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I spend every waking hour replaying the terror on her face when she realized I was there watching her. Memorizing how the small downturn of her lips morphed into a scream and how her mouth, too, is useless, with dull little teeth that could never serve as a weapon in a fight.
It’s during a long swim that I realize that she reminds me of the dainty seashells that litter my ocean’s floor.
They’re fragile little things. Completely useless for anything other than gazing upon, with colors ranging from pale pink to light shades of orange and red. The kind of shell that cracks cleanly down the center when exposed to the slightest bit of pressure between just two of my fingers.
She’s just like these little trophy shells that are used for decoration and that's when I realize what she is. What she’s meant to be.
“A trophy.”
I rage in my lair when I realize what I’ve lost then, cracking dozens of pink seashells under my fingers and tentacles. I turn them to dust and watch their remains float amongst the clear waters and think about how it should be her instead.
I return to my lair the following night, and the sight of her stops me in my tracks.
She actually has returned, I think to myself. The shock reverberates around my head like crashing waves. She screamed in fear and ran away, obviously terrified for her life, and she came back anyway.
Were I a fragile human, I know that I would be able to feel my lips curl into a smile.
She sits at the edge of water with her legs tucked underneath her and one hand moving along the top of the water, barely skimming it. Her hand doesn’t venture any lower than the length of her fingertips as if she’s still afraid. When I catch her eyes searching the water, I realize she is.
She’s looking for me.
How easy it would be to dive forward and grab that little hand to pull her into the water. Her strength would fail against mine, and she’d have no choice but to be dragged all the way back to my lair. I would be able to see her at her most vulnerable. Wet and desperate.
When her eyes finally catch mine, her hand stops moving and she freezes completely.
It would be so easy…
I stay where I am instead, curiosity and allure pumping in my veins. She doesn’t scream like before. Instead, she slowly takes her hand out of the water and wipes it dry on her clothes. Her head tilts to one side, and her bottom lip quivers.
“Hello?” she calls out, voice softened by fear. “Is anyone there?”
She can’t see me completely, I realize, or else she wouldn’t ask such a ridiculous question. I watch her as she peers forward into the water, enough that it would only take the smallest of shoves to get her to pitch forward.
She’s bold, I’ll give her that. Or desperate.
I don’t respond to her, no matter how many times she calls out. I stay hidden in the darkest parts of the water until she eventually stands up with her arms wrapped around her midsection. She worries her bottom lip between her teeth, and I ache to pull her into my domain, but the worry and fear on her face is a vision that I cannot give up.
When she leaves, it is with soft footsteps that sound as loud as thunder as they echo through the cave walls. She’s careful not to slip into the water, eyeing it with a distrustful look. Her breaths are shaky and uneven, loud enough that I can hear them even from where I float. When she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, I’m struck with how deep my want is for her.
At the exit of the cave, she turns around and runs her eyes over the water once more. Our eyes meet, but she does not react this time, and I continue to watch her as she turns back around and steps out of view.
She is even more perfect than the shells on the seafloor, I decide. She is more precious than all of them combined, and I will have her.
I wait for her in the cave the next night, eager to see her take measured steps toward the water’s edge. She sits once again with her legs tucked underneath her, and this time I can see her hesitate before she dips her hand in the water.
“I feel you watching me,” she whispers. She stares down at the rippling water. “I can feel your eyes tracking my every move.”
I say nothing, willing her eyes to move from the ripples to my own gaze, desperate to see her face with clarity.
“Please, I just want to know I’m not crazy…”
Her voice is sad, scared, and delectable, and her hand stills just above the water’s surface. She carefully looks around, dragging her gaze along the water until her eyes meet mine and she freezes.
“Is that you?” she asks.
I say nothing.
We stay there, staring at each other for a lengthy bit of time. I don’t dare move my eyes from her, enraptured by her presence and my need to own her, and she doesn’t look away from me because of her own fear. Eventually, she stands but keeps her eyes on mine until she can take a full step away from the water’s edge.
