Page 7 of Sink With Me

I’m so close to him. I can almost feel his body sinking into the sand that surrounds me. You better believe I will be pulling him out his watery cave and beaching him in a six-foot pit.

“Oh, and Cordi?” My attention turns back to Dutton as the doors begin to slide closed.

“Yes, sir?”

He leans forward, placing his elbows on the desk and pointing one long, shaming finger at me.

“Wipe that fucking smile off your face.”

Date: 4-24-2024

Time: 1446

Fucking prick. I’ve been seething over our interaction since it happened. My hand puppets his mouth mocking his statement as I storm down the promenade.

Wipe that smile off your face.

I feel like a child the way I’m acting and I’m sure the people passing by would more than agree or maybe think I’m simply insane, but I’m so used to releasing my pent-up irritation in the field that I don’t know what to do in a normal society at this point. I shake my head uncaring, it’s not like I’ll see any of their faces again and it’s not like they even know my name.

Deep breaths, stop being so dramatic it’s not that serious. After all, he’s doing the best job and making my job that much easier. I just wish he’d stop treating me as if I was his child, or worse, his subordinate. He’s only in his position because of me anyway.

Fuck, I wish he’d just keep his space, that’s what makes me so irritated. I do my job how he wants me to do it. Unlike before, there's no reason for him to try and intimidate me. He succeeded in his mission, making me the ‘secret weapon’ he always dreamed of having.

That fried food smell greets me again, seeping its scent out of the booths lining the boardwalk, wafting through the humid dusk breeze, drawing me towards them. Subtle hints of cotton candy and salty sea mist mingle in a satisfying way, making me wish I would’ve just saved my growling stomach for something better than lukewarm pizza. I dig the heels of my combat boots into the wooden planks below me, abruptly halting as a pair of kids take off sprinting across my path, holding their tickets proudly above their heads.

After I had left Bay’s headquarters, I immediately texted Karma. Luckily, the homebody agreed to leave her apartment to meet me at the seafront fair. Dragging her away from any screen is a feat, I figure it’s because she’s so used to staying attached to the action, to me.

I wonder what she’d be like if she wasn’t some twisted version of a secretary. When I met her, she was a timid thing, always jumping at the smallest touch and never speaking too loudly. She’s grown since, now a social butterfly when the situation is right, of course.

Blue and white lights follow above the metal railing, floating gently in the wind and illuminating the slowly dimming sky. The sight is so beautiful that I hardly notice Karma’s bright red hair swaying accompanied by an overly dramatic wave of her hand. My chest warms from her crooked smile.

Karma is the type of beauty that makes you question if angels fall from heaven, despite her always saying the devil kissed her head himself. I’d say God just didn’t notice when she fell through the gates and landed here.

She was the first person I met when joining Bay, ranking as a Private the same as me, which was odd since she’s older. She never wanted to get too close to the sparring mat or even glance toward the firing range, yet with logistics she was a natural. I guess you can say we grew together, four years of her standing by my side. She coded the way for me to climb the ranks.

“Cordelia!” she screeches, making me wince from the pitch.

“Ahh, so now you’ll use my name?” I taunt, relishing in the light-hearted atmosphere that surrounds us. It’s a rare thing, especially when most of our time together recently has been her telling me where the closest target is, not to mention she’s been more irritable than usual. I’m sure it’s just because we operate non-stop, always pushing through despite the chronic lack of sleep, lack of food… lack of time. When we hit a dead end, we have to go even harder; it’s been a lot of dead ends lately.

Being with her always calms my head. She reminds me that not everything is bloodshed and shark bait. At its core, I just don’t like being alone, and that’s why I cling to her so hard—she accepts it without a second thought. She needs my companionship as badly as I need hers.

“You know how it goes, I can’t—”

“Say a pretty name while I’m doing vile things.” I mock, allowing her arm to hook through mine as she guides us through the dense crowd and towards the ferris wheel. I may hate bodily touch, but something about Karma screams safety; not to mention how she always moans if I don’t show her some sort of affection. Her love language is physical touch. Mines is more the ‘gift-giving-but-I’ll-stay-six-feet-away-at-all-times’ type. My gift to her today can be letting her drag me onto this goddamn rotating deathtrap.

“How’re you doing? Being home, I mean.” Her words are spoken as if they are meant to blend into the air, soft, almost unnoticeable. I never know how to answer that question, no matter how many times she asks it. It doesn’t feel like my home anymore. Home is out across the world, flashing through various countries and cities. Home is rain painting my skin as I walk through unknown lands. Home is freedom, not here where I’m plagued with memories of my parents and what could’ve been with the turn of every corner, constantly reminded of the life I once had and the opportunity that slipped through my fingers. I try to fight off the visions of them laughing inside a restaurant we pass by or swinging me along the beach, but it’s near impossible.

My head tilts up at the wheel, my throat fighting against my swallow as we reach the ticket booth. The usher gingerly takes our hands to lead us into a small cabin. Per usual, Karma shoots him a cheeky smile and he returns the gesture with a wink while I settle onto the bench, wrapping my fingers tightly along the edge, mentally preparing for my stomach to drop the moment we start moving.

“Don’t look over the side, Sharkie. You might get scared.” My dad’s head tilts back with his laugh, making the basket sway slightly.

My nails dig into the bench. I hate this.

“Don’t listen to him, love, just take a peek.” Mom’s voice is reassuring as always. “How are you supposed to swim lengths if you can’t fly heights as well? Just breathe.”

I look between them both. Dad’s movements are almost in slow motion as his arm wraps around me, eyes shining as bright as the stars in the sky as he stares at my mom.

I hoped one day to have a carefree love like that, but now I have too many demons in my closet.

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