by Emily Shore
Even so, she still tries to include him. “Bubbles!” She motions to the machine a few steps away. That’s all Kerrie has to hear before he starts squirming out of my arms. Pursing my lips, I sigh, knowing I need to let him go for now.
Reassuringly, Sky cups my shoulder as I surrender Kerrie, supporting him with a little nudge when he loses his balance and almost falls back, a little too eager.
Sky does nothing more than touch my shoulder. Allow it to drift to my back. If we were in the Sanctuary watching them play, he’d kiss my cheek from behind, play with my curls, or breathe them in. He’d remind me that even though they didn’t come from me, they are still half my blood. He’d remind me why Bliss and Luc left us their twins because, somehow, she knew she would never leave the Temple even if she finally came to the point of wanting to. He’d remind me that all we need to do is love them, do our best, and that it would be enough.
Nothing seems enough now. We’re still treading in the ocean, swallowing salt with every new wave. And now, I’ve felt Haven and Wylder’s sting.
I won’t feel it again.
So, when Neil and Lindy come by for lunch and Sky retreats to the bedroom for some time alone, I pull Neil aside and tell him, “I need you to get something for me.”
After lunch, the twins take their naps, and Lindy and Neil curl up on the couch together. Lindy rests while Neil watches a show. Before Bubbles arrives, I peek in on Sky to see him sleeping, too. Part of me wonders if we’ll ever have enough sleep going forward. Sleep is the simplest escape. It’s always worked for Sky.
I need to find another.
Tiptoeing out of the quarters, I meet Bubbles in the hall and tell her, “I need your help.”
A few stray bubbles totter along her skin, fading only when they reach her cheeks. Today, she wears a jumpsuit, but it isn’t tight like Haven’s. Instead, Bubbles’ is loose and billowy, held by a belt that looks comprised of miniature starfish. When the starfish wiggle their arms a little, I realize it’s custom-designed to mimic real starfish.
Bubbles blinks once. “What do you have in mind?
“You said you’re special.”
“Right…” She draws the “I” out a little.
“Special enough to have access to anywhere?”
“Yes.”
“Including the outside?” When Bubbles chews on the inside of her cheek, hesitant, I hasten to add, “I’m not interested in escaping. Well, not in the typical sense of the word. I just need…something.”
Bubbles seems to understand. All at once, the hesitation disappears just like one of her popping bubbles. All along her skin, they turn to a deep royal purple. Like one of those glowing anemones I’ve seen from last week when we took the twins on a coral reef tour through the Aquarium seaway tunnels. Her smile is just as beautiful…and devious.
“I can do you one better. And this will make him so mad,” she says, referring to Wylder.
Provided I’m not breaking any rules, I’m allowed to accompany Bubbles and spend my free time as I’d like. The silence in our room is too much. And I can’t step into the bedroom without remembering everything that happened yesterday. Without Yang rising, like toilet water backing up. The worst parts of me. So, I need to find better…coping mechanisms.
Again, Bubbles leads me through an employees’ entrance, but this one is closer to the Commons. The back hallways are dark, the air stale and cold, and I must feel along the right wall while remaining close to Bubbles. We pass by several trash bins, which are programmed to dump into trash incinerators at the end of each day. I can still smell the ash. I tread on a light collection of cinders.
At the end of the hall, Bubbles juts a sharp hip toward me, makes a kissing sound, and then presses her hand to a door, which opens upon impact. Instant bio-print sensor. Upon stepping in the doorway, she blows me one last kiss and winks.
“This is my favorite room,” she says, introducing me to what can be described as nothing more than the Bubble Room. In some ways, it reminds me of one giant ball pit. Except the balls move…and the balls are really bubbles.
Bubbles of all shapes and sizes populate around the room, but they don’t pop. Instead, they knock against one another as if they are composed of harder material.
“Watch this.” Bubbles touches a bubble that floats toward her. Once she does, she spreads her fingers, expanding the bubble more and more until it’s large enough for her to step inside. And she does. “They’re called Invinici-bubbles. Material strong enough you can manipulate, but it doesn’t pop unless the right amount of pressure is applied.” Leaning back, Bubbles closes her eyes, sighing as the bubble responds, adjusting toward her body’s position while it carries her up toward the domed ceiling. “Best part of all!” Her giggle reminds me of whitecaps. Free and aggressive.
Eager to try a bubble myself, I mimic her movements and step inside my own, only to discover why Bubbles was laughing so much. Bliss-laced bubbles. Clever.
“So clever.” I start laughing. After a few minutes, it’s uncontrollable. And all I can think of are images of dancing underwater with a dolphin ring, of Sharky’s massive body hauling me across the tank, of body heat and bedsheets, and the smell of Sky, of Verity’s eyes, and of Kerrie’s smile. No swan wings, skeleton flowers, yin/yang symbols, sea stars, or otherwise. Now, I understand why Bliss is so popular. It’s not just mind-altering—it’s mind-eclipsing. It helps me to focus on everything positive.
When I finally return to my room, my mind is like a buoy bobbing back to earth. Opening the door, I discover Lindy at our kitchen island, programming the 3-D printer cupcake maker with her particular brand of mix, frosting color, and type. Sky is helping himself to some coffee, though I realize he brewed it himself when I notice the classic coffee maker on the counter. He must have ordered it while I was gone. Not that I blame him. It’s the one way he gets to have control in this place.
“You want one?” Lindy asks, gesturing to the cupcake maker.
Pursing my lips, I debate before nodding because the Bliss and Bubbles have made me hungrier. “Devil’s cake for me,” I request before heading toward our bedroom door and meandering inside, closing it behind me.
Behind the door, Lindy’s voice is muffled. I can’t make out her last statement, but I have a fairly good idea of what she said when I notice the bathroom door ajar and hear the sound of my brother’s singsong voice along with a few clumps of…glitter? Oh, not him, too!
“What the hell?” I swing the door open, which sends my brother vaulting back underneath a generous mound of glitter bubbles.
“Serenity,” he exclaims. He plants a hand on each side of the tub, hoisting himself so he covers his lower half.
I take one glimpse at the little spills on the floor next to the tub where miniature glitter ponds have formed.
With tiny constellations along his arms and hands, Neil shrugs, raising his hands in the air. “Your tub is much bigger than mine.” He motions to the circular jacuzzi tub.
I rub my eyes, wishing I could un-see it all. “You’ve got to be kidding me…”
Propping his elbow up on the edge of the tub so glittery rivulets trail down his arm, Neil explains, “Real men take glitter baths. Trust me, Sky is secretly jealous.” He swipes a hand through his hair, which reminds me of sun-sparkled frost.
Just before leaving, I grab the automatic hair straightener and warn him, finger emulating a hook, “You will clean up every last speck of glitter if it’s the last thing you do.”
“Don’t worry, doll,” Neil assures me, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “They got a special bot for it. Came with the package.”
Just so long as I don’t have to see his.
“By the way…” Neil stops me just before I leave. “Left a little something for you in the closet. Came with the glitter bath delivery.”
As soon as he settles back down into the bubbles, I scamper out of the bathroom and into the closet where I find it. Smuggling it into the preparation room won’t be too difficult as l
ong as I keep it under my dress. However tempting it is to open it and clutch the handle, I decide to save the experience for later. Instead, I sigh, straighten my hair because it’s one thing I can control, and return to the kitchen to share cupcakes with Lindy.
This time, when I hear his footsteps stalking toward the prep room, I’m ready for him.
It’s been so long since my hands gripped the handle of a whip, but it all comes back to me. The way my wrist is supposed to flick. The sharp snap of my muscle when I thrust it forward. I remember the gritting of teeth, and I imagine Wylder shrieking into a high-pitched moan squeezing between the gaps of a toothy cage. I imagine the stench of his sweat. The cowering of his eyes. The adrenaline already whooshes into my blood from the notion.
I realize how much I’ve missed it.
Yang is a battering ram, but there’s no threat…yet. So, I keep the back door locked, and she lets me have this one.
As soon as Wylder lowers the shield and steps through the doorway, I take my stance and brandish the whip, firing a warning shot as it were. The sound of it snapping on the marble floor echoes, reverberating against the mini planetarium windows. The echoes of the thwack catapult into me, granting me more energy.
For a few seconds, Wylder just stares, appraising, judging whether he wants to pursue this. His brow line pinches as if frustrated but only another second before it relents. Defeat in his squid-ink eyes. And a shadow of a smile when he announces, “Raise the stakes, Swan. You’ve just made this so much fun.”
Even once he’s gone, I don’t let down my guard. I don’t relax. This is what it must be like for them. All the breakables in the Glass District. All the Temple girls. So many stuck, caught in the midway point between fight or freeze. In my case, I straddle the border of fight. It will take all I have to remain there until we get out of the Aquarium. I must wear the skin of Yang everywhere. And when I can’t cope, she will wear mine. I will join the butterflies in my stomach. In the Temple, I could remove Yang as easily as a mask and just be Serenity for Sky, for Bliss, for myself.
Not this time.
Yang is here to stay.
* * *
We are better at the show.
Serenity tries to fight, to rear her head up, but we banish her back to a butterfly sea and give the spectators the show they desire. We move like her. Like lightning rippling water. It comes easy to us.
She is still a part of this, but she knows we are the one in control. She’s given that control to Yang for the time. Yang is what she needs. Since this is all for her, we don’t differentiate. I, Yang, have become Serenity, but I am still using her body. All temporary, since she is still underneath the surface. So, to me, it will always be “we”. We can play any role better than Serenity.
We even fool Skylar during our interaction. We turn it into the battle the client wants. All we hear is the crashing of water and the clang of a trident. Of lightning shattering ancient rock. When he removes our mermaid scales, we don’t fight it. We hearken to it. We nibble his bottom lip. His instinctive growl lassoes our heart like a fire rope. He tugs our body forward, powerful hands hoisting us onto his hips. No memories of our love bed stir. Nothing but lightning in darkness. Nothing but energy in our hands as we arch our neck back while maintaining our grasp on his firm waist.
His tongue creates tiny electric shocks all over our breasts. Finally, we ascend to the shoreline so he can bury himself inside us. For the first time, he doesn’t just take treasure. We don’t let him go. We are quicksand he must escape. And the only escape is by digging himself out. But he can never accomplish it. We are a black hole. Deeper than the trenches around the Aquarium. Skylar will never find Serenity.
And now, he must reckon with her evil twin.
Sky is already in bed. Serenity is exhausted, but Yang is just getting started. After another round of Wylder with the whip besting him, there is still no rest for the wicked. The twins are fast asleep. And we are feeling downright villainous tonight. We feel Serenity gagging somewhere beyond our throat even as she tries to rear her head, but we push her back down to join her butterflies. Tonight is not for butterflies. It’s for practice…and pure sport.
Even so, we make it a fantasy for him. We let our curls down so they can ravage our chest, teasing our breasts because that’s what he enjoys. Then, we swing the covers off him and sneak onto his body, straddling his back, pressing ourselves against him.
Roused by the motion and touch, Skylar starts to raise his head, cranking it to the side. “Serenity?” He yawns, glancing at the sprite-light clock on the wall above the bed. “It’s three am. What are you doing?”
We lean over, whisper low in his ear. “You know what I’m doing.” We trace our tongue across his lobe, reveling in how he flinches but knowing how much of a turn-on it is since his entire back rises from his quick intake of breath.
Slowly, Skylar shifts his body so he’s turned over and we’re sitting on top of his pelvis. Good. We enjoy being on top. She doesn’t. His hand drifts up to touch the new lingerie we ordered from a Commons shop. Special delivery. He fingers the material, eyes following the digitized ripples as his fingers press down to sense the vibrating hum.
“This is new,” he murmurs.
“It’s called the Ripple Bra. It vibrates upon touch.”
Skylar’s lips part, brows furrowing, but we like how he doesn’t question it. He’s done well at it. Playing along. But it will need to keep up for longer. Much longer since Haven killed the Syndicate emissary. What Skylar and Serenity must realize is they will need to get their hands dirty if we all want to get out of here. And as long as Haven’s guard is up, it won’t happen. Until then, Serenity needs to be protected. Which means we get to have a little fun…
Tipping our head back so our curls flock toward Skylar’s thighs, we moan when his hands cup our bra. We feel the sensation all the way down to our core. For a mere second, we wonder if Serenity feels it and the stray thought makes us grin because it’s doubtful she feels much of anything right now. But that’s exactly what she wanted. She loses the joy, but she also loses the pain. Tonight, we’re just taking the edge off.
When Skylar shifts his hip so he forces us onto our back, he lifts our hands above our head, pinning our chest with his like a whale fin slapping the surf. Grinning, we yank our head up and thrust our mouth onto his, neck straining because he resists and breaks away.
“You hate this,” he states, pulling away, hands unchaining our wrists. More confused than ever, Skylar’s brows dive lower as he studies us.
We don’t shrink away from him or bother to provide an explanation. He’s a bright boy. He can figure it out. Instead, we just rise, planting our hands behind us so the bra straps slide down our shoulders, teasing him while we wait.
“What’s going on?” Skylar sifts a hand through his long waves before he studies us again. “This is not an interaction, Ser. This is…us. Always just us.”
“You and me.”
Our grin is the twisted opposite reflection to his frown because we both know we said the wrong thing. On a night long ago, she spoke those monumental words when she chose him—it’s always been us. But we are not Serenity. Just part of her. Her worse half.
Skylar leans in, observing. He blinks once, cocking his head to the side. A muscle twinges in his jaw.
Hmm…suspecting. He’s getting warmer.
“Ser?” he whispers.
Unfolding our hands, we rise just a little, feeling devilish, then tap his jaw and murmur against his mouth, “Ser’s not here at the moment. Can I take a message?”
His eyes swing open wider than a shark’s mouth at the same time we kiss him, our lips and tongue warm with lust and fire. When she wakes later, Serenity will be so disappointed.
Because Skylar starts kissing us back right before his fingers unclasp our bra.
When I wake up, I’m far more than just sore. There’s a bloodstain on the sheets. I smell the familiar scent of my husband, the salt of our shared sweat on
my skin. Sky is on his stomach. He isn’t wearing clothes, his face more relaxed than ever while his arm drapes across my naked chest, hand cupping one of my breasts. Not large enough to fully cover it. Next to us on the floor is ripped lingerie. Lingerie I don’t recognize.
Yang…slept with my husband.
And he—
Rising from the bed, I watch Sky’s arm tumble back onto the bed. He continues snoring while I embark to the bathroom to observe my naked self in the mirror. In random places on my skin—on the crest of my breasts to my stomach to my inner thigh—are red sucking marks from Sky’s mouth.
Is that what he really likes? I question my inner self, shuddering at the thought. At the memories I don’t have.
Her smile grows. Ahh, so your plan failed now, did it? He’s different now. He’s no longer simple Sky. He prefers me, doesn’t he? He wants Yang.
I pinch my lips, but my eyes remain softened unlike hers. “You can have him…for now. But not my children,” I outline the unmovable boundary, clenching my hands in front of the mirror, unwilling to back down.
Yang smiles much more than me. For that, I am jealous. My only consolation is the belief that it won’t be much longer. Just long enough for Tristan to get us out of the Aquarium. Otherwise, Serenity will become the ghost I fear. Otherwise, I will become the ghost. Like my sister, I will fade away until there is nothing left but lightning and energy.
No one but Yang.
22
T r I s T a n’ S P l A n s
The last interaction of the weekend. At least Tristan is the Silver client who paid for the private meeting following it.
