TW: some low-key suicidal thoughts.

elliot

I've decided. I'm going for a swim.

My parents' warnings are loud and strong in my head. Don't go swimming at night, because there's no one to see you if you drown. Don't go swimming at night, because it's easy enough as it stands to get lost in a riptide, and darkness doesn't help. Don't go swimming at night, because Hulhazy Front doesn't need it's own Natalie Wood story to tell its children.

Honestly? Whatever. What happens, happens.

I use my phone as a flashlight as I cross over the dunes. The sea is more violent than I think I've ever seen it. It reminds me of a visit to Tita's, the one where we watched Ponyo together and she told me that fish are all secretly women, which Mom just rolled her eyes and sighed at. In a very fuzzy retrospect, I think that particular comment was made just to wind her up. I'll laugh some other time.

I can hear how angry the sea is, as the tide slams up harder against the shore and the rain continues to pick up, fiercely peppering the ocean as a frigid wayward wind pummels the side of my face. The wind whistles, howls, screams. I feel it tousle my hair, feel it blow sand against my face. I don't even blink. I just bend down and remove my shoes. I don't even have to untie them this time—I never did in the first place.

I'm tempted to strip down to my undergarments, but strangely enough, I'm fine in just Duncan's well-worn marathon shirt and my ratchety Costco pants. I don't care about these. I don't really care about much of anything right now, except for the suddenly-all-consuming urge to feel the weight of the water against my limbs again, to swim for the first time in who knows how long. Sure, these clothes might slow me down, but I never needed speed. That's why I despised being competitive with it.

I just wanted to swim. It's been too long. How am I only just realizing this now?

I do a small stretching regimen before even touching the water. I'm doing this. I'm doing this for real. The tightness in my chest has already begun to dissipate, melting into my muscles, relaxing me.

Thunder rumbles off in the distance. A few seconds later, lightning follows, cracking through the sky like a whip. The storm has already soaked through my hair, my clothes—what's a little more water?

I'm not going to Natalie Wood myself. This will be fine. I can already imagine how cool the water will feel against my skin. How my limbs will slice through the water like air, the perfect mix of ease and athleticism. I've missed this so, so much. Too much.

I don't bother checking my phone before sliding it into my shoe. After a moment's hesitation, I remove Duncan's shirt and fold it neatly on top, followed by my too-loose Costco pants. I'm changing my mind. They're both too clunky to be useful. I stand shivering in just my sports bra—my nicest one, for Alyssa—and the pair of flannel men's boxer shorts Neema got me last Christmas.

At some point, the rain went from pleasantly warm to daggers of ice, but I know that I'll be fine as soon as I'm in the water. Everything will be fine once I'm in the water.

I shouldn't do this, I know. Just thinking about what a bad idea this is makes my shoulders shake, my eyes squeeze shut in an attempt to keep from crying. I don't need another bloody nose, after all.

I've been swimming for as long as I can remember. I'll be fine.

The sand clumps beneath my toes as I slowly wade out into the surf. The tide leaves me unsteady on my feet. It wants to bowl me over back into the beach, and it wants to tug me out, bring me closer. I wait till I'm up to my midthighs to dive in.

I take a moment to stare out at the blackness, the nothingness. Another flash of lightning breaks the dark of the night sky, and I see the ocean for just a second in all its vicious glory. Waves taller than myself not far off, rolling towards the beach faster than I had imagined. Bright white against choppy currents, lightning glinting against the inky black waves.

I think I'm crying again. There's too much rain, too much water, to be able to tell for sure, but with the way my whole body is shaking and aches so badly that all I can do is clutch my stomach and try to get my diaphragm to work again. Where the fuck is the air? I need air.

My parents are going to be so disappointed.

That's the thought that does it. The one that makes me realise what this is. And now, I'm definitely crying. I don't want to do this. I want to go home. I want to let my mom hug me, nice and tight and strong, and I want to watch stupid Eurovision reruns, and I want to tell them who I am, who I really am.

But ... what's the point? There's no coming back from tonight.

I don't want to. But I take a step forward.

I'm so cold. The rain has leaked into my bones, has chilled me to my core. I'm so tired. I knew this was coming. I should have realised it when the swim girls 'invited me back'—bullshit. Fucking. Bullshit. They get away with this, with ruining lives and forcing people's hearts up their throats. They get off on it, and they get away with it.

I just don't want to try anymore. It's too much.

Oh God. Duncan and Neema are going to be so upset. But also, there won't be an awkward third wheel anymore. Little bonuses, right? I laugh at the empty sea. It doesn't laugh back.

I know I don't want to do this. I haven't in a long time.

I should head back towards the shore.

This is ridiculously dangerous. And, honestly, the swim girls wouldn't even feel bad. My parents would, though. Duncan and Neema would be wrecks. And Alyssa?

I love them all.

I'm not gonna do this.

There's a screeching and honking, and I whirl around in the tide as it tugs at my legs to see Dusty Springfield the Van flying over the dunes, through the tall grass, and onto the beach. It screeches when it lands.

I stand still for a second, staring as Dusty's windshield wipers pound back and forth, back and forth. No way the suspension enjoyed that jump, I think. Then, the driver's side door swings open, and I'm running through the surf, a familiar warmth flooding through my veins, closely accompanied by relief.

Duncan flies out of the front seat like a mad man on a mission. "WHY ARE YOU IN THE FUCKING OCEAN, ELLIOT?!" he screams, bolting to meet me as I spring out of the tide and onto the beach. He engulfs me in his arms and knocks me over, and I hit my head on his head, and I don't even care. I can't stop laughing, and he's laughing too, and we're also crying and trying to knock the other over into the water. I think my bloody nose is back. I don't care.

"Please don't tell me you were—" he starts.

"No," I assure him, taking a breath so deep that my bones rattle. "I was coming back in."

"Okay," he whispers. "But you need to tell your parents you went out in the first place."

I nod slightly. "You're right. I need to tell them a lot of things. Like Alyssa, for starters."

"Oh, shit—dude, she's in the backseats. She ... I don't know what's wrong."

I pick myself up immediately and scramble through the sand, back to Dusty, whose driver side door still swings ajar. I tear open the back door, and there's Alyssa.

She doesn't look back at me, but she whispers, "I'm so sorry."

I'm already racing around to the other side of the car, ignoring the tall grass tearing at my legs and scraping my feet, and opening the opposite door. The overhead lights are on, and I can see the state of her legs, which dangle off the edge of the seats. My guts twist.

Her legs are sickly green in the light, but only because of the scales pressing up beneath them. I can see them now, some of them already having sliced through her flesh. Little trickles of blood have already dried. Her feet are already pressed together at the heels, but I try not to focus on that. Instead, I look at those cute rainbow shorts of hers. Why are they still on?

"I can't move," she says, closing her eyes. If her face were closer, I'd wipe away the tears rolling down her cheeks. "I wanted to take them off. I wanted to come find you. I-I couldn't."

I shake my head and push my sopping wet hair away from my eyes. "Don't even worry about it, baby."

"'Baby?'" Her laugh sounds sincere, but pained. "That's so hetero."

"Sweetcakes. Wait, no, sweetbread." I gently place my hands on her thighs. She doesn't react. With light fingers, I try to gauge the strength of these shorts. They're cute, but they've got to come off, and if her feet are already ... merging, then there's only one option.

The shorts are thin and flimsy. "Yeah, I think I'm going to call you 'Sweetbread' from now on. That's your official petname."

I don't know if she even realises what I'm doing. "Sweetbread?" she murmurs. "You're Sweetbread."

"Fine. I can be Sweetbread. But that means you have to be Fishsticks." Weirdly, I feel like a chiropractor as I lift Alyssa's legs up back on the seats, precise and ginger. I find the center seam of the shorts and cross my fingers that my forearms are secretly sicker than they look.

"It sounds like we're naming cats," she says. Her chest shakes slightly with laughter for like two seconds, and then she sucks in this painted breath. I hurry up on the seam, and holy fuck, it tears just a tiny bit.

"We can get cats. We could be cat gays. We could be cute roommates with a rescue kitten named Cookie or something." I manage to fit my index finger through the hole, and the rest of the seam becomes much easier. I gently shift them up Alyssa's torso.

Her adorable penguin granny pannies are my next unfortunate target. "I don't like cats," she murmurs.

"Yeah? Me either, honestly." They come off much quicker than the shorts. "I'm more of a dog girl myself."

There's a tap on my shoulder. I whirl around, shielding Alyssa's now-semi-bare body from Duncan. "Duncan!" I say, grinning and cocking my head. "Uhhh, Alyssa is having a-a moment? We should go over here. No, wait, over there. Yeah, over there."

I make sure her feet are clear before shutting the door. "Soooo," I say, "what's up?"

"Is she okay?" Duncan asks, running a hand through his soggy, floppy hair. The rain has stopped, I realise. The sunrise is just starting to peek out above the break in what was a wall of clouds not ten minutes ago. I guess the storm has passed. "I can go get something, if that would help?"

Scissors. I think I pulled something in my right forearm. "You're good. She just needs to wait it out. I'll probably get her some ice cream later."

"I can grab some, if it would help," he insists. "It's no problem. I know you guys have a Hard Cow fetish."

I snort, then lean forward to hug him. "I don't deserve you, Duncan."

He squeezes me so tight that at least half of my ribs snap, crackle, and pop. "Nah, Elliot, you deserve all the amazing things in your life. Especially me. You deserve the best parts of the world. So. Especially me."

I adjust my arm so I can wipe my nose. I have to blink away tears. "Duncan, what the hell? Shut up. No you."

"I love you," he whispers. "So much."

"I love you more. You're amazing. For a dork."

He squeezes, and I squeeze, and we both just stand there for who knows how long, holding each other like our lives depend on it.

"You scared me," he says. "I was so worried that you weren't going to be okay. I should have made you stay. I should have gone to your parents, or, just, something. I'm sorry I wasn't the best at dealing with today."

I pull away so I can meet his gaze. "Don't you think that for one second."

"No, I—"

"You were amazing today, Duncan. You're the best fucking best friend in the whole fucking world, you dumb-dumb." I bring him close again. "You can't talk bad about yourself. It's my job to beat the shit out of anyone who says anything bad about my best friend."

He snorts. "What, with these weak little chicken arms?" Duncan pulls away and lifts my arms up by the wrists, then makes them flop around. "Aw, the chicken is dancing."

"Why are you already a middle-aged dad?" I'm smiling. When he finally drops my arms, I go to pat my pockets before I realise I'm in boxers and a sports bra. "My keys are in my car, if you want to go home. We don't need Mama Nelson getting mad at either of us."

"We most certainly do not, no."

"Yeah, I only like it when she gets mad at me on our own, private time."

Duncan laughs, shakes his head, and walks up the roughed-up dunes, flipping me off as he struts. I really don't deserve him. At all. If there's any kind of best friend to have, though, maybe it should be one you don't deserve.

I slide the van door back open, where Alyssa's tail is on full display. Her eyes are shut, her breathing steady. One arm has migrated to above her head, the other, on her stomach. I think she's asleep. It's too cute. Especially now that I'm realising she's in my sweatshirt.

Fuck. Heart. Boom. Ahhhh.

I make sure she's not too cramped, and that she's not in a position she'll regret tomorrow, then grab my clothes and phone before heading up to the passenger-side seat to wait.

There's an incoming call when I sit down. I blink, then glance back at Alyssa.

"Chlo?"

A/N - So I guess things happened in this chapter, huh?

LITERALLY I'VE BEEN WRITING FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MONTHS AND IT FEELS SO GOOOOD!