Turning Tides

Chapter Twelve: X Marks the Spot

Beatrice carefully led them to the nearest landmass: a thin circle of sand barely protruding from the surface of the water. After Malia brought the dog to shore, the animal couldn't do anything more than breathe weakly as they lay in the sand, the shallow waves carefully lapping at their feet. And Malia and Beatrice couldn't do anything more than run their hands over their fur, providing any comfort they could during the dog's final moments.

"Why is the ocean so cruel?" Malia whispered, her voice barely louder than the dog's shallow breaths. "What did this dog do to deserve this?"

Beatrice was silent for a few seconds. "I don't know, not even after a thousand years. What I do know is that we can at least help the ones that deserve more."

That wasn't the answer Malia hoped for, but it was more than she expected.

After that, they fell silent, focusing on soothing the dog between them. Occasionally, Malia would turn her attention to the dog's head, scratching them generously behind the ears then whispering about how sweet and good they were before carefully kissing their damp fur. And after each occurrence, the dog would let out a soft breath, each slightly weaker than the last.

So when the dog was silent after one of Malia's kisses, she knew they were finally at rest.

Still, she couldn't leave them, and she continued to pet their tangled fur as if she could soothe their tortured soul. And if Beatrice thought it was a waste of time, she didn't say so. Instead, she stayed by the dog's side, her hand following the rhythm set by Malia's.

Malia's eyes burned and vision blurred, and soon after, she finally had the answer to one of her earliest questions: she could still cry.

With that knowledge, the dam within her broke, releasing the emotions that she collected ever since she died months ago. She buried her face in the dog's fur, letting her tears mix with the drying salt from the ocean as if she could cry away the pain of their soul as well.

"What are you crying for?"

"Crying won't do you any good."

"If you have time to cry, you have time to work harder."

"Crying shows people that you're weak. Are you weak?"

Maybe she was. If that was the case, then so be it.

She only stopped short when she felt a hand rest atop her own, and her head snapped up. Beatrice watched over her, her own eyes glistening in the afternoon sun. As her thumb brushed against Malia's hand, her gaze drifted to the dog between them. With that, Malia allowed herself to release her pain for just a moment longer.

A moment became a minute that stretched on until nothing was left in Malia except a hollow ache. And even then, she didn't leave the dog's side, only tilting her head slightly so she could watch Beatrice's hand repeatedly run over the dog's dried golden fur.

"Thank you," Beatrice suddenly said.

The comment was so unexpected that Malia couldn't help but look at the woman, needing to make sure if she was talking to Malia or the dog. And when Beatrice's gaze met hers, Malia was even more confused.

"For listening to me," Beatrice continued. "For trusting me, even though I know you didn't want to."

Malia shook her head, returning her attention to scratching the dog's still head. "Thanks for stopping me. If I had gone through with that... I don't know what I would've done after that—if I was stuck underwater... forever."

She hadn't expected Beatrice to reply, especially not after she slightly slighted the woman's lifestyle choices, and Malia definitely wasn't prepared for the question she asked.