Page 43 of Sink With Me

His responsive hum is unfocused. I can feel his eyes trail my form, making me shiver like it’s his hands touching me instead.

“You were trying to swim after someone…” The low rumble of his voice pulls my attention to how his lips curve around the words. My stomach churns from the statement. I know he's expecting me to elaborate, to explain but–

“You almost died going after him.” He continues, I can't look him in the eye anymore. I've tried to push back that memory–him. It’s too personal, I shouldn't talk to Tide about the things he has no right knowing. Then again, he's told me things he shouldn't have either.

“Daymen.” I say quietly. Hearing his name out loud hurts more than it should or maybe it's just the idea of knowing I couldn't save him. I bring my sight back up to tides with a smile that does little to hide my inner turmoil.

“I don't have many people in this world.” I speak the words more to myself than I do to him, focusing on the wall past his head so he can't see my weakness. It's a reminder of everything he's taken while he's been allowed to protect the rest of the people he cares for. How can someone so evil make you feel so much at once? Anger, sadness… happiness. My fingers bunch into my shirt.

Pulling me from my thoughts he brushes his knuckles along my cheek, pushing a stray hair behind my ear.

Damn it, Sharkie.

“Yes, you do.” His voice is firm, bringing my attention to the soft gleam reflecting in his eyes from the TV, unknowing of the way the words affect me. Just as quickly as his hand is on me, it's gone. I hate the way I want to lean into him for more. I lay back, letting my head fall on the pillow.

“Why do you fight against us?” I ask, my hands landing on my stomach. For once, I let my thumbs brush over each other in view. It's a tick Dutton couldn't take away, it keeps me grounded on something physical that I know is real. Being able to feel the rough texture of the pad of my thumb turn into the hard lining of my nail in slow circles helps even my breathing. His body shifts away, surely remembering who I actually am because now there’s a space between us that feels like we’re standing on opposite sides of the ocean.

“What type of question is that?” He mumbles, each syllable carrying the rage he hides. Just when I think there is something–as dangerous as an idea it is–he has to go and fuck it up. Or is it me? I don’t fucking know, but I do know I’m furious. How can he treat me like a human but not realize the damage he’s done?

“Your faction is the whole reason the world is why it is. You’re always so greedy, taking what you don’t deserve and when you don’t get what you want you throw a tantrum, destroying everything in your way!”

I toss up my hands and my body follows the action as my voice grows with every word.

“Your father was known for having a temper. What was it? Was it because they had a ship in your waters? Was it because you wanted the land, too?”

Suddenly, my prison cell sounds more inviting than this right here. Before I can fully stand, his hand is on my wrist, and I’m being yanked towards the bed with such a force my head jerks back. He kneels on the mattress making a very obvious dent in the sheets, but he looks at me with those deep green eyes and something flashes over them.

“What are you talking about, Cordelia?” He asks through clenched teeth. Why does everyone here act like I’m the person in the wrong? They look at me like I’m trying to set the world on fire, but he hasn’t looked at me like that in a while. It hurts honestly, in ways it shouldn’t. This is why I hate feelings.

“Yes, the first war was unfortunate. However, what happened to your parents–to you–isn’t some childish ‘tantrum’. I already told you we didn’t do it.”

While he’s speaking, I try to yank my arm away, but his grip only gets tighter. Nothing makes sense.

“Let me go.”

I’m tired of this back and forth. He doesn’t even know what he’s talking about and I’m not going sit here and argue with an idiot.

“Unfortunately for you I’ll never be able to let go, so you might as well get used to it.”

I hate him, I always have, so I don’t know why now it feels like I’m forcing myself to remember the fact. He raises his free hand in my direction, causing me to jerk my head to the side out of instinct.

“Just talk to me, make me understand.” His voice lowers to a whisper, the pad of his thumb brushing against my throat where that stupid minor cut has already healed. My chest swells with the breath I take. I don’t know what possesses me, maybe it’s spite or maybe it’s the monster inside finally breaking its way out but I gather saliva in the corner of my mouth, spitting it onto his chest.

“The first war wasn’t unfortunate. It was a product of pure insanity. Chaos was what your father made it, all because he didn’t like the idea of being kept under wraps. Just because you call it Depth now doesn’t mean your slate is wiped clean.”

I wipe my mouth with the back of my arm, relishing in the ticking of his jaw while he drags his finger along the wet streak on his chest with a look of pure disdain on his face. Not so obsessed now, is he?

“Our vows were simple: clean the mess, protect the land and sea, and be nothing more to the world than a calling card if they need it. To provide and protect in secret. It’s never enough for you guys though.”

“Is that what you call it? Providing, protecting? If I recall correctly all you do is kill those who are upholding their vows.” The mockery in his tone sets my teeth on edge. We mock each other regularly. It’s a language between us, but now it feels… it feels... Why is it so hard to breathe? I’ve avoided the feeling of drowning for days, but at this moment water is surrounding me and I can’t keep my head above long enough. I can feel my chest expanding, but nothing is happening. Everything’s a blur. It shouldn’t feel like this. Maybe I can just kill him now and get it over with.

“I’ll never deny the first incident, but I’m not apologizing for the second. You need to get your pretty little head checked if you believe we didn’t learn from Chaos.”

“You’re not doing this, you’re not twisting me against what I know. They’re dead. It’s your fault, it’s all–” I try to take a step back because I can’t even recognize my voice through the choked-back sob, but he’s still holding on tight enough I think I’ve lost feeling in my fingers.

“I see.” His voice is so close I’m sure it’s in my ear. All I can feel is pressure around my body and a heavy thumping against my chest. I hate him, especially now that his scent is sticking to me and my chest is slowly mimicking his.

“Do you know how my father made his war dogs? Torture, not training. It's manipulative. The pain mixed with whatever tactic he chose.” He pauses with a grunt when I try to punch him in the stomach. I know what he’s getting at, but it’s not true. “He could force a brain to believe false information. In the end, it gave him full control of the person. They’d never turn, and they’d follow through with their mission. It took me a while to understand the extent to which it messed with a person's head until I pulled Sam from prison.”

---