Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 97188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97188 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 486(@200wpm)___ 389(@250wpm)___ 324(@300wpm)
Which is exactly what he did.
I swallow hard. “We had a monthlong affair, and when I woke up one morning, he was gone and he’d taken part of me with him.”
The theft hurt. Of course it did. It always hurts to lose part of yourself, to have it carved from you with selfish actions. But for him to be the one to do it? It made me doubt every instinct I have. I truly believed that he cared for me, and the entire time he was only manipulating me to get what he wanted. Shame is a toxic emotion inside me, and I can admit now that it was probably intentional on his part to make me feel this way. Shame and humiliation ensured I wouldn’t go to others for help, that I would try to do it on my own.
Which meant I was certain to fail.
“I see.” Lizzie examines her fingernails. They’re long and sharp, and I’m honestly not certain how she managed to keep their shape while working on the Audacity. “When we take back your skin, we’ll take his heart, too.”
She says the words so casually that it takes my brain several beats to catch up. I blink. “You mean that literally.”
“That wasn’t a question, so I’m not going to answer.” She drops her hand and gives me an intense look that makes me fight not to squirm on my bench. “I won’t offer you sympathy because it’ll only make you feel worse in this moment. I certainly won’t give you pity. Even if you never recovered your pelt, you would be fine eventually. Instead, I offer revenge.”
She speaks with such confidence that I almost fall into the trap of believing her. That eventually this awful feeling in my chest will go away even if I fail. I shake my head and make an attempt to turn the conversation into safer territory. “Are you sure you’re not offering sympathy because you’re shit at sympathy?”
Her grin is quick and fierce. “That, my dear selkie, was a question.” Her grin widens as I sputter out a protest. It’s half-hearted at best, because I like this break in her cold persona. She leans forward. “And to answer that question, I am garbage at sympathy. I prefer to be a creature of action. If someone hurts me or those I care about, I cut them down without mercy. It provides closure, which I think is more useful than soft words and gentle hugs. Besides, I’m good at killing people. I’m not good at comfort. And I prefer to spend my life only doing things I’m good at.”
I haven’t known this woman long, but that’s such a purely Lizzie answer that I laugh. “That’s one way to go about things.” A spare tear escapes from the corner of my eye, and I wipe it away quickly, hoping she didn’t see. But of course she did. She seems to see everything. “Personally, I think a gentle hug or a soft word can go a long way.”
She shrugs. “There are other people better suited to provide that sort of comfort.”
It’s enough to make me wonder if she was never offered comfort that way, so that’s why she doesn’t know how to give it. Given what she’s said about her mother, it seems likely. I can hardly imagine growing up without an abundance of love. I may have avoided telling my mother and grandmother about the mistake I made that cost me everything, but it’s not because I think that they’ll condemn me. They would never.
But it would hurt them to know that I’m hurt, and I want to spare them that if I can. What about your absence? a little voice inside me whispers. Doesn’t that hurt them, too? I push the thoughts away. It’s too late to worry about now. I’ll make things right when I return home. Hopefully.
Lizzie tilts her head back and sighs. “What’s your mother like?”
It’s nothing more than a repeat of my question to her, in slightly different form. But it’s also an intentional pivot away from challenging topics. A relief, even if it’s only temporary. Does she realize that she’s being kind in this moment? Impossible to say. I think she might be better at comfort than she realizes, but I’m not about to point it out. I have a feeling she wouldn’t take the observation well.
“She’s the best mother I could have ever asked for,” I finally say.
“Details. Obey the spirit of the game.”
I try to tuck my hair behind my ears, but the breeze immediately flips my curls around my face. I huff and give up. “My father was never in the picture. He didn’t die or anything dramatic like that. At least I don’t think he did. I suspect he was one of the sailors who passes through. My mother never really wanted a relationship, but she did want a child. And so she had me.” It’s so easy to picture her in my mind’s eye. We have the same coloring, pale skin with freckles, wild curly red hair. She’s built leaner than I am, but only slightly. “I’ve never doubted for a moment that she loves me. She’s always there to lean on. She is one of those people that’s very good at warm hugs and kind words.”