I did not eat Finn that day. Or that night. I attempted to sleep in my bed, but felt the insufferable pierce of his burning gaze in the back of my skull and resolved to pass out on the couch. The next morning, I ended waking up at five. I’m not entirely sure why, instincts probably. For breakfast I drank half a glass of dad’s black bourbon. He wouldn’t mind. The sun had only just risen and yet it warmed my back, I welcomed it. While the sun warmed my back, the bourbon warmed my blood. When I looked down into the pool to make sure Finn was still there, I almost thought he was dead, the way he floated about beneath the surface, unmoving. That was, until I tossed a pebble into the water to wake him. The second the pebble sent a ripple through the surface, he was awake. With a flick of his tail Finn swam up and to the ledge of the pool.
“So, you gonna kill me now or draw it out?” Finn said casually, as if I wouldn’t notice the flattened flowers in the garden bed or the toppled umbrella and long chair. I took another sip of the bourbon. I wasn’t quite steady on my feet and a topple into the pool could prove fatal, whether it would be hitting my head or whether Finn crushed it. I didn’t say anything. Whether it was the bourbon black or the morning or even the stupidity of what I was doing. I fished through my back pocket, it took a moment to grasp it properly, but I managed to pull out his necklace and toss it to him. Finn didn’t catch it, only watched it, noticeably confused as it floated before him.
“You can leave. The door’s unlocked. Jump the wall. I don’t care,” I said, a slight rasp in my voice. A gift from the bourbon burning my tongue, dancing at the back of my throat. He didn’t move. I wasn’t going to wait around, so I sat. I put the almost empty glass on the concrete before me and traced around the lips of the glass. My body betrayed me, it hadn’t taken long for me to get drunk. My head had begun to swim.
“Why catch me, only to let me go?” Finn asked, quieter this time.
“Fuck off,” I snapped.
‘What?” Finn said with a lash of his tail.
“I said - ” I was cut off by the ring of the door bell. One ring, then two, then three. Oh no. My dad was the alpha Siphon of this hunting ground, any unfamiliar scent of another was easy enough to pick up. It was always sharp, distinct.
“Quick, put the necklace on,” I insisted, trying my best not to slur my words or stagger as I stood up. I probably should’ve replied to his texts. A stupid thought, now. I only listened as Finn put on the necklace and climbed out of the pool. I didn’t bother to look back. I set the now empty glass down on the table and with all manners of reluctance tugging at my hesitance, answered the door. Keith was a short guy. He was athletic, that was obvious, but he was short. I’d always assumed a Napoleon Complex, but his sudden appearance now, confirmed that. His hazel eyes were clouded with a general vibe of pissed-off, outlined with his scrunched-up eyes and nose.
“Hey Keith,” I said, attempting to seem sleepy as possible by layering my voice in tone and words made sluggish on account of the bourbon. Wearing a brown coat, the hood lined with a soft green fabric, loose jeans and pair of red tradie boots, looking almost like they’d been painted that horrible colour. This was his ‘I’m cold and really pissed off look.’ Even his usually messy tidy hair was in a right mess, splayed about. The way he knows I like it.
He didn’t say anything, just glared and shouldered his way past me. Keith went straight to the kitchen, took a beer and took out my dad’s cap-opener and as he pleased, opened the bottle.
“What is it?” I said, daring to glance out to the backyard. His legs were back, but Finn was struggling. Maybe he’d sensed Keith too, learnt what we smelt like thanks to my own scent. Keith, with little effort, jumped up and onto the bench. He took a long, deep drink of his beer.
“Ignoring my texts. Again. It’s like you enjoy not learning from past mistakes Rey,” He said, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his old coat.
“Why don’t you go home and cry about it. Listen to some emo playlist. I don’t know, get over it,” I snapped, in no state of mind to deal with his madness today.
“Oh you know me, always listening to emo shit. Let’s listen to something different?” Keith suggested with a wild smirk. It was something he wore often, in the past he’d worn it sincerely. Now, he wore it only with contempt. Keith shrugged off that hideous, dead-smelling coat and let it crumple to the ground. The bitch is manipulative. Keith was a Siphon and a musician. He knew how to play with his prey, he knew how to play the guitar, he knew how to play me. Everything he’d worn and done in the space of two minutes, was entirely intentional. That much I knew. Right down to the black and white muscle-T he wore. The guy was short, but he wasn’t a twig. Keith knew his arms were good, he liked them, he knew I liked them too. Yet before he could play whatever it was he was going to play, the back sliding door was thrown open. What could only be Finn staggered through the door and into the living room. Alarm kicking my senses into action, I stepped back out of the tiled kitchen to witness Finn leant against the couch, a pair of pants in hand. It seemed he hadn’t exactly mastered the transformation process between a tail and of legs. The look in Keith’s eyes went from that of cornering his prey to instant irritation. He jumped from the bench and brushed off my attempts to slow him, and went to investigate the stranger.
“W-who’s this?” Keith snapped. Finn stood frozen, a deer in the headlights. Keith wouldn’t hesitate. He wouldn’t be pulled up by curiosity. He would go for the throat and wouldn’t make them suffer. He doesn’t play with mermaids, only emotions. If I tell him that Finn is a merman, he will not hesitate to take down his prey. Almost unwittingly, I went and stood between the two of them, leaning against the couch as if this wasn’t the most awkward thing in the world.
“A friend. Stayed the night. Are you gonna cry about it, Keith?” I shrugged, looking to the floor.
“No. I’m gonna take my beer and I’m gonna go,” He hissed, as if it were nothing. Finn didn’t say a word as Keith left, intentionally leaving his coat behind.
Just before he went through the door, I grabbed an arm. But he shrugged me off, easily freeing himself.
Finn either refused, or simply didn’t know what to say. Not for a while anyway. He sat on the head of the couch, while I heated up some mac n cheese. Listening to the hum of the microwave, I forced myself to leave Keith’s coat where it lay. With my mac and cheese, I sat on the couch with my legs crossed. Finally, the merman broke the silence.
“He’s one of you, isn’t he?” He said, his raspy voice touched with fear.
“Yeah,” I stabbed the pasta with the spoon. Finn didn’t turn around.
“Why…didn’t you tell him? You could’ve said something or – or is it some prey thing, didn’t want him to steal your catch,” he jabbed.
“Already told you. You can go,” I said, something inside me twitched. Seeing Keith, it reminded me that there were others. Every now and then I’d notice Dad on his group Facebook page of fishermen. An exclusive club of local men, women, even their kids. And they knew no cuffs of hesitation. Finn, quick as he could, put on his pants but didn’t seem to know what to do next.
“Or. You could stay here. The second you stepped foot into this town, you stepped right into the vipers nest. You step outside this house, you’ll have about a dozen targets instantly painted onto your back. You wait out your pilgrimage in an empty Alpha’s house? You’ll be right off their radar,” I suggested each word that rolled off my tongue coming right off the top of my head.
“Only…it won’t be empty. What do you want in return?” Finn asked, climbing over the head of the couch to sit beside me, his legs folded against his chest. I took a moment to think about it. I didn’t really want to admit he’d be entertaining company.
“All I want in return, is a scale.”
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