The Souls of Drowned People

Chapter Fifteen

Neither of them seemed very happy about it, but I finally talked Cillian into giving me one of his old pairs of jeans, so I could give them to Ronan and save us the awkwardness.

"I don't want to give my pants to a selkie," Cillian whined at first, until I mentioned that Ronan and I were just going to have to hang out on the beach naked if he didn't. He sighed then, tossing me his grossest pair, the ones with the holes in the knees and the stains of dirt.

I had never noticed how tall Cillian was, until Ronan emerged from behind the rocks, pulling the jeans up at the waist, reaching down to roll up the bottoms. The contrast of it, this beautiful boy, water still shimmering from his bare chest, in ratty old jeans, made me burst out laughing, and Ronan frowned, seeming to think I was laughing at him.

"No. It's not you. You look good."

He still looked wary, the skin crinkled between his eyebrows.

"It's funny. Do you not understand humor?" I took his blank stare as a definite no. He took me by the hand, leading me down the beach. That was the only thing he knew how to do. He knew how to hold my hand and look beautiful and look like he loved me. And if it was the only thing he knew, did he really know it? Or was it just programmed into him, as easy as breathing? It didn't mean anything.

"How old are you?" I asked as we walked down the beach.

Not old, he said, but I couldn't believe it. His features were still young and flawless, his hair still fiery bright, there was something in his eyes, something that told me he had seen too many storms and drownings, spent too many nights shivering in the cold waves.

"Were you ever human?" Was he ever alive, I should have asked, but that would admit that being a selkie meant death, and I was nowhere near ready to admit that.

Ronan slowly shook his head.

"So you've always been a selkie?" Then he would never understand, if I said I couldn't love him.

Another nod, a proud grin. Ronan was a selkie. I was going to be a selkie soon enough. I was supposed to be happy, his grin said. But living made me happy, breathing and smiling and love made me happy. Someone who had never lived would never understand why I loved being alive.

"What's it like?" I asked. "Being a selkie?"

Ronan let go of my arm, waving wildly toward the water. Come now, his eyes said. Come see what it's like.

I stepped away from him. "No. I can't. Not yet. I'm not eighteen. That was the promise. Eighteen."

Ronan sighed, and dropped his arms limply to his sides.

"I'm sorry," I said hollowly. I wasn't. I wasn't sorry for wanting to live.

He tried to reach for my hand again, and I tried to let him take it. His fingers were too cold now, the skin on the tips of his fingers slightly wrinkled from being in the water so long. It was too late, and both of us knew it. I didn't love him. And he didn't love me. It was Iona the selkies wanted, and Iona was dead. I was only a replacement. I was a condolence prize.

Ronan brushed my hair away from my eyes, and patted my cheek. It was so much like something Cillian would have done, except so much colder. My eyes stung, and I wished I could blame in on the brisk breeze.

Ronan clapped his hands together suddenly, and I jumped back. And then I start laughing hysterically, because he was a seal. Seals clapped their flippers and balanced balls on their noses and make funny noises that I laughed at when I watched nature shows.