I sit for hours, wrapped up in his cloak, wrapped up in the intoxicating scent of him. Waiting for him to return. Waiting for him to come and comfort me.
But he doesnât.
And eventually, it sinks in: heâs not coming. He wonât be coming.
He doesnât care after all.
My tears start to fall so heavily then because this is it, isnât it? The proof, the final piece of evidence that I should have seen all along.
King Helos has played me just like all of them.
My body hurts so much. I know I am covered in bruises, beaten and battered, but nothing hurts as much as what Helos has done to me. None of my physical pain compares to it.
I start to really cry, and my tears are coming out with great, heaving sobs because I am so exhausted by what I am and what the world has created of me.
Everyone wants to hurt me, everyone wants to use me, to turn me into something less than human.
But Helosâ¦I trusted him.
I stupidly, foolishly trusted him against my better judgment, against all my instincts, and his betrayal hurts me so much more.
I let him in, I dropped my walls, and for a small moment, I believed he might just save me, but look how wrong I was.
He didnât care about me; he probably didnât even think of me as more than anything to fuck, to extol his own pleasure from.
He played me, and like an idiot, I fell for it.
I sit here, shaking, knowing those so-called kings, those so-called warlords did nothing that any other man would not do given half a chance. Nothing Issar hasnât done and wonât do when Helos hands me back over to him.
And I have no doubt now that he will do it.
I am worth nothing to him.
I mean nothing to him, and soon my life will be nothing when Issar gets me back in his clutches.
I wipe my tears, but more fall, and it is pointless. I thought Issar was a monster, the worst kind of monster, but Helos is worse, so much worse.
The way Helos has hurt me, the way he has treated me compares to nothing Issar has done.
And then I realize what I can do.
What I should have done so long ago.
My only option to protect myself, to defend myself, to make sure I am safe from all these monsters who only seek to use me.
I throw off his cloak and walk into the bathroom, shutting the door behind me, and I prop the chair against it for good measure.
Slowly, I turn the taps and fill the bath. The water splashes just as merrily as ever, only this time I do not feel joy, I do not feel excitement.
I fight down the confusion that the creature is feeling, because in her mind, after what has just happened, now is not the time to be bathing, and she is right.
I ignore the salt, and sit temptingly on the side. I have no use for it. Not for this bath.
And then I sit and watch as it slowly fills.
I am a thing of water. Itâs true; I need water to live, to thrive, but I am also a thing of the land. I need oxygen, the earth. The combination of both is what keeps me alive.
My breathing is slow and controlled.
I am calm and logical in my thinking as I watch the water slowly, hypnotically creep up, and when itâs full, I turn the taps off and climb in.
And as I submerge myself, I know I will not be climbing back out again.
***
I lie unmoving for days. My only sign of life is the occasional bubble as a tiny bit of my oxygen seeps out.
I can breathe, exist, live underwater if I must for a while, but eventually, I have to come to the surface. I have to let oxygen in or I drown.
And that is exactly what I am planning on doing.
I have my eyes shut, and in a way, it is almost peaceful. The creature in me is calm because as yet we are not in any danger. But soon she will realize. Soon she will know that I need to move, that I need to swim, to float, to breathe.
I am ready for her. Ready for when she tries to fight; when she realizes what is happening, she does fight. She fights so hard. And yet I am the stronger one. I beat her down, beat her into submission, and in the end, she gives in, unable to stop me.
It is my body, not hers, after all.
Though she exists in it, though we cohabit it, it is still mine to do as I please, and in this, I am the one who decides. And I have.
If I look, I know the evidence of our fight will be there though, on my skin.
Her scales, her beautiful, pearl-like scales are all over me. I know I am covered in patches of them and my only regret is that I cannot open my eyes and see them.
That I will die having never seen their beauty. Her beauty. The most primitive part of me that has never been allowed out. Never been set truly free.
The water is seeping in. Bit by bit. Particle by particle. I can feel it soaking into me, drenching me, and a part of me is relieved that it is so gentle.
Of all the ways to die, this surely must be one of the best because I will not suffer. I will not be in pain.
Even in my last moments, I will simply drift, merging with the water that gives me life, allowing it to gently take mine away.
I donât even feel sad. In my heart, I feel almost happy because as the water seeps further, I can feel them, my family; they are here, they are close.
I can almost reach out and touch them, and if I could, I would gasp because it has been so long since Iâve seen them, since Iâve felt their presence.
So long since Iâve been safe too.
But soon I will be.
I will be back where I belong, in the water, in my world where I am at peace and none of these men can ever hurt me again.
***
The water has done its job. I have lain unmoving for almost ten days now.
I know I am close. So close. Tantalizingly close.
No one has tried the door. No one has even thought to check on me, though I know the chair will hold them off a while, and now I am minutes away from it.
From my death.
The water is almost at my core. It has seeped so deep into me that I donât even feel human anymore, though there is a tiny part of me that still is.
I feel at peace. I have lost my anger, my hate, even my pain now. All of it has been washed away, and now I am ready for what is to come next. My essence will meld with the water around me, and in a way, I will live on.
I will be free.
Free of all it, and I will return to the ocean.
To my home. To where I belong.
But as I start to meld, as I feel the last of my life ebbing into it, I hear the door slamming against the chair.
They are coming. They are going to stop me.
~He~ is going to stop me.
I canât move. I canât fight. I pray that I have the few seconds I need to die, but as the two sides of the water touch inside me and I merge, he is already pulling me from the water. Pulling me out.
He pulls my body into his chest and he is shouting. I can hear the desperation in his voice as it rings out against the almost complete emptiness of my body.
âI canât lose you. Not like this. Not like her,â he whispers as he holds me against him, rocking me.
And then I gasp. Gods, I gasp.
And my lungs take in that hated oxygen, and it is over, all of it.
I am alive, the water is seeping back out of me, and he has condemned me once more.