Ocean Blue | gxg ✓

chapter ten

alyssa

I hate my body. I hate it I hate it I hate it. Just as much as it hates me, if not moreso.

I mean, why would my own body hurt me like this? What's the point, body? I don't get it. I don't get how why this stupid tail attack came on so suddenly, or why this hurts way more than it ever has before. With Max, it didn't feel fantastic. But this? This is downright excruciating.

My breath comes in shallow gasps through my sobs. Part of me feels overdramatic, that it's not actually that bad. But the crying is also unavoidable. I can't handle it. Any of it. Some of the scales pop off, leaving little beads of blood and open, pink flesh. Some shrink back beneath my skin in a way that feels like they're trying to drag the flesh with them.

It's just one of those things you have to sit and breathe through. I can feel the tightness of my fists as I clench the fabric of my sweatshirt, the coolness of the storage room air as I tilt my head back and hiccup through the tears. How? How did Mom do this?

When I was twelve, I fished out for the first time. I was in the bath. I was terrified, but fascinated. It didn't hurt, not like Mom had made it sound like. Every time, she'd said. Every time, it feels worse. Every time, it's more intense. And everytime, you wish it would just go away.

There's no getting rid of it. No matter how much you wish.

Honestly, the first time, it felt good. Good beyond just thrilling and different—right, almost. Perfect. Meant to be. My head had been all fuzzy, and I was out of it for a while. I would take that over the pain any day, honestly. Dad freaked when he discovered it had happened in the bath. Said I could never get the tail wet again.

I didn't. But, gosh, is it tempting. Imagine it feeling like it did that first time versus this, this hell.

It slows, at least. Gradually, the rate of the popping and the sliding and the pain—it slows. And my tears stop too. I take a few moments to catch my breath. Mom was right. It sucks more and more every time. I can't imagine it feeling worse than this, but I know it will. Every time, it will.

Maybe it'll kill me one day. Wouldn't that be hilarious.

I scrub my eyes with the backs of my wrists, trying to scratch away the tears. My breaths are shudders. How long will Elliot wait for me? I can't believe she even offered to wait in the first place. How did she not freak out? I mean, it's a tail. I still freak out.

I don't want to trust her, but right now, she's about as good as it gets. At least now we know that Tanner can use his godforsaken mouth to fix exactly these kinds of things, like that girl with the black pixie cut from Heroes.

Maybe this will be the excuse needed to quit my job. Hell, now that Max is gone from Woodbury, maybe Dad would even let us move back.

Beyond everything else, this is just embarrassing. Like, why? Why now? What if this becomes more of a trend? What if my tail just decides it'll pop out whenever it feels like, and I'll be forced to run and hide and cry and wish I was dead. What if someone sees?

What I would give to be someone else.

There's a light tap on the door as I continue to shudder through breaths. "Hey, Alyssa, are you okay?" comes Elliot, quiet and tentative.

I guess there's no avoiding this anymore.

"Hey," I say, "yeah, you can come in."

She steps in through the door, wringing her hands nervously. "Hey, bud." I hate bud. Whatever. Now is not the time. "You got legs again."