Before It's Voiced

Confessional

"I never realized how much space I have out there," he'd said one time while rubbing at the sore muscles beneath his scales. "I had always thought the beach small but at least it gave me the chance to swim around."

Twisting, turning, trembling thoughts enter Pete's mind, repeating what he'd been thinking before. He promised to take Patrick back soon, swore that he would if the siren wished. How horrible does it make him if he longs to keep Patrick here, keep Patrick near? Away from the monsters with needle-teeth and cursed blades? Away from the dangers and promised fates? If Patrick stays, he's safe. He's alive. He's close.

He's a reason for Pete to stay, too.

Again, guilt and shame and anger coil in his gut like the voices in his mind. His mother's voice, now, plays through his thoughts, her words telling him he needs to come home. His sister is wounded and his mother's alone and Pete's here, with a stranger. With a siren.

With a story lacking only an ending.

Pete grabs the collar of his shirt, clinging tightly and pretending the cloth is cool. Patrick's so adamant about going back to the ocean, so set on letting these dangers crawl closer to him. Why? Why can't he understand that Pete's only doing this to protect him? Why can't he—

No. That's not fair. Pete can't waste time wondering about Patrick's thoughts— he'd never be granted the answer. Instead...

Why does he wish to protect him? What does he have to gain? What does he have to lose by releasing the siren to the sea?

The mere thought sends his heartbeat into a panic.

It isn't fair that such a mythical being has taken so much control in his life. A few months ago, Pete would have raced to his mother's side. Does it make him horrible that he's weighed the consequences of the choices and found Patrick's to be the heaviest?

His jaw tightens. His breaths deepen.

There's no one to blame but himself; there's nothing to blame but the monsters. The longer he sits in the darkness, the more certain he becomes that he and the creatures are cut from the same cloth. Selfish and petty, good with words but horrible in action. A danger to themselves, to others, to the world. Warning labels in the form of uncontrolled emotions.

Keep away, the sign says. Don't get caught up in this mess of a human wreck. Don't get trapped in this storm.

Storm. A corner of Pete's lips curls upwards like charring paper. Lashing winds and pelting rains? Screaming thunder and the threat of lightning?

With so many emotions wracking through him— so many with no explanation, no answer— Pete feels a bit like a storm. And Patrick may be a siren but even he can't handle such a thing.

Captured. That's what Patrick said he was. So who is Pete to feel protective?

He shakes his head. These thoughts are too many and he's tired of them— he's tired, in general. Patrick would understand if Pete took the night to sleep, to feel human for a bit. His mind's always had the midnight watch but, sometimes, he can close his eyes and dream at the same time as everyone else.

Patrick would understand if he was alone for one night. Wouldn't he?

Patrick would understand.

Patrick—

A sudden splash. A terrified shriek.

Pete's eyes snap open and he's on his feet before Patrick's done screaming, running for the bathroom with his heart in his throat. Had the monsters taken over Patrick's mind? Had they caused him harm? Was it a nightmare? An attack? A threat? Pete dares not imagine for long.