The Aquarium

by Emily Shore

  Wylder can’t give me one ounce of peace.

  “Up close and personal is so different from watching the feeds.” His voice is husky. A tone I recognize and one that has me wondering if I could somehow make it past him. Or if anyone would hear if I started screaming. No, he took care of that when he set up this room. This was planned.

  “So much different than seeing you now. Like this.” His tongue traces a path upon his bottom lip. I’m suddenly aware of how exposed the dress has left me, how my heartbeat has turned into a furious tide, crashing against the shore.

  “You know what Haven—”

  Wylder growls at the mention of her, moving toward me. I should’ve known it was a mistake to bring her up, especially regarding the one conversation she and I shared. I’ve struck a chord. A dangerous one.

  “I’ve warned you.” My movements are a sharp contrast to his. When he sweeps his way toward me, I keep backing away. “I even gave you this room as a gift.” He waves a hand toward the 360-degree room with the domed ceiling. “I’ve given you plenty of opportunities. Even taking away your son didn’t help. It’s time for you to realize you’re just a pretty little fish in my tank. Stop trying to grow wings.”

  No more than a foot of space between us. Even as I’ve tried to deviate toward the side, when I leap for the hallway, all he has to do is summon up the room shield. There’s no time for me to shut it down. Not before.

  He drags me to the center of the room…this small planetarium, which suddenly does feel like a tank. No, a fishbowl. Wylder’s fingers tunnel into my arms. What could he do? The Aquarium’s prized exhibit. The resurrection of the Temple Princess but now the Sea Star Queen. None of that matters. I can read it all in his eyes.

  Nothing makes a difference. None of the lightning I’ve conjured up is a match for him. None of the self-defense moves Sky has taught me over the years help. Wylder thwarts every single one.

  I recall Magnolia’s words to me from so long ago. Sometimes, there is nothing you can do. Still, I try. So hard, I try. I don’t make it easy. I kick. I buck. I throttle. I thrash. I bite. Then, I understand what a thrill it all is for him. How sick his lust is for the battle. Suddenly, I understand why so many girls choose to shut down. Because it’s the one thing they can control. Go to some dark corner of their mind. Let their body just go limp.

  For me, it just…hurts.

  His hands are instruments of war. They tear through the flimsy armor of my damp dress, conquering parts of me only Sky has ever touched. Tears compete with the bile churning in my stomach, and it begins to rise. I hope, I hope, I hope it will deter him. As if he can predict it—how many times has he done this and how many others?—he laughs and turns my half-naked self over so I retch into the pillows. I arch my back, prepared to fight more because, to me, it’s all I have. But he applies force to my pressure point, seizing my wrists in the same moment to pin them back.

  Then, he leans in. “How does it feel? Knowing I am in control? I can have whichever part of you I desire. Swan, Skeleton Flower, Yang, the Sea Star…”

  The only one he doesn’t mention is fitting because he will never have her. Not entirely. I try to reassure myself of that, but it doesn’t help. Not when he grabs the ends of my already-torn dress and piles them around my hips, then loosens his belt with one hand. In the seconds that have spanned where he’s had to remove pressure from my neck, I try to throw my head back, but it doesn’t connect with any part of his face as I’d hoped. I wish I could go back just a few seconds to try something else. I wade through an ocean of alternate options of something else’s.

  I can’t turn off my mind. I can’t access some deep place where I can’t think or feel. There is no numbing this. It is vinegar bitter. When he stabs himself inside me, it is hot, black ink infecting me, spreading. Burning me again and again as he thrusts.

  My lightning misfires, begins to ebb. So, this is what it really means to be lightning in a bottle. Wylder has corked me.

  When he’s finished, he sighs, then takes my hair within his grip and slowly tugs so my head jerks off the pillow before he purrs at the nape of my neck, “You tell that meddling husband about this, and I’ll make sure you never see either one of those brats again.”

  Like Haven said—the weakness of twins.

  Wylder shoves me back down, exiting my room and leaving me to bite the pillow to muffle my screams.

  They’re not angels anymore. They’re ghosts. Haunted, spectral, skeletal creatures. Every single one glows with the reminder of what he’s just done to me. They will always be an association.

  Careless of whether it gets back to Wylder, I march right into Haven’s office and slam the door behind me, almost sensing lightning crackling in my wake. However undaunted she is, I still stomp to Haven’s desk and smash my hands down onto it, gasping out the words, “You could have warned me!” I raise my voice.

  Judging by her eyes, stern, unrelenting, Haven knows exactly what I’m talking about. “I did. I said to find a way. Or he would.”

  “Not like that!” I still ache inside.

  I start to pace back and forth. She lets me. For a few moments, she observes me. Every now and then, I touch my forehead, then clutch at my throat, remembering the feeling of his hand there. Of slender, soft fingers where Sky’s are thick and rugged.

  “You really believed it, didn’t you?” Haven stands and approaches, eyes widening, for once the white sea surrounding the black more powerful. She crowds me. I press my eyes shut, trying to cram some of my breaths together so they will be longer when they force themselves out of my mouth, almost overlapping her words. “Turns out you’re no different than the rest of us, Swan. You can still be broken.”

  “Stop—” I clutch at my chest, at my stomach, but everywhere is still where he touched.

  She leans over, murmuring in my ear. “What are you going to do with your broken pieces?”

  “I’m not—” I deny, but Haven interrupts, her voice lethal and stabbing as a swordfish’s nose.

  “I don’t care about protecting you. Figure that out.”

  I almost choke on the words, “And him?”

  “I’ve managed, and so can you.” She circulates her shoulders, the question rolling off her as if her back is made of a jellyfish’s transparent flesh.

  Incredulous, I look up, huffing, “You don’t care what I do to him?”

  Haven rolls her eyes. “We both know you won’t kill him. If either you or your husband killed him, I assure you only one child will have parents and not two. That is the gift of twins. I can take one away and still keep you, my pretty shell. So, you have three options.” Presenting three fingers, she concludes, “Survive, fight, or break.”

  Everything is too soft. Slamming the door behind me for the second time didn’t help. All I can feel every single tingly goose bump like a miniature spongy bed on my flesh reminding me of the pillows Wylder forced me down upon. I need something…hard.

  I run.

  As soon as I reach Sharky’s tank, I peel off my dress and underclothes. Naked as a de-scaled fish, I dive straight into the water without reservation. The iciness cracks against me, and I love it because it was too hot under the dome. Too much heat. The glacial chill of saltwater cradles my skin, numbing the flesh. I wish it would weep into my veins, leave frost in that network, and inject my heart with icicles. Just contain that overused muscle in an icy film until I can deal with all these emotions.

  Sharky nudges me. I reach out for my pet, grab his dorsal fin, and place my soft body against his, which is hard, compact, and muscled. His massive form shakes me as he careens through the water, picking up speed because I secretly believe he wants to impress me. And because…he knows.

  Haven was wrong. She’s left me no other choices. If I fight, she’s already proven she’ll separate us from our twins. Breaking would guarantee the same.

  Nothing but survival left.

  I stay underwater longer than I should. My skin is driftwood gray, almost midwinter blue
. Inside, my blood still feels too hot. I want the numbing flesh on the outside to spread inward. All the tamed lightning inside me needs to freeze. It’s the only way to survive. But I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.

  How can I survive this?

  Sharky carries me to the edge of the tank as if sensing I need to get out. Somehow, with my body shivering and shaking, my teeth chattering, I haul my naked self out of the tank only to discover I’m not alone.

  Bubbles…and Milo.

  Without saying a word, the priest folds not one but two towels around my body before offering his hand to help me up.

  “I came to see if I could sneak you back in to see your son,” Bubbles announces as Milo gets me to my feet even though I feel like buckling again. Her bubbles are dark. Various shades of black and blue like ever-moving bruises…if bruises can be whimsical. The tutu fluffing out from her hips and her transparent stockings makes them more fantastical. “Wylder was leaving. I know that look. I’ve seen it before,” she says over the sound of my chattering teeth.

  “Let’s discuss in warmer environs,” Milo suggests, wrapping an arm around my waist. “There’s a steam room on this floor. You need to get warm,” he says, leading me down the cement staircase by the tank with Bubbles following. “It’s a wonder you aren’t in a coma with how long you were in the water. Your immortal implant, no doubt.” His voice helps. The matter-of-fact words. The undisguised warmth of his tone, which cracks the icicles that have formed around my heart. Milo is right. It was foolish of me to stay in the tank for that long.

  It’s a private steam room. Empty since the week has begun again. But right now, I don’t want empty.

  So, just after Milo opens the door and ushers me inside, I grab a hold of the black sleeve of his priest robe and ask, “Will you please stay? Both of you?” I nod to Bubbles.

  “I…uh,” the priest stammers, blushing a little. That’s sweet. It’s…reassuring.

  “I’ll keep the towel on. I just need…to talk.”

  Bubbles rubs past me on her way inside the steam room while Milo gestures for me to go first. Since there are multiple stalls with their own benches, Milo propels me into one with him in the next with Bubbles on the other side. Between each of us is a frosted glass divider. So, I suppose the steam room doubles as a confessional. Not that I have anything to confess. Just something to share.

  Right as I make my way to one of the steam areas, I notice Bubbles deviating for the other side of the area toward the non-steam lockers where she peels off her stockings and shimmies out of her tutu. Not that I can blame her. After this, she will undoubtedly need to return to the children and won’t want to change.

  Leaning my head against the glass and breathing in the steam billowing around the room with the fine, heated mist settling on my skin to flatten the goose bumps, I tell Milo and Bubbles everything that happened—about Wylder’s assault and why I went to Sharky’s tank.

  At first, neither says anything, so the steam hissing about the room is the only sound, reminding me of a serpent ready to swallow me whole. My feelings will do just as well.

  “Have you told Sky yet?” is the first question Milo asks. It’s a fair one.

  I shake my head, remember he can’t see me, and announce, “No.”

  “Why?” Bubbles asks, her head peeking around the side of the glass as she stretches her feet and calves out. Along her skin, the bubbles skitter back and forth as if a school of fish just swirled by. She must be able to control the settings to adjust the rhythm if she wants them to be faster.

  Easing my head back against the wall, I try to concentrate on the random bubbles and not on my husband. “Because I know what will happen. And we can’t take that risk. He wouldn’t be able to control himself. And Wylder warned me what he would do to Kerrie or Verity.”

  Bubble says nothing, but Milo clears his throat. “I understand. But he should know. You shouldn’t have to go through this alone.”

  “What are you thinking right now?” Bubbles interjects, stretching out one of her legs. The bubbles have turned pastel in color again.

  Surprised she didn’t ask what I was feeling, I open my mouth only to find more steam and no words. I swallow, close my eyes, inhale the humid air, and try to collect my thoughts.

  “Do you blame yourself?” Bubbles probes, kicking her ankles together and sending bubbles scattering around her feet from the action—another wonder to her tattoo implant. Why would she ask such a question? Is that what other victims of Wylder’s have done? Does she blame herself? My response to such a question would be numerous. There are so many answers I can provide. First, I rehearse them in my head before I speak them aloud.

  I never asked for this.

  I told him to get out. He refused.

  He forced me down.

  I didn’t climb on myself…

  But other thoughts that I’ve marooned to some distant island come back to haunt me. Like ghosts traveling across the sea.

  Haven warned you.

  She said to find a way.

  You could have respected him more…coexisted for the twins’ sake.

  If so, this wouldn’t have happened.

  Lightning quakes deep inside me. Seismic activity. Cracks forming.

  I slap the wall again and again until my hand is rosy and swollen.

  “What do you want to do now?” is Bubbles’ next question. “You gonna curl up and cry over it?” It’s a challenge wrapped up in a taunt.

  My voice leaves in a steamy whisper, “I don’t want to feel anything ever again.”

  Through the frosted glass, I see Milo’s head dip. Even though I can’t make out his eyes, he touches his cross. I see his lips part as if he’s praying for guidance. “You are not alone, Serenity.” It’s his first statement. “It’s little comfort to you now, but you are not the only one. And just like them, you don’t deserve what has happened to you. I wish I could offer you something more, but perhaps…in time. In this life, it will never go away.”

  After my conversation with Bubbles and Milo, I walk up and down the halls, repeating the pattern as I consider my way forward.

  Survival is not an option. Because I am not Bliss.

  There is only fight. Fight but not kill. But how? It’s something I could never hope to do. At least not alone.

  No, I can’t tell Sky. Because he’s not just Sky anymore. He’s Skylar. And he’s barely hanging on as it is. One more tug and he’ll snap. If I tell Sky what happened, he’ll kill Wylder, or at the very least he’ll beat him to a bloody pulp. And Haven would take away one of our children. My will as a mother is the only thing I have left. No one can take that away from me.

  That’s when I catch my reflection in the dark window off to my right. Turning, I tilt my head to the left, noticing something…just a hint of something—the corner of my mouth curling, a glint in my eye like a ripple of sunlight underwater, and…

  A back door in my mind unlocks.

  Staring at my reflection, I draw the tips of two fingers in a straight line down my chest to where my heart beats. Pressing my hand there, I inhale deep. After closing my eyes and nudging the door open a little wider, I whisper her name.

  My eyes fly open.

  And she smiles. The smile of Force. The smile of my father in that grin. Not beguiling but unbridled and uncontrollable. Dragon fire and lightning in that simper.

  It’s good to see you again. It’s been far too long.

  “Yang…” I whisper her name.

  21

  Y a N g

  * * *

  I sigh out the next words. “I need you.” My eyes soften because my expressions are different than hers. Of course it would take violence to truly come face to face with her.

  An invisible force causes my brows to dip low, my smile to deepen. You will always need me.

  I shake my head. “Just until we’re out of this Aquarium. The performances and the interactions.”

  And Wylder.

  When I don’t respond right away,
I feel my hand lifting to wave in the air like a string of lichen on a breeze. I could make ground meat out of him.

  “No death,” I stipulate. “We can’t—”

  Her eyes harden to sharp green glass emerging from fire. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Serenity. I can do much harm without taking a life. You, of all people, know that.

  I purse my lips and nod, remembering all those I whipped in the Temple, including Bliss, including Force. And how I first got a tiny taste of Yang in the Garden Shed with Sky.

  You know what I need, Serenity. Get it for me. And when the time comes, you won’t ever have to feel Wylder Graves again.

  * * *

  After I put Yang away, all I want to do is run to Sky and fall into the mountain of his arms, but I can’t. And I must hold the tears back when I join him in bed later. Only once I know he’s asleep do I allow myself to start shaking.

  We spend much of our morning in anxious silence. Other than giving Verity breakfast, neither Sky nor I have touched food. When Bubbles announces herself outside our quarters with a wiggling Kerrie in her arms, I leap from the table, almost crashing into the door, reaching it far before Sky does. So, I get to hold our son first. Kerrie rubs his face into my neck, and I breathe. I breathe deep of the familiar scent of his curls. When his small, soft lips kiss my cheek, I don’t resist the tears that come…and grow when Sky joins us, holding us both.

  Bubbles departs to give our family some solitude, but I mention I’d like to meet with her later.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Verity scrambling toward us, alerted by the sound of Kerrie murmuring “Momma”.

  No thought to the musical bubble machine she’s left behind. All she cares about is, “Kewwie!” I chuckle when her arms crane upward, yearning for her little brother. Kneeling, I watch them reunite…and laugh when Kerrie tries to tackle his sister, pressing his lips down on her cheek. It’s a little too much for her. Before long, she starts to push him off. Confused, he tries again, but Verity screeches and gives him the stink eye. I scoop him up again. In some ways, I think she enjoyed his time away, enjoyed her personal space. That’s why Sky calls her his little Queen V.