No. She would never forget. Not in a hundred mermaid years.
When the boy didn’t stop staring, she crossed her arms and searched for the anger that eternally lingered an inch beneath her surface.
“There is goodness in them,” the Sorceress had said. “Give them a chance.”
“They’ve had their chance.” Coral was tired of having the same argument. Why couldn’t her grandmother see humans for what they were? “They wasted their chance and now the crown princess is gone.”
Her father had been right all along. And Jordan.
Coral hated them for it.
“I’m Merrick, by the way.”
“You said that. Merrick,” she repeated. Why did this name taste different from all the others?
“Be careful.”
The once–future queen’s words rose, and Coral made them her own. She had no intention of falling for a human as her sister had, no matter how nice he seemed. Coral would get her revenge and return to the sea. That was the plan.
And nothing would alter it.
But he’d said he knew a prince.
“Where can I find him? The prince.”
“I looked for you afterward. That night.”
Was he avoiding her question? “Okay. Thank you?”
He scratched the back of his head.
A car pulled up to the curb.
“Coral,” she said quickly.
“Coral?”
“My name.”
Now it was Merrick’s turn to eye her. Did he think she was lying?
The car’s passenger-side window rolled down. “Hi, dear, did you have a good time?”
Coral looked at her grandmother, then back at Merrick.
“Who’s this nice young man?” her grandmother asked.
Merrick opened his mouth at the same time Coral said, “No one. Let’s go.” She winced at her own harsh words. Then winced again for caring. What was wrong with her? She shouldn’t care what this human felt.
“Okay.” Merrick opened the door for her. “I’ll see you next week then?”
“She’ll be back, son. Don’t you worry.” Her grandmother winked at him and heat rose to Coral’s cheeks as she climbed inside the car.
Merrick closed the door and leaned down. He offered his pinky. “I’ll tell you about the prince next time?” He waited there with his elbow on the open window frame. Whispered, “Coral.”
She looked back at her grandmother who pretended not to notice their exchange. She didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea. She only wanted to use the human to find the prince her sister had mentioned.
She linked her pinky with his and shook it once, then released. Coral would not let it go past that. No doubt he wanted the same thing her sister’s prince had taken. This boy hoped to crush her heart and leave her in time for Red Tide to rear its ugly crest.
He reached out to me. He cared when no one else—
No. She would not allow herself to return to that naive way of thinking. That had been before the Abyss. Before the crown princess’s tears and human legs and Red Tide and Duke’s glare and Jordan’s disregard and Father’s—
Coral blinked away the sting in her eyes. She pulled the button on the door and the window rose.
The boy watched her through the glass. She could feel his gaze even after they drove away.
“He seemed nice,” her grandmother said when they pulled onto Main Street.
Coral offered no comment. She was tired of everything. She was . . . tired. Beyond the glass, streetlights winked and shop lights blinked off for the evening. She clutched her notebook. These pages were the only ones who understood.
Coral had taken to writing down whatever she could, whenever she could. The words found her in the middle of the night. When the nightmares surfaced and the ache for her oldest sister flourished. She opened to a blank page and removed the pen that had been clipped to the back cover. With the streetlights as her guide, she bled fresh words in black ink, forcing herself to relive the pain, a reminder of why she had chosen humanity in the first place.
I’ve discovered the secret to breathing underwater, she wrote.
Don’t.
Hold your breath as long as you can.
Count to ten, then twenty, then thirty.
Don’t breathe. Don’t surface until the nothing comes . . .
“Do you want to talk about it?” her grandmother asked when they turned onto the dark, winding road that led to their cottage.
“No.”
Her grandmother sighed. “Your sister would have wanted—”
“Don’t you dare presume to know what she wanted.” Coral’s hands shook and the pen dropped, leaving a long, ugly, permanent mark across the page.
“I know more than you think,” the Sorceress said. “She was my granddaughter before she was your sister.” Her voice sounded hurt, choked and strangled.
Coral had no words. She’d been cruel and longed for who she had once been. The optimistic little mermaid who believed the right words could fix anything. That the light was always there, waiting for her to find it.
Now Coral lived for darkness. She survived on it. Drank it in until it filled every crevice and grotto inside. Each day that passed without the crown princess acted as a dagger to her spine, paralyzing her until she couldn’t move. She would find the prince.
And she would destroy him.
As they pulled into the driveway behind the cottage, all Coral could think about was Merrick’s promise.
She smirked, a plan forming in her mind.
Her grandmother was right. Coral would return to the library next week. She was a princess. And a princess never broke a promise.
Besides, who better to help her catch a prince than a human boy who would drown her if he ever got the chance?
Twenty-Three
Brooke
After
I never dreamed I’d find my way back here. After three months of recovery and suicide watch at a traditional psychiatric facility, Fathoms Ranch never looked so good.
This is what home is meant to feel like.
I watch Jake from my place in the passenger seat. She has the window rolled down and one arm out, surfing the breeze.
We drove the coast highway, cruising for hours with the sea to the west and the hills to the east. We didn’t talk much and I didn’t mind. What do I say to the woman who saved my life after I tried to end it?
I can’t gather the words, so I keep quiet and hold fast to the stuffed tote bag full of belongings in my lap. The tote bag I have because Jake brought it to me when I was being treated for hypothermia. A popular book quote graces one side.
“That’s the thing about pain. It demands to be felt.”
—John Green
I’d ignored—or tried to ignore—whatever message Jake wanted to send with her not-so-subtle gift. But then she produced the bottle.
My beautiful, stupid bottle.
When I’d finally opened my eyes after a week in the intensive care unit, the doctors said it was a miracle I’d survived. Jake’s was the first face I recognized.