nightsinger (currently updating)

03 - bond

IRIS BEGINS TO SEE HIM EVERYWHERE. It begins at her workplace, where they've rescued diseased sea turtles with plastic tied to their shells. She sees him again at the dock behind her house, and then once more when her team goes diving on a Friday afternoon. He is an ancient boy with knives for teeth, and whose skin is the milky blue that cats lap in their bowls.

It's more of a perpetual instinct, or an invisible pull. Iris feels his presence like an internal radar. She even senses his shock of blue-black hair waving listlessly in the water, anxiety intensifying with each passing day that she doesn't meet him. Even after finding out about the bond between them, Iris can barely handle the sensations of vertigo and nausea: she feels like she barely has any control on her body, and she hates it. The need to fix herself rises with each dawn until it, too, becomes almost unbearable.

She can still hear his ragged voice before he swam away, saying, We're bonded. You and I. The words echo through her body with no end in sight. It drives her mad and sick and helpless.

"Are you alright? You don't look so good." Angeline leans over their table and raises an eyebrow as Iris stabs her pancakes. "I don't think I said anything that was weird or out of the ordinary."

Iris sighs and shakes her head, taking in the scenery of their favorite cafe. "No, sorry," she apologizes. "It's me. I haven't been sleeping well and work is getting busy now that a few of my co-workers are on leave."

Her oldest friend since college tucks a few dark braids behind her ears and says, "Why didn't you say anything to me?" Angeline frowns. "You're off those sleeping pills, right? The one that gave you nightmares?"

"I stopped taking them a while ago." She's never had the best past with medication. Ever since she was little, Iris had never been able to sleep soundly. She dreamed of drowning, of the dark ocean pulling her underneath and the taste of gritty sand in her mouth until her grandmother shook her awake. She would vomit up whatever was in her stomach until her throat ran a red river and razor sharp jaws came gnashing towards her heart. Her relationship with the sea remains complex even still: it is the source of her misery, but also of such cruel seduction that's filled with allure. The sea promises nothing but gives everything in return, truly unlike anything else she's seen before.

"Are you eating? Drinking enough water?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

Angeline snorts. "Just because I work from home on my computer doesn't mean that I lose myself in my job. Unlike you." She smiles. "I know that you love what you do, Iris, and that's amazing. I'm just worried for you. You shouldn't compromise your health under any circumstance."

"I know." Iris swallows her pancake and waves her fork in the air, the food tasting bitter inside. "I'm working on it, you know that. It's just—I feel stupid going to the doctor and no one knows how to help me. I'm over spending tons of money for people to tell me to stop stressing."

Most people ask for money. Iris remembers what the siren told her, his deadly tail sending shivers of fear up her spine. Or power, or love, or for success. They ask for things that shine with idolatry.

Sometimes she wonders if she was just dreaming. If she was creating a fictional character inside of her head to satisfy her grandmother's mystical bedtime stories. But at night, in the comfort of her own room, Iris sees the burn-mark on her neck in the mirror and falls asleep to the weight of the gold band wrapped around her hand. She can nearly recount the feeling of his arms supporting her waist and the scent of dried salt on his jaw.

"We'll keep looking out for more appointments and different solutions," Angeline says, offering Iris an encouraging smile. "If you want to sleep over at mine, too, you know you can. We do it often enough anyways."