo leads me away. There is nothing more I can do.
Yet.
He says nothing more as he takes me to his home, a house that sits on an otherwise empty stretch of beach. It’s a large squatting thing, a building of so many rooms that I become lost and sit weeping in the darkness until Leo finds me. After he chides me for foolishness, he leads me back to the room that he’s assigned me. He does not want me to share his room. This, I think, is for his own reasons, not as a kindness to me.
As he stands just inside the doorway, he kisses me. It’s a soft peck upon the top of my salt-heavy hair. “Silly girl,” he says, but there is affection in his words.
Perhaps all will be well. Perhaps I will be able to convince him to free me.
Over the next few days, I realize that Leo can be kind. I am grateful for this. There are moments when I don’t feel as if the world around me is too bright, too harsh, too alien. They are few, but they are present. He tries to make me smile, and sometimes I do.
Leo’s home is comfortable in a way that invites silence: the carpets are thick; the counters are polished; the furniture is heavy with age and importance; and the staff is ever present with mute efficiency. I am lonely here, but before I am allowed to be out among Leo’s friends, I must learn the right words—as well as the right forks.
Time passes as I learn all I must in order to be what Leo wants. He has already told me that the two most important qualities—beauty and obedience—are well met. He tells me that he’d watched for me, selected me especially, because of my looks. I understand from the way he stares at me so intently that I am expected to be pleased by his words, and because of what he’s stolen, I cannot disobey him. I murmur, “Thank you.”
“You’ll be perfect, Eden.” He beams at me. “Once you learn, you’ll be the wife I should have, and you’ll never leave me. Everything will be perfect. We’ll be happy, you’ll see.”
I dip my head meekly as he likes. I have already learned quickly that he is happiest when I show him modesty and obedience. “I will try.”
“My father never uses this house,” Leo says. “He’s away in Europe all the time. No one will know about you until we’re ready. You can stay here and keep up your lessons when I go back to university, and then in a couple of years we’ll be married. I’ll come to you on every break.”
I keep my gaze down to hide my fear of such a life. I want passion, true love some day in the distant future with a man who is so overcome with love that he’ll accept me for who and what I am. I want a man who did not trap me, who will not keep me in a cage. There is no happiness inside a cage, no matter how gilded.
The man in front of me breaks my heart as he stares happily at me. When he grows tired of smiling at me, Leo motions to the table. “Which one would you use for the salad?”
I select a fork. I know this answer, have learned these useless things because it is his desire that I do so. His desire rules me now.
“For lobster?” he prompts.
I stare at the utensils arranged in front of me. Nothing seems right, and this question hadn’t been in the last drill. It is a trick. I look at him, hoping my anger is better hidden than it feels. “The staff will bring that … utensil.”
Leo nods, and at first, I think that he hasn’t heard the pause in my words or the fury in my mouth. Then he frowns, and I see that even if he doesn’t know what it was, he has heard something. He gives me a tight smile that already I am coming to understand means that I will be punished, and he asks, “Did you practice the phrases in the folder?”
“Yes, Leo.”
He watches me for a moment, and then he sighs and tells me, “I don’t think there will be enough time to walk tonight, Eden. You’ll need to practice more. We can try again when I get back from my swim.”
“Yes, Leo,” I say quietly, careful not to let him see my envy that he still swims in the sea every day while I am trapped on the shore. Even when we walk on the beach, I am not allowed to swim. I am permitted to watch him, but I am not allowed to touch the sea without his hand holding me fast.
And so the days pass. We practice all the things I am to learn. Leo explains my new life, what I should and—more important—should not do. I learn how to appear as if I belong in his world, how to eat at his table and sit at his side. I dress in the clothes he’s brought for me (because I am not yet allowed to go to stores with him), and I try very hard not to cry as he cuts off all of my hair. The thick twisted locks fall to the floor with soft thumps, and I am left with close-shorn hair.
“It’ll grow longer,” Leo assures me. “You’ll brush it every morning and night, so you don’t have nasty dreadlocks. Nice girls have long, shiny hair.”
As I have done from the first moment he lifted my soul in his hands, I again keep my anger in silence. I know that my silences and downcast gazes please him, so too do the words “What do you think?” I have learned already to use these as I have learned to use the right utensils and phrases.
And he rewards me with smiles and soft kisses on my cheek or forehead. He tells me that he loves me, and I smile at him. He wants me to say the words, but he does not demand it. I will say them one day. I will lie to him, and he will trust me then. He is a child in this, wanting love so desperately that he has caged me here and trains me like a pet. I will bide my time.
Already I can find the magic combination of words and gazes that result in walks at the edge of the water. It’s a bittersweet temptation to be so close to the waves, but Leo holds tightly to my hands. I wonder if he knows, too, that there is a third choice for my freedom. I am not yet so desperate that I will ask the sea to consume me, but even if I were, I’d have to escape his grasp to do so, and as the weeks pass, my strength fades. The tight muscles I had from diving and swimming are softer now. I worry that even if I had my other-skin, I wouldn’t have the strength to reach deep enough waters for the current to pull me under.
Leo kisses my eyes when they start to fill with tears and promises, “You’ll be happy with me, Eden. I’ll make you happy.”
And I smile at him and lie, “Yes, Leo.”
Weeks pass in that way, but I can’t tell how many. I know only that the summer is ending, and that Leo will soon leave me. He seems nervous, repeating the orders to the staff as if he hasn’t told them the selfsame words every day of late. They know that I am not to cross the threshold without supervision, that the doors must be kept locked, and that—although I am allowed to spend hours on the wide deck overlooking the sea—I must not be allowed to be there alone.
It is the last night before Leo leaves. We are both barefoot on the sand tonight, and Leo allows me to walk in the water. It is only as deep as my ankles, but it is my home and he is allowing me to be caressed by the waves. For that, I am grateful.
“I will only be gone a few months,” he repeats yet again. “I’ll call you every night.”
We have practiced using the telephone, so I know how to take his calls when he is gone. I will answer and listen; I will report to him on what I have read while he is away.
“Maybe in the spring, you could visit me,” he offers.
He seems to think this will please me, so I smile and say, “Thank you.”
Leo likes that. He seems happy, and as we stand on the beach, he leans closer and kisses me. His lips don’t part, and I am not sure if I’m grateful for that or not. I know well what happens between a man and a woman. One cannot avoid such knowledge in the sea, and I think I would take comfort in that here on the beach. I don’t want Leo, but I want to be happier.
I open my lips and wrap my arms around him. He is my jailer, but he is often kind … and I am lonely.
The way he looks as he leans in to kiss me is new, and I think that I could make him love me enough to escape him. He is desperate, afraid of what will happen when he returns to his university, and I suspect that he means only to kiss me chastely. In all of these weeks, he’s never been anything other than distantly affectionate. He is not a passionate man with me, and it is passion that I need in order to escape him.
I press my hips to his and wrap my arms tightly around his neck so my breasts are pushed against his chest. Leo has not parted his lips for me, but he has not pulled away yet.
Then words come between us, tugging Leo away as surely as a hand on his shoulder. A man asks, “Who’s the tart?”
And Leo pulls away from me.
I look past him to the man standing on the beach between us and the house. He is an older version of Leo, still fit but with the marks of age and bad choices etched upon his face.
“Father,” Leo says as he turns to face the man and tucks me behind him. He still holds on to my hand; even now, he does not let go of me.
“She’s a pretty enough piece,” the man says. “What’s your name, darling?”
I don’t know what I am to do, so I whisper, “Leo?”
“Go inside, Eden, and stay in your room.” Leo sounds angrier than I’d known him capable of becoming. He leads me around the man before he releases my hand. “I’ll be in soon.”
“Afraid of a little competition?” Leo’s father asks.
“She’s younger than me, younger than your son.” Leo steps closer to his father. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”
He laughs. “You sound like your mother.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” Leo squares his shoulders. “Go ahead and hit me like you—”
“Don’t,” Leo’s father interrupts.
They are quiet then, standing staring at each other like two animals about to clash. Neither man moves, creating the illusion of the present and the future remembering themselves. Leo is determined not to become his father; he’d said as much to me one afternoon. The servants swear he is nothing like the man … except when he is.
“Go to your room, Eden,” the man repeats his son’s order and then adds, “Lock the door.”
And so I do.
When Leo comes to my door late that night, his eye is blackened, and his lip is split. He’s never come to my room at night, but I know that he has thought about it. I’ve heard his steps stop there many nights, heard his hand on the knob, but he’s always walked away. Until tonight.
He is not weeping, but he is shaking.
“I hate him,” Leo whispers, the words feeling somehow more real here in the dark. “I won’t be him.”
I don’t answer because I can’t.
Leo clutches me to him. “That’s why I picked you. If you know what I like, what I want, you won’t make me angry. I won’t ever have to hurt you like he did with my mother and me. You’ll be perfect, and we’ll be happy.”
When I don’t reply, his hands tighten on my arms, and I know I’ll need to wear a long-sleeved shirt tomorrow. It is not the first time he’s left his mark on my skin, and I know now that I shouldn’t cry out yet. He doesn’t want to hear my cries until his mood has passed.
“I can’t hurt you,” Leo says. “Those are the rules, Eden. A selchie maiden cannot leave unless you strike her three times in anger. That’s the truth, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Leo,” I agree.
“I haven’t,” he says. In all fairness, he isn’t lying: neither fist nor foot has touched me in anger. He is careful even when his temper is unsettled.
“I know.” I don’t bow my head or shudder. I want to cringe from him even as I consider feeding the rage that simmers so close to the surface tonight. I think I could make him strike me in anger, but I am afraid of the pain. “You have never struck me.”
“I hurt her, though,” Leo confesses. “She left me because of it, just like my mother left him.” Leo pauses and stares at me. “If I hit you when I’m not angry with you, is it the same?”
I shiver. There is something in his voice that I’ve never heard before. It’s colder than the seas in winter, and I am afraid. Gently, I touch his unbruised cheek. “Why would you ever need to? I’m yours, Leo. I’m not able to leave you.”
He stares at me, and I try not to flinch away.
“I love you,” he says, and this time it is a question and an order.
So I answer without looking away from him, “I love you.”
He lifts his hands to the arms he just bruised and strokes. I hide my pain easier under a smile and ask, “Will you sleep in here tonight? I’d feel safer with you beside me.”
Leo nods. “Only sleep, Eden. We’re not married or even engaged yet. Until then, there are other girls I can … ” His words fade, and then he caresses my face. “I like that you are pure, Eden. Our first night will be special.”
Meekly, I look down, as if I am as shy and innocent as he believes.
“Maybe I’ll get you a ring for Christmas. We could be married on Valentine’s Day, then. Would that make you happy?”
“Yes, Leo,” I lie.
The house is silent the next day. Leo’s father took him to university. The visit had been a surprise, one the man thought would please his son. At Leo’s insistence, I stayed in my room until after they’d gone.
I decide that afternoon that I will not wear a long-sleeved shirt. Leo isn’t here to see my disobedience, and the staff all knows that he has his father’s temper. They’ve whispered that I’m fortunate that he only grabs me. I smile and say nothing. Leo has ordered me not to speak to them, and I don’t know how to do otherwise.
Days pass in a quiet blur. I spend most of my time reading or staring out the window. Leo has allowed me to paint, so I do that when the mood strikes me. I speak to him every day, although it is not so much speaking as it is listening.
It is night that is different now. Leo had said that I am not to cross the threshold alone, but he did not say I couldn’t climb out of windows. I obey the orders he spoke, and this was not forbidden.
I walk along the water. Sometimes, I stretch my body on the sand and let the waves wash over me. I take pleasure in the sand and salt, and I hope that the brine on my skin does not give me away when I return to my cage. I am sure the staff suspects, but they do not accuse me. They do not bar my window.
Nights here are growing colder, and I miss my other-self. The thick fur of my selchie form would allow me to be warm in the water. Without the skin that he has stolen from me, I am trapped in this human shape. Soon it will be too cold to enter the sea for even these few stolen hours.
Tonight, I think of what has been stolen from me, and I scream. My voice is almost lost under the crash of waves, but I hear other selchie-kin in the waves echo my cries. They know I am here, have known for months. I’ve seen them as they dart away, trying to hide themselves to spare me the pain. Tonight they answer, and I scream until my throat feels like it might bleed.
“Are you hurt?”
I open my eyes. A man, one I’ve seen walking on the beach when I was hidden inside the house, is bending over me. He looks so different from Leo—tan where Leo is pale, clothes tattered rather than pristine, gaze concerned instead of possessive.
“Do you need me to help you stand or … something?” He holds out a hand, but when I simply stare at him, he says, “Or I could call someone if you want.” He pulls a phone out of one of his trouser pockets. “Here.”
“No.”
I stand up, and he looks away quickly. My clothes are wet and clinging. I laugh, and he glances back at me. His gaze is steadily fixed on my face.
“I don’t need a phone,” I say. “I was calling to them when you arrived, but they can’t come to me. They can’t help me.”
He stares at me like he thinks I might be mad, and I know that he has no idea that I am selchie. He thinks I am a girl, one perhaps crazier than those he knows. He does not know I am Leo’s.
And I decide then that I will not tell him.
“I do need some things,” I say firmly, not needing to whisper or speak meekly since he is not Leo.
“What?”
“Your name, a friend, a kiss.” I step back, forcing him to look at me. “Someone to talk to at night.”
He swallows before saying, “Robert.”
“And the rest?” I prompt.
When he simply stares at me, I decide that I am beyond tired of silence. Selchies have always come on land to lie down with human men. Leo may not know that, but I do. I am no more innocent than any other creature with appetites. I strip off my wet clothes as Robert stares at me.
“I am lonely here,” I admit.
Robert looks around like he expects to see someone watching him or perhaps someone to tell him what to do. There is no one on the beach at this hour. Tonight is the first night I haven’t been here alone, and I think this man is a gift of sorts, that the universe has decided that I deserve some happiness.
I step closer and say, “This is not a trick. We are alone, and I am sad.”
“You want to … ” His words fade as I step closer.
“Yes.”
I don’t expect the bliss I find. Maybe it’s only because I’ve been so lonely. Maybe it’s because I am not asked to be someone I’m not. Maybe it’s simply because I am choosing this. I don’t know. What I do know is that we meet in the dark most nights after that. He tells me about his plans. (He’s going to Europe to “experience life” in the spring.) He tells me about his family. (They are wealthy and indulgent.) He tells me about his best friend. (A sad, messed-up man whose father has all but destroyed him.) He tells me that he’s meeting his best friend’s girl here in a few weeks. (She is sweet and innocent, and Leo is going to bring her here to propose.)
It is November now, the day before Leo returns. We are to be having a dinner for a holiday he calls Thanksgiving. Leo has called almost every night, and after he tires of talking, I climb out my window and meet Robert on the beach. Tomorrow, everything will change. I will lose Robert. If he doesn’t keep our secret, I may be set free by Leo’s anger. I would prefer Leo choose to give me my freedom, but I have thought much about inviting his anger.
He need only hit me three times. Then I am freed. I think I can endure three blows easier than the slow death of many years in this cage.
“Do you want to come to my friend’s house with me tomorrow?” Robert asks that night as he’s holding me in his arms. He’s asked me to meet people so often that I can’t help but feel sorrow for the way I’ve kept these secrets. He’s a good person, and if not for my imprisonment, I would stay with him for the next few months. I might even meet him on European shores. I cannot offer either because Leo took those choices from me.
“I like you.” I sit up and look into his eyes.
Robert grins. “That’s good, since I think I love you.”
I wish it could be simple. For a moment, I think I might love him. He’s funny and kind, and he makes me feel happier than I have since I became a prisoner. He treats my body like it is rare and precious—and he treats my words the same. If I were free, I could love him. I tell him more of the truth than I have other nights.
“I could love you,” I admit. “If I were free to do so, I could love you, and if you still want me after tomorrow … I would go on exactly as we are. I would meet your friends and walk at your side.”
Robert kisses me before saying, “You’re strange, Edy, but I like it. Is that a yes? Will you come meet Leo? We’ve been friends forever, before his mom disappeared. He’s peculiar, but I think things are turning around. He met someone, and he sounds happy.”
“I will be there.” I brush the sand from my arms and bare chest, stalling before I confess. I do not meet his gaze as I dress and stand.
When Robert comes to his feet, I ask, “Will you walk me to the house tonight?”
“You’re finally going to tell me where you live?” He’s teasing, but there is a happiness in his voice that I can’t miss.
“I don’t live there by choice, Robert.” I glance at him and don’t try to hide my sorrow. “I’d leave if I could.”
He hugs me closer to him as we walk. “My family could help you. We can go to them and—”
“They can’t,” I interrupt. “Not with this. He owns me.”
“Edy, no one owns you.” Robert shakes his head. “Is it like an immigration thing or does he have something he holds over you?” He steps in front of me. “Is it a legal thing? Did you do something illegal?”
“I can’t explain.” I shiver a little from both the cold air and the fear that presses against me. “I care for you, but he owns me. Unless he lets me go, I can’t leave.”
Robert continues arguing as we walk, but when we stop at the side of the house, his words stop. His mouth opens and closes once before he finds speech again. “Mr. Ponties owns you? I know his son, and—”
“Leo,” I correct. “Leo owns me. He is not bringing his girl here. I am here, and I cannot leave.” My anger spikes, and I gesture widely at the house. “It is my prison.”
He says nothing.
His silence continues as I climb up the side of the house and into my room. When I look back, he stands below me staring up at the window, staring at me with confusion plain on his face. I tell him, “I will be here tomorrow when you come, and when he is gone back to university, I will come to you if you still want.”
But he still says nothing. My lips are sore from his kisses, and my body relaxed from our pleasures, but he does not speak to me. I do not know what he will tell Leo.
As I stare out at the sea, I remind myself again that I can accept three blows in anger to be free of these land-dwellers.
I wait anxiously for the sound of Leo’s arrival. The staff has made the house welcoming. Fresh flowers fill vases, and Leo’s bed is made up with clean linens. I’ve been made ready too. My hair is brushed thoroughly, and my skin is scrubbed clean of the salt and sand that usually adorns it. It was when they suggested that I be sure to get the sand all off that I knew that they were all too aware of my secret. They might tell him. Robert might tell him.
And here I sit, awaiting my jailer.
My not-so-secret sojourns at night are the only freedom I have known since Leo imprisoned me. I am afraid that these hours with the sea and with Robert are ending. If Leo takes these away too, I am not sure how I will endure.
“Eden?” Leo’s voice fills the house, and at the unhappy tone in it, I worry suddenly that he’d expected me to be waiting at the door.
I go to him and look past him. Dread creeps into my voice, but I blame it on the person he fears. “Are you alone or is he … ?”
Relief unclouds his expression as he accepts my lie, as he chooses to believe I was not at the door because of fear.
“No, love. He’s not here.” He embraces me. “I should’ve told you. My father won’t be here. It’s just us.”
“I’m glad,” I murmur, reminding myself to be meek. I have almost forgotten that in the joy of the nights with Robert, when I am allowed to be myself, to speak as I please, to do as I want. I concentrate though. I can do this again. I can be the Eden Leo has been trying to mold me into being. I duck my head slightly. “I’m glad he’s not here.”
And just like that, Leo is happy.
He talks as is his increasing habit in our nightly calls, and I listen in silence as I am supposed to do. It is stifling, like restraints drawn tighter by his very words, but I stare at him with the affection I would give to the sea. I look on him and pretend he is Robert.
Come evening, I am tired. The burden of being around Leo is wearing, and I almost refuse when he asks if I’d like to go out. Then he adds, “The staff says that you do not even ask to go for walks.” He smiles at me with a strange pride. “You’re a good girl, Eden. I like that you obeyed so well.”
He takes my hand and leads me to the door. “Take off our shoes, and we can go out.”
He stands and waits for me to obey. This is not new, but it has been months since I’ve had to kneel before him. It takes more effort to do so now. I bow my head to hide my face. I can do that now that my hair is longer.
Leo’s hand strokes my hair as I kneel and remove first his shoes and then my own. Then, as I had when he lived here with me before, I hold up my hand, so he can pull me up to stand beside him.
He does not release me.
We walk, and I try to remember that I am to be thrilled by this small gift, by this permission to touch the water that is my rightful home.
“Would you like to wade in?”
This is new, and even though I do so every night, I am still grateful. “Yes.”
“You earned this, Eden.” He releases my hand.
I wade out until the water swirls around my hips. My eyes close, and I tilt my face to the sky. For a moment, I am happy, but then Leo speaks my name. I open my eyes and stare at him.
“By spring, maybe we can go swimming, or”—he holds out a hand—“maybe you’ll be pregnant by then.”
When I reach his side, he takes my hand and squeezes it. Then he releases me and draws a small box from his pocket. “I know we said Valentine’s Day, but I feel like we shouldn’t wait. We can be married at Christmas instead.”
He opens the box and withdraws a ring. I was taught about this human custom, so I would know what to do when this moment came. The ring is beautiful, but I have no use for shiny rocks. I know I am expected to be happy, so I smile at him and hold my hand out to him obediently. He doesn’t ask if I want to be wed, but I couldn’t answer freely even if he did.
“In a few weeks, you’ll be my wife.” Leo slides the ring onto my finger and then kisses me briefly, a brush of the lips and then gone. “I’ll be twenty in the spring, and my trust will be all mine then. I’ll find us a place near the university.”
“You mean live away from the sea?” My heart pounds like waves crashing in a hurricane, and I’m afraid to meet Leo’s eyes.
He laughs though. “We can’t live here, but we’ll still visit. The ocean gave me you. I can’t stay away from it all the time.”
“How long is Christmas?”
Leo misunderstands my fear for excitement. “Less than a month. I go back in a few days, but I’ll return for you soon after. I’ll take you to our new home, and we’ll be together every day then. You can learn new things then, other ways to be good to me, and soon we’ll have our first child.” He brushes my hair back, stroking my cheeks with his thumbs as he does so. “They say that marriages made so young don’t last, but ours will. You can’t leave me; you can’t disobey me … and I … won’t ever need to hurt you.”
I cannot speak around the pain inside me. Leo means to take me away from my sea in a few weeks. He means to make me with child. There are ways to prevent pregnancy. Robert and I have used them, but I cannot disobey Leo. I stare down at the ring weighing down my hand, and I feel warm tears on my face.
“I feel the same way, but”—Leo kisses my cheeks, swallowing my tears, before continuing—“but it’s only a few more weeks that we’ll be apart, and later if you want a big ceremony, we can renew our vows. It would be the third time really.”
I look at him.
“The night I chose you, we were bound more than any church can tie two people,” he clarifies. “The second time, we can go to a courthouse. The third, we can have a lavish ceremony … maybe on our third anniversary. The real one, the third anniversary of the night we met.”
Mutely, I let him lead me into the house and into his bedroom.
“I know I wanted to wait till we were married, but we’re engaged now,” he says.
I try to find comfort in his kisses, try not to wince when he holds my arms too tightly, try not to cry out in pain when he enters my body without tenderness. I almost succeed, but then he grips my throat. Each cry only makes him happier. All I can do is stay still as Leo ruts and roars on top of me. Afterward, when he is quiet beside me, I realize that I have done exactly what he wants.
“You’re perfect, Eden,” he whispers in a tone of near reverence. “Soon, we can be together every day. I’ll teach you how to be a good wife.”
I close my eyes and say, “Yes, Leo.”
By the time Robert arrives to see Leo, I am dressed. I wear a cardigan sweater to cover the handprints that once more decorate my arms, and for the first time, I wear a high-necked shirt to hide the bruises low on my throat. When Robert comes into the room, led by one of the nameless members of the staff who do not speak to me even after all of these months, I look to Leo for instructions.
He takes my hand and tugs me to stand beside him. I barely hide my wince of pain as I stand, but Leo doesn’t notice. He releases my hand and hugs Robert.
“Eden is tired,” Leo says, “but I couldn’t wait a minute longer.” He lifts my hand to show Robert the ring. “I wasn’t sure … hopeful, but you know how women can be … ” His words drift away, and I think of the other girl, the one he’s mentioned briefly. I wonder if she is the reason he chose not to take me to bed before we were engaged. It’s odd to think that, knowing as we both do that I had to say yes, but Leo is—as Robert once told me—a very broken man.
I hear him still talking and force myself to listen as he says, “… but she said yes. Eden is going to be my wife in a few short weeks.”
Leo smiles widely at me.
Robert looks at me, and I know that when Leo returns to university, Robert will not be waiting for me in the dark.
“I’ve met her,” Robert says. “While you were away, I met her. I didn’t know. You’ve got to believe me. If I had … I wouldn’t have.” Robert looks as heartsick as I feel. “I swear I wouldn’t have fallen for her if I knew.”
“Eden?” Leo asks. There are so many questions in those few letters, and I don’t know which to answer.
“I didn’t cross the threshold,” I whisper. “Robert didn’t know I was … yours.”
The hand that was hanging at his side curls into a fist, and I brace myself. I think that it would be better if Robert left—almost as much as I hope he will stay. I know this is my path to freedom, but I am afraid.
“We had sex the first night,” I say quietly. “I didn’t know he was your friend then.”
“And after?” Leo prompts. He’s staring only at me now. “Did you stop when you knew?”
I lift my head a fraction and say, “No.”
“I think you should leave,” Leo says, and I know that he isn’t talking to me even though I wish he were.
Robert steps forward and touches Leo’s arm. “Leo—”
“Now.” Leo is not looking at Robert. His gaze is only on me, and I see his father in him. There is fury here, more than I was expecting. I consider begging Robert to stay, but this is what must happen to set me free.
I start to walk away, as if I could go with Robert, and Leo grabs me. I yelp. He shakes me, and I wonder how many ways he can hurt me without striking me.
But I do not want to lose my nights of freedom. They were all I had left, and they are gone too. I have to do this. “I lay down with him every night,” I say quietly.
He lifts a hand.
“Leo!” Robert yells.
And Leo punches him instead.
“No!” I step between them, and the second blow hits me. I’ve never been hit before, and the force of it is unlike my imaginings. I lift my hand to my cheek. “He didn’t know. I seduced him, Leo. I crept out at night and seduced him. He is innocent.”
Leo raises his hand again, but Robert grabs him. “Stop it! What are you doing?”
Trapped as he is, Leo can’t swing at me, so he kicks me. That hurts even more than the punch. I fall to the floor and look up at him. I’m afraid, but I am more hopeful than afraid. Twice. He’s struck me twice. There are rules, and we both know them.
I open my mouth, but before I speak words to incite that third blow, Leo says, “No.” He shakes his head. The anger is not gone, but his control has returned. He meets my gaze, but does not offer to help me to my feet. He swears, “I won’t do it a third time, Eden. You can’t leave me.”
Robert looks between us like we are both strangers to him. He might not understand, but he knows that there is more going on here than what he can see. “Edy, why don’t you go outside while Leo calms down.”
“May I, Leo?”
Leo bows his head, to hide either anger or sorrow, and Robert releases his hold. Leo steps forward, but he doesn’t touch me. “I shouldn’t have done that,” he says. “You know I shouldn’t, but I won’t hit you a third time. I still love you.”
“If you really love me, tell me I can go home,” I half ask, half demand. I stand and take off the sweater. Both Robert and Leo look at the fresh bruises on my arms. “Tell me I don’t need to stay in a cage.”
“It’s not a cage,” Leo insists. “I’ll take care of you. We can be happy; I know it. It’s just that you were alone; I’ll never leave you alone again. You were weak, but I forgive you.” He stands and comes to me. He kisses me with the sort of tenderness he didn’t show me in his bed and then he tells me, “I know what will happen if I hit you again. That’s why I picked you, so I wouldn’t be like that. I can be better.”
“I want my freedom,” I tell him, being honest as I haven’t been before. It took this: his threat to take me farther from the sea, his fist, his foot, for us both to show our desperation.
“No. I’ll be better.” Leo looks at me, and I think of the night he came to me with a bruised face. I think he remembers that same night because he touches my face. “You’re mine, Eden. I’m not going to let you go.”
“You hurt me,” I say.
“I love you,” he swears. “I won’t be like him. I swear it. We’ll leave here, and we’ll be together. Everything will be perfect.”
All the while Robert stands watching us. He looks between us, and my heart hurts for them both. It hurts more for the freedom that felt so close. I cannot lose what little of the sea I still have. The thought of never touching it, of not hearing it, not seeing it, or smelling the brine—it destroys me.
If we were staying here, I could try to wait, try to find ways to make Leo hit me again, but even as I think it, I know that I do not want to feel the other pains he delivers. I do not want to wear these bruises. I do not want to kneel at his feet. I do not want my voice to be silent.
I could kill Leo; he’s never ordered me not to hurt him. I’m not sure I can take a life, but I think of it now. If he were dead, I could take my other-skin from wherever it is hidden in the house. While he is alive, I cannot even search for it, but if he were to die, I could reclaim my soul.
I could let the sea take me. It is what my kind has often done. Without our souls, without the sea, many of us sink into a sorrow deep as the darkest caverns in the sea. This, I can do.
“May I go to the beach, Leo?” I ask quietly. “You tell me you are different. You say you are not like your father. You say this isn’t a cage.” I hold his gaze and challenge him. “Prove it.”
He agrees, and I walk out the door.
“To the beach, Eden,” Leo calls as I reach the deck. “I’m not setting you free.”
Distantly, I hear Robert say, “You keep her a prisoner? Seriously? What are you thinking?”
I don’t stop to hear the answer. I believe Leo when he says he won’t hit me again. He knew he had to strike me three times, and even in his anger, he knew when to stop. There are other pains though, and even without the pain, I live in a cage like a pet. I cannot consign a child to this fate. I cannot live like this.
I glance back as Robert and Leo come outside. They’re following me. I knew they would, but I have to believe they won’t reach me in time.
I don’t stop when I reach the edge of the water. I wade in.
The cold water rushes over my legs, and I look to the horizon. I don’t see others of my kind, and I know they can’t come to me when I am wearing only my human self.
“I have your skin; you can’t leave without your skin!” Leo apparently realizes as he says it that there are other ways to leave, and he runs back toward the house.
At the same time, Robert runs toward me. “Edy!”
The water is wrapping around me as I start to swim, and when I glance behind me I see Robert wading in.
“I’m sorry, Edy! Wait!” Robert yells.
I don’t stop; I can’t. I go deeper, feeling the shock of the water starting to numb my body already. As I start to swim, I concentrate on going as far away from the shore as I can.
I tread water for a moment. The cold and my bruises are sapping my strength. I need to go farther though. I need to be unable to hear the words if Leo orders me to shore.
The moon spills light on the water like a path, and I concentrate on following it. The water feels strange against my clothes, and I realize that I’ve never swum with clothes. I never needed them.
I feel the pull of my other-skin as I start to go farther from it, farther from the prison where it remains. It will be nothing more than a pelt once I am gone. Without it, without the rest of myself, I will drown before I reach deep water. It is not the choice I thought I would make, but like so many women before me, I cannot survive in a cage.
Splashing and voices behind me tell me that Leo is in the water too.
I start to swim as fast as I’m able. I do not conserve any of my strength; I only need to be deep enough, far enough, that the currents will pull me out farther.
So I dive under the water where the rest of his words won’t reach me. If he orders me back, I will have to obey, so I need not to hear them yet. I have to get farther away, to swim until I am so tired, so numb from the cold, that I cannot obey if he demands that I return to the shore.
When I surface for air, I hear that Robert is yelling too.
I dive again. The water doesn’t feel as cold, and I think that shock shouldn’t set in so soon—but I’m grateful all the same. No woman should live in a cage. I won’t do so for another day longer.
This time, when I come up for air, I glance back at them, and I see that Robert hasn’t come any deeper into the water. For all of his protestations of love, he does not risk the sea for me—or maybe he loves me enough to let me have the choice.
It is Leo who swims toward me, propelling his body through the water with one arm. He’s forbidden me access to the water even as he swam in it every day, and aside from my few nights in it, I have not had a chance to keep myself strong enough. Leo has the strength I lack now, and he is catching up quickly.
I renew my efforts. If he reaches me, he can drag me back to shore.
“Come back with me. Please! This isn’t what was supposed to happen,” he says.
There are no words I know to make him understand. Selchies have been where I am now for centuries. We all know that to be captive is to die a little each day. There are good men, and there are broken men.
“Eden,” he calls my name and then he orders, “Eden, stop!”
I obey; I obey completely: I stop fleeing, stop swimming, stop keeping myself above water. The human body can’t stay under water as long as a seal can, and I count on that.
What I don’t count on is Leo’s determination. He dives under the waves and grabs me. I can’t fight him as he pulls me above the water.
I stay limp in his grasp. I will not help him return me to the land, and he doesn’t think to order me to do so.
“I don’t want you to die.” Leo kisses my head and murmurs, “I’m not like my father.”
Then I feel something brush against me and realize why he was swimming with only one arm. He has brought my skin into the sea. He pushes it toward me, returning it to me of his own will. It clings to me, wrapping around me, and I forget Leo. I forget everything except for this: I am whole and free.
I let out a bellow of joy, and I hear the answers of my selchie-sisters. They call to me, echoing my happiness, rejoicing that I am home. I am tired, but they will help me. I have only to swim toward them, and they will take me to safety.
I hear splashing behind me, and I turn. A human boy is saying something. He speaks my name, and I think that there is something more I should do here, but I am exhausted. I can’t recall if I am to help him or take him under the water where his land-dwelling lungs will fill with the sea until they burst. He is struggling in the water, but my selchie-sisters call out, letting me know that they are nearing.
This human is not my concern. I leave the splashing behind and enjoy the welcoming waves of my home. I am whole, and I am free. There is nothing else.