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Once, many years ago, this had been his home. He’d been born and raised there, both in the house and on the shore just outside the property line. On the beach and in the water. They said he’d first gone off-shore while he was still nursing. He remembered learning to walk on the tilting deck of his father’s ship, giggling and staggering down the narrow isles from the console to the prow. He’d spent the long hours fishing playing with baitfish like he would dolls, covered in dried salt and flaking scales and sweat throughout the day. As if he were a kid again, he could still smell brined bait and seaweed drying in the sun, whenever he thought of those days.
As it were now, he’d been driving for hours, and hadn’t smelled salt on the sea breeze in years. Already he felt lighter, in the fresh air and with the sound of surf thundering somewhere out of sight. Salt spray cast the small Oceanside town in mist, and he already felt gritty.
The house now, though, was nothing like the one he’d grown in. The once-sand-colored home was modernized and renovated; painted like a Florida motel – all it was missing was the matching plastic flamingo on the thick, artificially lush lawn. Nothing else this close to shore looked that green. Back when he’d played in it, the front and back yard had been more sand and spurs than grass.
As he shut the door something tightened in his gut. However happy he was to be here, he knew it wasn’t going to be like back then. Now the house was a far-cry from the beachside shack it once was, and the people in it were just as divorced from his happy memories. It’d stayed in the family, technically, which was why it wasn’t some millionaire’s mansion or yet another hotel hogging up the public beach accesses. In-laws, especially in-laws of his second mother were hardly family, no matter what they said.
He steeled himself as he hauled his duffel with him up to the front porch, sandals sliding on tile so smooth and pristine he slid slightly as he stopped. Opening the door he was greeted with chaos. Someone was playing the Game on the highest volume they could, while adults tried to have conversations over it, music played from the backyard, and children screamed and ran throughout the hallways, appearing and disappearing as they ran through every doorway they could find. Some were siblings and cousins, more still were friends of family or family friends’ kids. He slowly walked to the open kitchen and stared at the group of distant relatives clustered in the living room, kitchen, and scattered on the porch. The layout of the house had all three of these areas within sight, and his father was using this to carry a conversation with one of his uncles in the kitchen from the porch, where he was busy grilling something.
The place was more crowded than he could ever remember, and no one spared him a glance – at first. A few seconds was all he needed to take stock and smother the mother-shaped hole he felt seeing almost everyone’s family in one house.
His second mother – not related to him – spotted him and soon the tide of adults turned their attention to him and he was quickly surrounded. He looked through the bodies and spotted the back of one of his younger siblings racing outside, and he yearned to join them, but instead he put a smile on his face and nodded with whatever they were saying. Talking to Meredith and her family was always a treat. No one seemed to know his name, and so he got several butchering’s, a few which were wrong, and the usual spatterings of ‘champ’. He answered the same questions 6 times – he counted- and reminded three grandparents that he was indeed in college and – no he wasn’t majoring in engineering like they’d suggested. As they exchanged pleasantries he felt his plastic smile becoming more strained, and his eyes felt wide and dried out. It only got worse when one Uncle brought up how much weight he’d gained and thus he had to laugh over the same “freshman 15” joke three different times. His teeth slid against themselves and he felt his jaw creak.
Once before his “uncle” had made a similar comment and he’d since learned to shut his mouth when family got inappropriate about him. Didn’t make having to sit through relatives he didn’t even know speculating about his body hair and how they supposed (without asking him) he was doing with the men – he was so quiet and awkward, they bet he was being bullied or taken advantage of.
As soon as he could without provoking Meredith’s wrath he disentangled himself and got the fuck out of there. Voices on voices and voices were overlapping, with a multitude of eyes watching him for the one time their careless comments and dead naming hit a nerve, where he would then be reprimanded and told that he was the difficult one. As he walked out the open doors into the backyard he forced his tense shoulders to relax, unclenched his jaw and fists, and tried to enjoy the warmth of the sun on his back.
A trophy, he reminded himself, seeing all of the happy faces. Fake warmth and performative concern was all it was. From personal experience, he knew if he defended himself he was called unruly. If he were to, for instance, tell little cousin Matthew to get his grubby hands out of the salad bowl and stop eating all the croutons before others could help themselves to servings, it wouldn’t be Matthew that Meredith complained to his father about. If he so much as carried a conversation with his (half) siblings Meredith seemed to find a fault with something he was doing. Of course until he ended up pissing her off he was the “pride” of the family. Despite no one really meeting his eyes, or pointedly ignoring or looking away from his legs and arms, or the corrections he’d quietly supplied when they didn’t get his name right.
Quinn dumped his bag off and tore off his shirt, pace quickening as he hit the wooden stairs down to the beach. By the time his feet hit sand he was sprinting, out then up the coast. He ignored sunbathers, fishers, and cousins who were playing in favor of getting out of view of the house, and all of the gossips and their sharp, critical eyes.
He was no runner, but the run did him good. His feet slapping on wet send and the sharp shells that painfully stuck into his heels did a lot to release his anger and tension. As long as the sun was up he could safely hide on the beach from them. Later, thought, when he was supposed to do the same old song and dance during dinner would be another story.
When his feet stung from burning sand and hard shell he slowed and turned his momentum into the shore. At first the water resisted his jogging steps, but once he got in up to his waist he felt the rip tugging at his feet, felt the ocean draw him in - in between every wave pushing him away. The water was cool, and as he waded in he exhaled his breath, trying to keep his lungs from getting tight from anxiety.
It would only come back once he had to go and smile while not-quite-family chattered on and on about him like he was a trophy. Amazing how he was “technically an adult” but still treated like a child. How their excuses when he was a minor disappeared, but they still thought it was alright to ignore his requests that they call him by a new name. How difficult they told him it was, when cousin Matthew’s given name was Parker, and how Carly was going by her middle name, not her first.
A crab pinched his feet and he jumped, then laughed, moving on, moving deeper, until he was past the wave break. Fair enough. He was in the water. All that mattered was the water and his thoughts. Days had passed in a haze like this. Wake up, beach, stay in the water for up to 6 hours, go home and crash. He let the water push him where it wanted, and, gently, it coaxed him to chest-deep water. This was what he missed. Well, this and his old life, obviously.
When he was a child at least he’d been spared from hearing Meredith gush about what a good spouse he’d make one day. Or, worse, how cute he would be with his old babysitter, who was 8 years older than he was. Or-
He sank up to his neck and dunked himself underwater, screaming smothered by the water. Bubbles tickled around his neck as they escaped into open air, while he sank deeper into the water. Once, he’d vowed to leave once he turned 18. Now, he felt helpless. He still oved his dad and his siblings. He still wanted love from the woman who’d raised him after his first mother left.
Alone. He was too alone to leave. He had no one but these people who didn’t really consider him theirs.
Quinn came up for air and took a few deep breaths before diving down, doing his best to stay near the bottom, hands gripping onto the sand, air leaking out of his nose as he let his body sink. Near the bottom the water turned chilled and he gladly immersed himself in the colder water. Currents from the waves above and the rip below had cold spots appearing and running over his face and legs, and he shivered, down in the dim-lit world.
He closed his eyes and let himself believe for a moment that he was outside of time here. Seconds could be hours, days, years, and he would emerge from the water when everyone was asleep or gone.
More currents drawing cold over his cheeks made him shiver. For a moment he had the image of hands, soft and cool, cupping his face. The water was getting colder, too, tide must be coming in. He held on as long as he could, but after one moment, then another, he started panicking. Unsure of how long he’d been underwater, he didn’t feel his lungs burning, but he felt like he really had been under too long. He reached out for the bottom to push himself to the surface and his stomach dropped as his hands found nothing.
A few precious bubbles erupted from his lips as he opened his eyes and found himself staring into an endless deep, nothing but the suns rays cutting through the water to give scale to the expanse of water before him. The beach water had been silty, but this water was the clear blue of open ocean. He looked up and found the surface a distant point of light, far too far for him to safely swim up in time to breathe.
Quinn curled up, head whipping one way then another as he tried to find out where he was, other than in deep waters. Nothing but ocean. No way a rip current could whip him out into water this deep in a few seconds. This had to be a dream.
The cool touch of hands, again, brought him from his panic and into a dazed realization. They were hands, not just his imagination. They were as real as the ocean around him. Not just on his face, cradling it like a lover about to steal a kiss, they were also on his legs, arms, chest, shoulders, soft, assuring caresses and pats. He felt a finger prod his foot and he jerked it up to his chest.
In water this deep anything could be watching him from below.
Quinn batted at the hands, expecting maybe to feel the sting of a jellyfish, or something to explain why he was feeling this and unable to see anything. The hands drew back, but he felt them teasing at his sides and running through his hair. He was also sinking, the water around him was getting darker. He still didn’t feel the need to breathe, but he’d never been in water this long, and he was fighting between panic and confusion.
Hands closed over his face once more, and he went limp, frustration overtaking everything else. Fine. He was dead or dreaming. Let this dream play out.
They didn’t do much, once he stopped moving. They stroked his hair and neck, and soon the others joined in all over. He felt like he was being covered in hugs, none of which were smothering or overstimulating. As he sank the pressure of the water increased, so it was almost like he was getting a hug. A hug from the ocean, the best, least invasive full-body hug he’d ever gotten. He sighed, yet more bubbles escaping, and relaxed in their hold.
Quick as lightning a sailfish darted by, paused to circle him, then moved on, disappearing into the ocean just as swiftly. They were so beautiful most fishermen wouldn’t catch them – bad luck. Also probably had something to do with the three foot sword the fish had attached to them. It was good luck not to get speared on sight, actually.
Okay – he swore he’d heard a laugh. Underwater, it had been distorted, but it had been unmistakably a laugh.
He was entering some twilight realm of the ocean, as the light died, he didn’t feel too cold. Same refreshing cool he’d dived into earlier, despite how cold it should be at this depth.
Next he caught sight of a lone shark slowly making its way past. It followed him for a bit, long sweeps of its tail keeping it close-by. It’s tail was long, longer than any other tail he’d seen. Thresher. It’s face a comical gape, but there was no denying it’s beauty as it circled him slowly. It didn’t pay him much more attention, though, and soon it was swimming on its way the same way the sailfish had done.
The hug tightened, and he slowly let the last of his air slip free, watching the bubbles wobble their way upwards. When his lungs were empty he reflexively inhaled, and though the water tasted salty, he didn’t feel pain or the death he was expecting.
A hand touched his cheek once more, and when he looked down he saw wild waves of kelp above a set of wide jet black eyes. They held him, at first staring into his eyes then laughing, motion shaking their frame and causing the kelp to dance and jig along with their movements. Teeth sharp and menacing hid behind their lips, but he found himself in awe rather than afraid, just as he’d been with the shark and the sailfish. He was in their domain after all. If he’d stayed and let Meredith and her family wear him down he wouldn’t be here.
The being holding him quirked a hairless brow and pulled him close, this time physically holding him as they descended. The hug was, he realized with a touch of sorrow, the most earnest one he’d had since his mother left.
He reached up and embraced the person, tucking his head under their chin and watching the flutter of their gills. They kissed his head and pulled him away so he could see their face.
“Quinn,” they said. He only really heard one garbled noise vaguely resembling ‘in’, but he saw their lips form the ‘kw’ sound. They smiled, and it was beautiful and terrifying. They had dimples in their scale-skin, and their eyes never quite shut, but the affection they were – literally – drowning him in had him at ease. They never stopped petting him, even when they appeared before him, bearing two arms, he felt those other hands still on his legs and back, tracing wordless shapes in his skin with fingertips. “You’re back.” They mouthed, and laughed.
He was hugged again, and he wrapped his arms around them fiercly, burying his face into their chest, feeling that tightness in his gut and he let it go.
No family here. Just him and this strange, loving being who knew his name and used it.
They pet his hair and kissed his head, cheek, neck. Every peck brought a little more of those razor sharp teeth in contact with his skin, and at first he flinched, but soon he burned. He moaned, inhaling more water, and feeling none of it. Air wasn’t needed down here in the arms or what he could only assume was a siren.
Their chalky blue skin was so soft, and he left marks of his own on their flesh, pleased when their gills jumped and fluttered in response to his ministrations.
Finally they caught his lips in a kiss, and he was lost to them forever. He was so hungry for it. Affection, love, attention, they gave him all of it, and for a while they were twisting and writhing in each others arms. At times he would look at them and see a tail, others he spotted legs, as pale and bloodless blue as one could imagine. They were beautiful in an ethereal, undefinable sort of way. The kelp making up their long locks of hair floated around them, and with every laugh and every gasp it danced, reaching for sunlight that was fading fast as they made their descent.
They nibbled on his ear and mouthed something in his ear, and a second later they said it again, against his lips, his chest. Hands pawed and rubbed at him, no longer satisfied with merely holding. He was busy making sure every inch of skin was touching them always.
They pulled away and mouthed it again, but it was so dark he wasn’t sure what it was.
With a sigh they pulled away, despite his whimpers, and kissed him hard, teeth biting into his lip. Into his mouth they said it again and he thought they said, ‘Come back again.’ Before pushing him away and leaving him anchorless, drifting in the darkness.
With a rush of noise and adrenaline he hauled himself up, aiming for a distant sky, lungs screaming like never before, as if he hadn’t been breathing for minutes and minutes instead of hours in that twilight realm with the beautiful siren. He hit the surface approximately 40 feet before he expected to, and he spent a few moments gasping in air, coughing out spit he’d inhaled, and looking around wildly. Noise and light and the sharp taste of air made his world jagged around the edges. He caught hold of the sound – waves breaking – and used it to steady himself. Waves…that meant beach. He was back on the beach. He turned around, slowly, almost 180 degrees until he saw with relief the shore.
Quinn high stepped out of the waves and collapsed on the shore, chest heaving. He felt lightheaded and faint, and he blinked away the headache and dark spots dancing before his eyes. The sand was warm on his back, but he still felt chilled. He still felt the way those hands had held him, the imprints of teeth still felt on his lips.
He touched his face and examined himself for injury, but found none outside of a swollen lip.
What was that? He sat up after catching his breath and stared at the ocean for a long time. The light had turned orange with encroaching evening before he moved, getting up with more sores than he’d gone into the water with, and hobbling home. He managed to avoid everyone’s attention due to the Game, and slipped into the bathroom.
The face he saw in the mirror was wide-eyed and a little peaked. He felt hot, but that was likely from sun exposure. What caught his eye, however, were the bruises along his jaw and neck, perfect little circles of broken blood vessels. He stared at them and then touched them. Still sore, they’d happened recently.
Quinn met his reflections gaze, and grinned.