25. Alistair
“How do you always seem to know when I’m s-sad?”
“I just do. I’ve always been able to tell with people.”
It’s…
What’s the word?
Restless?
No. It’s not strong enough.
Maddening?
Yes.
Maddening. It’s maddening to have a word within my reach—a word I can see but can’t grasp. The more I try, the more it slips.
There is a word. For what Pippi feels. What she is . I know it. Knew it…once. But now it keeps slipping.
And she doesn’t seem to know.
Which makes the maddening worse . Because I can’t speak… tell her that she isn’t alone in those feelings. I can’t…wane-warn—I can’t warn her of how easily she can be hurt.
Perhaps she already has been hurt.
I snarl into the waters, wishing they were hard. A solid object to strike my head against. Maybe that will stop the words from slipping. Or force all of them to slip, so I stop fighting for the ones I half remember.
I know what she is.
I want to tell her.
But I can’t .
And it’s maddening .
Maybe that’s why the dream comes to me, after my restless body stills into a restless sleep. Because I can’t stop thinking of her. Can’t stop worrying. Can’t stop seeing her hurt, with me in the waters, unable to help her. Unable, even, to give a proper warning.
Useless.
In the dream, I am not useless.
I am human again. I walk the land beside her. I speak easily.
And she is lovely. Smiling at me, her face lit by…
The sun?
No.
The light is too soft to be from the sun.
It’s the other orb. The one that sits in the sky in the dark hours.
Moon.
Moonlight.
Her face is lit by moonlight .
She laughs—at something I’ve said, although the words coming out of my mouth are meaningless. But I laugh too. And I reach for her—slowly. Hoping. Unsure. Wanting to feel her, but not sure if she wants the same.
When she reaches back for me, I am…
Relieved.
That she allows my touches. And that she returns them.
And I don’t stop touching her.
Her hair, first. The lovely red hair, which has me enthralled.
My human…
Fins?
Fingers.
My human fingers touch her hair, while my mouth…
I know this word…
Kisses.
My mouth kisses the top of her head. Her nose. Her cheeks. Before settling on her mouth. All the while, my hands continue touching. Feeling her, in a way I’ll never be able to do while in this body. But in the dream, I can.
And she can touch me. Feel me. Which she does, in ways that make me…
Restless.
No.
Desperate.
Once, I knew these feelings well. The desperation. The joy. The…
The…
Pleasure.
Of being with someone. Of exploring each other. Learning. Teasing. Laughing.
Once, I had felt all of this.
But it has been so long. I’ve forgotten how to feel this way.
Pippi has reminded me.
And the dream reminds me that the things I feel can never be mine. Not truly.