Page 22 of Bewitched By the Siren
The skin and muscle beneath my ears stretches and stings as my gills form, a change that only takes place when I’m fully submerged. It’s uncomfortable, at best, and usually quite painful, but tonight, I welcome the pain.
I need toswim.
As soon as the ache dissipates, I flick my tail, propelling me faster than any human could dream of swimming. Adrenaline floods my body as I zip through the dark water, making my heart pound. This is the best feeling. Ever.
This is real freedom.
I slow as my instincts kick in, some internal radar that warns of nearby danger. My eyesight beneath the water is as clear asit is on land, but the water here is dark and deep, and anything lurking nearby could easily hide its presence until it’s ready to strike.
The tension drains out of me as a large shadow swims close enough for me to recognize it. It’s just a great white. The large shark swims near to check me out, then turns and swims away at the same lazy pace. I’ve encountered the beasts before, and while I used to be frightened of them, I’m not anymore. They’ve never shown any real interest in me…asa meal, that is. Like they have some instinctual repugnance of me. Or like they know I’m their distant kin. Family, not food.
No, the only thing I truly fear out here is encountering one of my own kind.
If that were to happen, who knows what they’d do? They could drag me into the deep, back to whatever mermaid colony or kingdom they call home. I’d never see my mom again.
Or they could just kill me. I have no idea if every siren’s tail turns to legs when it dries off, or if I’m some sort of mermaid-human hybrid––if that’s even possible. But for all I know, I could be some kind of abomination in their eyes, one they’d seek to destroy.
Brushing off the dark thoughts, I start swimming again. Keeping the beach on my right, I swim toward the waters off the Florida coast as fast as I can, really stretching and working my tailfins. Then, I slow down before flipping around and heading back toward home.
Arching my back, I head for the surface, popping just my head above the water to gain my bearings. I smile when I see nothing but the moon reflecting on the water and the lights of Circe Key in the distance. Like I have some sort of internal homing beacon, I always know when I’m close to the island. Dipping beneath the surface, I swim in a slow, leisurely pace as I head for the shallows.
When I get close enough to shore, I plant my palms in the sand and push my upper body up and out of the water. I grit my teeth as my gills open and close, the lack of water making my chest grow tight as my body fights for oxygen. Pain sears through my neck as the magic takes over, my flesh stitching back together. Opening my mouth, I take a big gulp of air, filling my lungs as the stinging in my neck ebbs.
As uncomfortable as that was, the hard part really begins now. Flicking my tail in the shallow water to help propel me forward, I use my arms to drag myself toward shore. I have to get to the spot where I left my towel. I need it to dry my tail so my legs will reform.
When I was little, this was much easier. Mom would be here waiting, ready to scoop me up and dry me off. Even when I was a teenager and too big to pick up, she’d be here, ready to help as soon as I’d dragged myself out of the water.
But since she got sick and lost her mobility, I’ve been on my own.
My eyes dart left and right as I pull myself out of the surf. Thankfully, the beach is still deserted. I flap my tail to aide my movement, a literal fish on dry land, until my fingers connect with the edge of the towel. Snatching it forward, I pull the bikini bottoms out as I unroll it, drop them to the side, and roll over onto my back before sitting up. I hurriedly rub the thick cloth down my tail over and over to dry the top, then slip the towel beneath me to dry the bottom. Curling my tail upward, I focus on the fins at the end, drying them carefully until the tingling starts.
Dropping the towel and falling back to the sand in relief, I prepare for the pain. The stinging intensifies, and I grunt as my back arches up off the sand. I flop a few times––again, like a fish––as my tail splits, and I pinch my lips as a scream threatens to rip up my throat.
Finally, my body settles, and I lay still for a few beats until the pain fully fades. Looking to my right, I reach out to grab the bikini bottoms before lifting my legs and slipping my feet through the holes. Once I have the garment up to my knees, I dig my heels into the sand and lift my hips to slide them the rest of the way up.
Dropping my hips, I lay there for a long while more, just staring up at the moon. Once the exhaustion of beaching myself wears off, I can focus on the good. My legs and back feel amazing. Refreshed. Revitalized.
I sit up and climb to my feet before stretching my arms over my head and spinning in a circle. Phasing into my mermaid form and back to human may be a real bitch, but not only is it necessary, it’sworth it.
I feel like a million bucks.
Picking up my towel, I wrap it around my torso and pick my way across the sand toward home. I hum a little tune as I walk, unable to stop smiling. I’m always like this after a swim. The mental health benefits are just as important as the physical ones. Even in the dark, the world is a brighter place.
And I know how lucky I am to thrive both above and below the surface of the sea.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Brendan
My heartrate returnsto normal as I sit on my porch, waiting for Hali to return from her swim. God, I was terrified.
I don’t know why I decided to follow her when I saw her through my window. Maybe it was because she was headed toward the beach, obviously wearing a bathing suit beneath the towel she had wrapped around her, instead of being dressed up for a night on the town, like I’d expected when she said she hadplans. I was intrigued.
By the time I got down there and spotted her, all I got was a quick glimpse of her bare ass before she dove beneath the waves. So…her big plan tonight was to go skinny dipping, alone and in the dark after telling me this morning the water is too cold to swim this time of year?
I watched the water without blinking, waiting for her to resurface, but as the seconds ticked by, I became more and more worried. I had my phone in my hand, my thumbs ready to dial nine-one-one. I barely managed to stop myself from calling.
I just kept telling myself Hali knows what she’s doing. That she lives here and swims in this ocean all the time. That it’s darkout here, and I simply missed it when she came up for air. That she’s an excellent swimmer, and just swam farther underwater than I expected, and I was looking in the wrong place.
