The Souls of Drowned People

Chapter Eighteen

The candle had nearly burned away by morning. Cillian and I had stayed up half the night, watching it burn until our eyes hurt. The little flames danced against the black of my eyelids every time I shut my eyes.

            All night, the water kept dripping. I had to get up twice to go to the bathroom because of the incessant patter. I didn’t sleep. Bridget didn’t go to sleep until nearly midnight; I heard her flipping pages, slowly, like she wasn’t really reading them, only staring at the words until her eyes blurred and she had to turn the pages.  Cillian didn’t sleep much either, judging from the amount of pacing I heard him doing up and down the hallway. He would stop outside the door to his room, standing there like a guard, and I considered asking him to come in. I wanted him near me. Right next to me. But when I was about to fling open the door, I heard him collapse on the couch in the living room, and I couldn’t bring myself to wake him up.

            When I stumbled into the kitchen at nine the next morning, Cillian was eating Corn Flakes in the kitchen, though he didn’t lift the spoon to his lips the whole time I stood in the doorway, watching him.

            “Your cereal is gonna get soggy,”  I said. Cillian jumped, splashing milk across the counter. I touched my hand to the back of my head. My hair felt stiff and dry. “Do I look that terrible?”

            “You’re beautiful.” He sounded so defensive than it sounded like he was lying. “I’m just kind of jumpy at the moment.”

            I wiped the milk off the table with a dishrag. “I’m sorry.”

            “You have a terrible tendency to apologize for things that aren’t your fault.”

            “But it is.” I poured myself a cup of tea, and sat at the table across from him. Cillian shook his head. He couldn’t argue with the point that it was all my fault.  He heard the rain and saw the seals. He knew. “Where’s the rest of your family?”

            “Church.”

            I looked out the window at the thick rain. I did admire the Coneelly spirit. Nothing stopped them. “You didn’t have to stay home. You could have woken me up, I would have come.”

            “I didn’t want to go. I’m not exactly ready to face Tara and her entire family. And I need to shave before I go out in public again.” He rubbed at the black shadows on his cheeks. He had been wearing the same shirt for two days, a gray University College Dublin rowing shirt that didn’t bring out his eyes like the plaid did.

            “Cillian.” I put my hand on top of his. “Go take a shower, please. You smell fine and everything, I just think you’d feel better if you did.”

            “That’s just a nice way of saying that I smell bad. All right, I’ll go shower. But I’m going to be in there for at least half an hour, so don’t complain.”

            “Only half an hour? That’s short for you.”

            He kissed my head on his way out of the kitchen. He didn’t smell bad, really. He just smelled like someone who had been wearing the same shirt for two days.

            I took over the bathroom when he was done. The mirror was covered with steam, and I had to wipe away a circle so I could peer at my face. I looked pale. Not cute Irish pale, like Bridget, but white, disgusting and deathly. My eyes were red, sleepless.

            Cillian was definitely lying when he said I was beautiful.

             It made me want to laugh. The selkies were coming after me, wanting me for the queen, I was a wreck with bad hair and bloodshot eyes. Maybe if they got another good look at me, they’d change their minds.