Page 30 of Currents of Desire

We reach the water’s edge. The mud sucks at my boots. I lower her gently, letting her slide from my arms until her tail rests in the shallow, churning muck.

She uses her arms to push herself up slightly, her tail shifting in the mud as she props herself against the slick bank. She looks at the murky water, and I see a visible wave of relief wash over her. Her gills, faint slits on her neck now, flutter in anticipation of the liquid.

She turns to face me, the water lapping at her waist.

This is it.

The beat where the movie ends, and the music swells. But there is no music, just the dripping of water from the trees and the distant caw of a gull returning to the coast.

“Nerida,” I start, but I don’t know how to finish the sentence. Stay? Take me with you? I love you? All of them feel inadequate.

She steps closer, closing the small gap between us. She reaches up and places her hands on my face. Her palms are rough now, like fine sandpaper, but I lean into them.

“Do not wait for me,” she says fiercely.

“I will,” I say immediately.

“No,” she corrects. “Do not expect me. The ocean is… vast. The politics of the deep are shifting. I killed a scout. There will be consequences. I may have to go deep, Jack. Deeper than I have ever gone. I may not be able to come back to the surface for a long time.”

“I don’t care,” I say. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m fixing the house. I’m staying right here.”

She studies my face, searching for something. “You are stubborn like a barnacle.”

“I prefer ‘loyal limpet.’ ”

The hard line of her mouth softens. “Jack.”

“Yeah?”

“I cannot promise you I will return.”

“I know.”

“And I cannot ask you to wait.”

“You’re not asking,” I tell her. “I’m volunteering.”

She lets out a soft sound, something between a laugh and a sob. She leans her forehead against mine. I close my eyes, breathing in her scent of salt, rain, and that underlying, electric ozone smell that is uniquely hers.

“Then take this,” she whispers. “So you aren't alone in the silence.”

She kisses me.

It isn’t like the ones before—hot, desperate, full of teeth and need. The second her lips meet mine, a shockwave rips through my body. My mouth floods with the taste of raw brine, so thick I almost gag. A freezing pressure blooms in my chest, expanding against my ribs until it aches.

My ears pop.

The silence shatters. I can hear everything.

Water rushes over the rocks in the creek bed, but it’s not just noise anymore. I can hear the individual currents, the friction of silt against stone. I can hear the heartbeat of a crab buried three feet down in the mud. I can hear the distant, rhythmic thrum-thrum-thrum of the ocean miles away, crashing against the shore.

It’s a roar in my head, a constant, low-frequency hum that vibrates in my teeth.

She pulls back.

I gasp, staggering slightly, clutching my chest. The world looks sharper. The water at our feet doesn’t look brown anymore, and I can sense the life teeming inside it.

“What…” I wheeze. “What did you do?”