by Melissa Marr
“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 spe
ech 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.”
