Page 43 of Drenched

I laughed, bitter and sharp. “Beauty? I’m not here for beauty. I’m here to survive.”

“You could do both,” he replied, his tone almost gentle. “If you’d trust me.”

Trust. That word twisted something in my chest, but I shoved it down. “I don’t need your help,” I said, keeping my eyes on the algae paste. It was failing. I was failing. No matter how much I ground or mixed, it refused to cooperate. My fingers shook as I worked, but I kept going anyway, trying to ignore the pressure building in my head.

“You’re pushing too hard,” Rynar said softly. “You’ll, “

“Stop talking about me!” I snapped, slamming the pestle down harder. “Just stop.”

He didn’t reply, but I felt his gaze on me and it made my skin crawl, making me want to scream. Yet, in some infuriating way, it anchored me, like a tether I didn’t understand but couldn’t sever. And that pissed me off more than anything.

“What do you want from me?” I finally blurted, not caring how desperate I sounded. “Why do you care?”

“Because you are mine,” he said simply.

The words hit me harder than they should have. “I’m not yours,” I said, my voice trembling. “I don’t belong to anyone.”

His expression didn’t change, but something in his gaze shifted, something sharper, more determined. Before I could react, he moved.

His hands were on me before I even realized it, lifting me like I weighed nothing. A gasp ripped from my throat as the pestle clattered to the ground, forgotten. My fists pounded against his chest, but it was like hitting stone. He didn’t even flinch.

“What are you doing?” I shouted, my voice sharp with panic. “Rynar, put me down, “

“Trust me,” he said, his voice calm but firm.

“No!” I screamed, struggling harder as he carried me toward the pool. “Don’t you dare, “

The rest of my protest was swallowed by the rush of water as he plunged us both beneath the surface.

“Showing you,” he said, calm as ever.

“Showing me what?” I thrashed in his grip, trying to twist free, but it was pointless. His arms were like iron bands. “Put me down, Rynar! Now!”

He didn’t listen. He stepped into the pool, dragging me with him. The cold water hit me like a slap, stealing the breath from my lungs as it closed over us. My scream turned into bubbles, rising uselessly to the surface as he pulled me deeper.

I panicked. My legs kicked, my hands clawed at his arms, but it was useless. My chest burned as my lungs screamed for air. I twisted harder, my nails scraping his skin, but his grip stayed firm.

“You’re killing me!” I wanted to yell, but all that came out were more bubbles. My vision blurred as my chest tightened, the pressure crushing me. This was it. I was going to die.

His voice slid into my head. “Breathe, Pearl.”

I shook my head wildly, my panic sharp and instinctive. “I can’t,” I thought, the words jagged and desperate. “I’ll drown.”

His eyes softened, but his grip didn’t loosen. “Trust me,” he whispered into my mind.

I wanted to fight, to scream that I didn’t trust him, but my body betrayed me. My chest heaved, the last of my air escaping in a rush of bubbles, and I couldn’t hold it anymore. The water rushed in, filling my lungs.

But instead of the icy sting of drowning, there was… nothing. The burning stopped. The pressure eased. The water wasn’t suffocating me, it was flowing through me, cool and steady, like it belonged there. My hands stilled, my limbs going slack as my body adjusted to the impossible.

I touched my neck, my fingers brushing over the faintly glowing scars. They pulsed gently, warm against the cold water. Then it hit me—a sudden, undeniable realization. The scars weren’t just marks anymore. They were functioning, breathing for me. They had become gills.

“What… what’s happening?” My voice wavered, distorted by the water but still audible.

He steadied me, his black eyes holding mine with an intensity that made the world around us fade. “The algae,” he said simply. “It has fused with you. You’re no longer tied to the surface.”

I froze, my hands hovering over my neck as I tried to process his words. But it wasn’t just my neck. My eyes drifted downward, to the scars scattered across my body—on my wrists, my thighs, my stomach. All the places I’d once cut myself. They were glowing softly, and I could feel them working. The water passedthrough them, like they had become part of me. Like they had always been waiting for this moment.

Each breath felt different now—calm, steady, seamless. The water moved into my lungs, into my blood, like a second heartbeat I hadn’t known I needed. A strange, eerie harmony filled me, as though the scars that had once symbolized pain were now keeping me alive.

---