#bdrppaul

PAUL: The sunlight was what woke Paul.

He stirred, those bits of consciousness sliding back to him slowly, little by little. It wasn’t enough for him to open his eyes, not at first. It was just enough to acknowledge that he was conscious-- that it was morning and he’d need to get up to grab breakfast before he had to get the twins ready-- that the weight of Attina was on his other side, a thought that made his lip twitch and his toes curl a bit-- bare in the air. She’d stolen some of the covers last night, hadn’t she?

It was that slight shiver from the October morning that made him roll toward Attina’s weight. Without opening his eyes, he slid his arms around her, burying his face in all that hair, which would smell like flowers--

It didn’t smell like flowers.

That was when Paul’s eyes snapped open and he saw blonde hair, not red hair. He saw a white clean room that was not his own room, not his apartment at all. This wasn’t where he’d been just the night before. This wasn’t-- his kids weren’t just in the other room, safe in their crib--

That wasn’t Attina slumbering next to him at all. It was Perdita.  

His heart leapt into his throat and Paul yelped in Perdita’s ear.

“What the fuck!” shouted Paul and he jumped out of bed, nearly falling over as his foot got tangled in the covers. He put a hand out to catch himself against the wall, his head spinning as though he’d had too much to drink.

PERDITA: Last night had been normal. The new normal. The one where some nights, Paul crashed at Perdy’s (more nights than not, these days.) The babies had slept mostly through the night. Patrick had woken around 3, which meant his sister wasn’t far behind. Two warmed up bottles of water with a bit of lemon and they were back to sleep in under thirty, like clockwork.

And now, Perdita was looking to sleep in until at least 9 o’clock.

She was awake, though, her body trained these days by the rising sun, one ear out for her children, but the bed was warm and comfortable and she wanted to pretend as long as she could. Exist in that familiar stillness, with Paul’s steady breaths at her side, for as long as she could.

When the bed shifted and Paul snuggled up behind her, Perdita let out a breath that morphed into a smile on her lips, feeling content. Her hand slipped over his, which rested on her stomach, and she thought that she could lie there like that for the rest of the morning and be perfectly happy.

Of course, in this fucking town—you could never rely on something like that.

So, instead, Paul yelled loud in her ear, making it ring and then made a fool of himself springing out of bed. Oh, Perdita could throttle him. She was going to skin him alive. He’d be lucky to not be neutered when she was done with him.

Rolling over in bed, she blinked her eyes open, already set in a sharp, icy glare.

“Will you shut the fuck up? You’ll wake up the babies,” she snapped at him, her own voice quiet and sharp. “The fuck is your problem?”

PAUL: The fuck is your problem?

The fuck was his problem? The fuck was his problem? His problem was that he was not where he was supposed to be: in his bed, curled around Attina, his babies in the other room. He felt sick to his stomach and wanted to vomit, staring at Perdita, half-dressed, as she glared at him like…

Paul didn’t know what the end of that sentence was. His head was reeling. He didn’t know what was going on, he couldn’t remember. He tried, reaching back to the night before, trying to find the moment where he’d had his first drink or decided to go out to a bar or… anything. But there was nothing in his brain as he grasped for those imagined explanations. There was only Attina, and trick or treating and the stupid horror movie they watched and then… nothing, until right now.

Paul had never been that blacked out before. He felt like he was falling, no where to land. It frightened him and his fear lashed out.

Because there had to be a villain and it couldn’t be Paul. He wouldn’t have, he couldn’t have-- he had been moving on.

So it was Perdy’s fault. She did this to him. She made him do it.

“The fuc--the fuck is your problem?” he snarled back at her. “What the hell, Perdita? You drug me now or something-- you’re really that jealous?! You-- you’re-- psychotic!” He spat, and stumbled away from the wall, looking around desperately for his shoes. He spotted his jeans tossed over a chair and he lurched forward, grabbing them so he could put them on as quickly as he could.

PERDITA: Suddenly, Paul was looking at her like she’d grown a second head.

(There was a part of Perdita who was truly, deeply offended by this and by what he said. Was that what he really thought of her? Drunk (cursed? whatever the fuck was wrong with him) words, sober thoughts. Did he think she was psychotic? That she would ever actually drug him? (And, more deeply, was it true? Was she psychotic? Was that something that she would do? What levels would she have stooped to, to sabotage any relationship Paul had? Did that make her crazy? Crazier than she was with her PPD?)

(Of course, she wouldn’t reveal any of this. Of course, her face remained stony.)

With a groan, Perdita pushed her face into the pillow for a moment and then she pushed herself up and sat up properly. She glared at him, pushing her hair back from her face.

“Jesus, the hell is going on with you?” she said, squinting at him.

(And another part of her was worried—thinking back to what Roger had said. Roger had said Attina was a mermaid. Roger had said that Paul had no memory of this. And now—Paul was acting like he…didn’t remember the fact he was with Perdita at all.)

“Me, the jealous bitch? Think that’s that fishwhore of yours,” Perdita snapped back at him. “She’s obviously done something to you. Not me.”

PAUL: Paul got his trousers on, nearly falling over as he did, but managing to regain his balance. His fingers worked the buttons shut, all the while his brain raced through the same blank spots as before. He would remember going home with Perdita, he would remember if they had done anything, he would remember. But these desperate rationalizations were just that: desperate. They were potentially lies, too, that he was telling to himself. Because what-- he thought he was noble? He thought himself better than Johnny? Better than Simon?

With Attina, maybe he could have been.

Attina. The name struck him between the ribs. Theirs was still such a young relationship, the rosy kind of comfortable love that Paul had finally allowed himself to want. They were so close to so many firsts. They’d already had so many. He couldn’t let it go now.

Whatever he did with Perdy, she wouldn’t ruin it, not like she already ruined him (he was ruined before she found him.)

He’d fix it.

He glared at her, grabbing his jacket from the door hanger too. “Fuck you. Seriously fuck you, Perdita, you stay the fuck away from me-- and Attina. Don’t come near Attina. We’re happy, alright?” His voice trembled more than he wanted it to; he wanted to sound strong, vicious, but he was frightened instead, tears in his eyes. “We’re happy, I’m-- finally happy. You-- leave us the hell alone!”

And Paul stormed out, slamming her door behind her-- rough enough that the babies did wake up in the other room (babies? But how could the babies be here too? What was going on? Had he brought them here… what day was it, was it even November 1st?!)

He stumbled past the crying, nearly tripping on his shoes in front of the front door. He grabbed ‘em, but didn’t bother to put them on. He just opened the front door and escaped, ignoring Perdita calling him.

He ignored her all the way to Tina’s place, where he’d just been, hadn’t he? Just last night, right? He didn’t know, couldn’t check, had no idea where his phone was, what time it was, what-- day. Paul pounded his fist against Tina’s door anyway.

“Tina! Tina!” he hollered, his other hand splayed on the door. He peered into the eyehole. “Tina, it’s Paul! Please, open up, I-- I-- I need you-- please! Tina!”

ATTINA: Attina was getting ready for work.

She was not thinking about Paul Patts at all. This was a blessing, because he had infiltrated her thoughts like a sideways scuttling crab. And, not even because of the fact that he knew her secret. The sea witch was a great many things, but she wasn’t one to go back on her end of a bargain. Attina had seen that with her own two eyes. No, even through all of it—the cheating and the revealing of her secret to someone else—Attina still held a flame for Paul Patts.

Because she was an idiot.

The fucker had cost her the memories of her mother. Possibly the most cherished thing to her, that was not physical.

Which was why now he was banished from her thoughts, a nail in the coffin. If she never saw Paul Patts again, she would be a happy woman. As happy as a woman with no memory of her dead mother could be.

That was, until the pounding started on the door.

It stole Attina’s breath from her lungs and she jumped, hitting her knee on the underside of the vanity she was sitting at. Her make up was half finished—eyeliner without mascara, her foundation still setting. No lipstick.

Who was at the door? Who could be knocking that frantically?

Was it someone for her sister?

Attina’s heart was beating fast and furious in her chest.

Tina! Tina! It’s Paul!

Her heart seized in her chest. She didn’t know where she found the courage, but she got up, and she went to the door. It was rattling on its hinges. The doorknob jangled. She peeked through the peephole without touching the trembling door.

It was Paul.

“W-what do you want?” she called, watching the three padlocks she had on the door rattling. She was safe. She’d locked them this morning after Andrina left. Eighteen times each, until her fingers were sore.  

PAUL: She hadn’t unlocked the door.

Paul’s stomach dropped. If everything was alright, she would have unlocked the door. She wouldn’t have hesitated. She’d have opened it and drawn him in, and seen the panic on Paul’s face and known what to do. Even if Attina had just held him in her arms, that would’ve been enough to help recenter him. But everything wasn’t all right-- and he didn’t even know how badly it was all wrong. He didn’t know what to apologize for. He didn’t know, he didn’t know, he didn’t know. And the more he tried to remember, the wider the black hole became, sucking in all the things he thought he was certain about.

Like, hadn’t yesterday been Halloween? Wasn’t he the fireman and the kids dalmatians? Hadn’t they watched that horrible movie together?

Did Paul dream up those details? Was there another fight he was forgetting and why was Perdita insisting they were together?

Question upon question sprouted from the cracks in his brain. He was going to choke on all of them.

Paul pressed his hand against the door, taking in a shaky breath. It did little to stop the tears, to push down the panic.

“Please, Tina,” he said, his voice breaking. “I--I need you. I dunno what’s going on. Please, I didn’t--I didn’t mean-- whatever I did, I didn’t mean, I, I can’t remember, please, you have to-- I love you,” he pleaded, and his hand slipped down to the doorknob, but it was still locked.

ATTINA: Attina could hear the awful shake of Paul’s breath as he inhaled it and her stomach curled. She’d never heard him sound like that. Part of her had been worried that he’d somehow found out about Roger (but how, Paul didn’t know to look for something missing?) and that he was here to—do something to her.

But, at the sound of that pathetic breath through the door, she was just—confused.

Her own brain felt foggy, like she couldn’t quite remember something. The memories were like a shadow in the corner of her eye. It was her mother, she remembered. Her mother that Ursula had taken from her. Instead of feeling upset, there was just this emptiness inside of her. She was as deep and wide as the ocean, all the emotion just falling into it.

Though, her heart gave a pang at Paul’s words.

I love you.

Nothing about what he was saying made sense, but Attina heard those words and a part of her wanted to believe them so—so badly.

Her hand fell to the doorknob. Her other one, though shaky, unlocked the two deadbolts that they had installed on the door.

She opened the door enough to see him, but not let him into the apartment. Her brow furrow.

“Paul, what are—”

“You!” came a shriek from down the hallway and Attina jumped, eyes snapping down the hall, as none other than Perdita Faye—make-up-less and otherwise disheveled—stormed towards her with all the furious accuracy of a lightning strike.

Attina froze in her spot, not even remembering to close the door until it was too late. Perdita was upon them and as Attina tried to close the door, Perdita got her hand around the frame and forced it open easily. Attina’s strength was nothing compared to the furious woman.

Attina stumbled backwards and Perdita took the opportunity to leap, jumping towards her and grabbing her shirt hard enough Attina heard the seam rip, some of her hair caught in the grip too, which pulled enough to hurt. She put her hands up and whimpered, feeling tears coming to her eyes at once.

“What did you do?” Perdita snarled.

“I-I-I—” Attina stuttered, trying feebly to pull away.

PAUL: The door creaked open, just enough for Paul to see Attina’s face. She looked frightened of him. Like he was a villain. Like he had already broken her heart. And Paul didn’t understand because he couldn’t remember doing that-- how could he not remember breaking someone’s heart?

He would remember. Even with girlfriends from the past who he’d barely known, the relationship barely a relationship, he remembered ending it and the look on those girls’ faces, whether angry with him or disappointed. Paul carried all of them with him, each one another link on the chain, a reminder that he had to do better next time. He had to love wisely or risk turning out like one of his brothers.

Attina looked at him like he was one of his brothers. Paul’s face crumpled, and he reached out to try to push the door open and fix this--

Perdita barged past him before he could.

“OI!” he snarled. Perdy toppled into the room first, grabbing at Attina and making her cry out. Paul was fast on her heel and he grabbed Perdita at the waist, yanking her off of Tina. “Get the fuck away from her, you-- crazy--bitch--” Perdita struggled in his arms, elbowing him in the gut hard enough for Paul to grunt.

He released her, but only so he could get between Tina and Perdita. “I told you to stay away from us. It’s over, Perdita, I--I don’t care, whatever I-- did, I -- I don’t want you. I’m with Attina.”

ATTINA: You know, Attina only had a very slight understanding of this situation. She only knew vaguely more than Paul and Perdita did. There were things her brain was still trying to fill in. Why was Paul still acting like he was in love with her? Why was Paul acting like nothing had ever happened? What had she done wrong? She’d done it all right.

The sea witch had tricked her.

And now, she was going to pay for it. Possibly with her life.

Perdita’s nails dug into her skin and when Paul pulled her away they raked down her collarbone, making her cry out.

She watched in wide-eyed horror as Paul pulled Perdita off of her. The woman’s hair flew around her face, which was turning red as she struggled and growled like some feral thing.

Attina had never been more terrified.

“WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?” Perdita screeched, pressing right up against Paul, her hand over his shoulder like she could grab Attina’s heart in her fingers and pull.

“I-I-I—”

“Paul! Get—off of me! She did something to you, not me! She’s the psychotic bitch. THIS BETTER BE REVERSIBLE!” she screeched. “He has CHILDREN, you fucking fish.”

Attina’s heart dropped into her stomach at that and she burst into wretched sobs.

PAUL: The air was full of screeching, screaming, crying. Paul could barely think through the noise. But that was good. Because his brain was useless to him and Paul had accepted that, for better or for worse. There was no remembering, whether he had to blame Perdy for that or himself. There was no remembering. There was nothing he could do to change the past few days. He didn’t even know how many.

Didn’t matter either.What mattered as he was awake now. He needed to try, desperately, to salvage his relationship with Attina before Perdy took that away from him too. She had already taken so much.

So he stayed planted firm in front of Attina, determined to protect her. He’d force Perdita out with his bare hands.

“DON’T speak to her like that! DON’T SPEAK TO US AT ALL!” he shouted back at her. He took a menacing step forward. “You leave now, or I’m calling the police, I told you not to come near us, I warned you-- so LEAVE.”

ATTINA: No one had ever looked at her with the same amount of fury which Perdita looked at her with.

It was as if suddenly all that ire had sucked back inside of her and Attina could see it burning behind her blue eyes. Somehow the silence after Paul’s shouting was even more terrifying than when Perdita was reaching out at her like she was going to scratch her eyes out or choke the life out of her. She looked like she was going to explode and kill her and Paul both.

Attina was shaking like a leaf, and not even Paul’s protection was soothing because it was—it wasn’t at all natural or true. He didn’t really want to protect her. For some reason…he still thought—he loved her. He thought he loved her. He thought they were together. He was acting exactly like Paul and not at all like Paul and that sinking feeling was back, like Attina was being taken into a riptide.

Her breath came out shaky. “Paul,” she said, her voice wobbling.

Perdita made a hissing sound behind her teeth. She didn’t move, though her lip curled in a smirk as Attina flinched at the sound.

“W-what—what day is it?”

PAUL: All the noise got sucked into the air and evaporated: the yelling, the crying, Paul’s own hoarse voice. Paul watched as that change moved across Perdita’s face. He had seen that careful control a thousand times before. Perdita could be raging, spitting mad, and next second, like she’d flipped some switch, she held her anger serenely-- like it was the source of her power.

It often was.

He saw her do this now and Paul’s lip curled up to snarl at her again. He had plenty more hot-fire rage to pull from to melt her down. He’d not let her say another word--

But it was Attina who said his name, the word shaky breath, barely louder than the silence. He turned his head to look at her, his face contorted with his panic and worry and anger all in equal parts. He didn’t want to scare Attina. He knew Attina was fragile. She was so much like his mother, he saw these flashes of it in her eyes and it was always like she’d turned something on in Paul. He didn’t want to be another loud, angry thing, not to her. He’d always wanted to be safe for her, the way that she felt safe to him.

And so he already felt destabilized when the question came on the heel of his name. The black hole in his brain yawned wider. What day was it? What-- day?

He still couldn’t remember anything. Nothing but Halloween.

“It’s-- I--” he stuttered. He looked at Perdita again, then back at Attina. The anger was wiped off his face. Now he was just confused, scared-- lost. “It’s--yesterday was Halloween. Right? We--we were here, Attina, I-- I don’t remember leaving, I, I dunno what I did,” he admitted, rubbing at his wet eyes. “I--I-- I’m sorry, I, whatever I did, I’m sorry.”

ATTINA: Perdita’s eyes narrowed at her over Paul’s shoulder, but she remained silent. Stoic.

Somehow, that didn’t make Attina feel any better, but she couldn’t pay attention to Perdita. She had to pay attention to Paul. See if her theory was correct. She really, really hoped it wasn’t. Ursula had warned her that the price would be steeper this time around. That memories, minds, were a tricky thing. Unpredictable, she had said.

Halloween, Paul said and Attina’s heart plummeted.

“Halloween?” shrieked Perdita, all that fury spilling out of her at once, cutting over Paul’s confused, wet voice. “Paul, it’s almost fucking May. What the fuck did you do?” Perdita growled, taking another step towards Attina.

She shoved Paul out of the way this time. “She fucked with your head. Did something, because she doesn’t want people to know she’s a mermaid.”

Perdita spat the word.

Attina felt faint. She didn’t know how she was still standing. She was a shell. Put her up to your ear and you could hear the ocean.

“I-I’m sorry,” Attina eyes welled with tears.

Perdita scoffed in disgust. “That’d be too easy, you dumb bitch. Don’t you know how much better blackmail is? Your daddy is on the board, isn’t he?” She tilted her head, that smile of hers sharp. “I’m sure we can think of a few petitions we need passed. Money allocated towards keeping people like you out of the public.”

She looked at Paul, glancing up and down once, her face crumpling slightly, brow folding over in concern. “Paul,” she told him softly, her voice surprisingly gentle. “We’ll figure this out, don’t worry. Come—come home with me, yeah? The babies are there. We’ll call Roger. Figure this out.”

PAUL: May.

Mermaid.

These two words washed over Paul, one after the other. He couldn’t even absorb how much time he’d lost before the second one smashed him into the rocks. He felt floored, ripped open, scrubbed raw. He felt the way he had in the days after Perdita leaving him, those black hole days where the only thing Paul depended on was his hangovers. He knew exactly how to control those: how much alcohol to drink to pick him outta the headache and send him meandering down the street, smiling like a dope, tears still in his eyes.

This was the hangover at the beginning though before any medicine. It was the crash down, his stomach turning so fast, head spinning. He wanted to crouch and vomit all over her floor.

May. That was six months. His babies were-- his babies were almost two. Six months meant he missed Christmas, missed Easter, missed Tibby’s and Anita’s birthday. Was he still at the firehouse? Why was he with Perdita? How did that happen? Why couldn’t he remember? Where’d it all go?

Memories were the thread that held a person together. They had to go somewhere. If they didn’t exist, then how was Paul supposed to be Paul?

Paul looked back at Attina now with all that horror plain on his face. Before, she’d looked at him like a stranger-- now, he looked at her like she’d just put a knife to his gut. This was all because of some secret, Perdita said, about her being a-- a-- mermaid. Is that why they broke up? He found out and now, she trusted him so little she tried to erase him?

“Attina?” he said dumbly, pleading like a kid. Perdita pushed past him and he was left with her name on his lips: Attina.

The rest of Perdita’s threads were too far away for Paul to grasp. Cold sweat gathered at the base of his neck, everything eerily calm and quiet around him. Only when Perdita turned back to him and said his name again did Paul blink for the first time in a while.

She looked at him… the way she used to look at him.

It was something he remembered. And so it was all he had.

Her-- and his kids.

“My kids,” he uttered. “I--I want to see my kids. Perdita,” the name slipped even more desperately from his lips than Attina’s had. Six months gone of his kids, six more months lost. The tears sprang to his eyes and he ducked his head fast, his feet moving before his head could catch up with him. He had to get out of that flat as fast as possible, he had to run away from this morning, from the six month hole inside himself.

ATTINA: Attina had been invited to Paul’s house to “Netflix and Chill”. Though, really, she wasn’t sure if Netflix and chilling was the proper term when you’d been dating someone for a month and a half and you hung out with them whenever you got the chance. Obviously, it had started as hook-up culture, but did it transfer over? It kind of felt like it, it kind of felt like Paul had just invited her to his apartment for sex.

Okay, wait, let’s back up.

They had just been on a lovely autumn-themed date. Attina wore her cutest sweater and boots and a scarf and they’d gone to Hatter’s for hot chocolate and slices of warmed pie. They’d joked and laughed and Paul had gotten whipped cream on his nose and Attina had thought it was the cutest thing she didn’t even tell him about it for several minutes (which was a miracle considering that Attina’s stomach curled a little if someone had sauce in the corner of their lips.) But, Paul could make anything look charming and purposeful. Even whip cream to the nose. She’d told him about it eventually, after snapping a picture.

Then, they’d gone for a walk through the park as the sun was setting. The leaves crunched underfoot and the wind smelled crisp and was cool against Attina’s cheeks, peeking them up slightly. They held hands and she’d tucked the fingers of her other hand in between Paul’s arm and rib cage, leaning into him as they walked along, talking, but mostly just enjoying the company and the peace and quiet of the park. Everything was tinted orange by the setting sun, and it had all looked so beautiful.

Attina had lived in Swynlake her whole life, she’d walked through Main Street Park hundreds of times, but it had never looked as beautiful as it did now, walking hand-in-hand through it with her very handsome and very kind boyfriend.

So, she’d been in a rosy-hued state of mind when he’d pulled her up when they found themselves back on Main Street and asked if she wanted to go back to his place to watch a movie. She’d blushed and smiled and kissed him and told him yes.

It was only later, when they’d gotten back to his place that she realized the babies were with Perdita and Stanley was at Ellie’s house and the apartment was quiet and empty.

They were totally Netflix-ing and Chilling.

She should probably excuse herself to go to the bathroom and call Andy, but Andy would just tell her to chill the fuck out. Which was not helpful advice.

Instead, she’d plopped herself on the couch while Paul had popped popcorn and told her she could choose the movie.

She’d chosen Saw. The perfect not-having sex movie.

But, the movie had ended, and instead of leaving, like she should’ve, Paul had tricked Attina into a debate over proper torturing practices and how to survive during a horror movie. They’d argued and teased and talked and then—

Yeah, they’d started kissing, and once they’d started they hadn’t really stopped. And, don’t get Attina wrong. She loved kissing. She loved kissing Paul, especially. Right now, he tasted like chocolate and popcorn and his lips were still a little cool because it was cool outside and his beard scratched against her lips and he was very solid and warm. She really, really did love kissing. But, kissing was all it would be and that distracted her because they hadn’t done much besides kissing and Attina knew she was holding out and probably being a tease, but kissing Paul was just so nice she couldn’t help herself as her hand tangled in his hair. She wasn’t even thinking about the eighty million bacteria exchanged every ten seconds of their kiss…

PAUL: Did Paul intend for this date to turn into a potential Netflix and Chill? No. No, he did not--honest.

Did he want to have sex with Attina though? Yes, yes he did.

But that wasn’t the point of tonight.

The point of tonight was: pie. Pumpkin pie, apple butter pie, triple pear pie with a walnut crust, harvest pie full of raspberries, cranberries, blueberries, glazed over with almond and cinnamon. Pie with a dollop of cream or a slice of cheese on the side. Pie sprinkled with powder, pie drizzled with caramel sauce. Pie-- plus gooey caramel apple cider, or a pumpkin spice latte with pumpkin whipped cream, or rich, dark hot chocolate with chocolate whipped cream if you’d opted for the caramel chess pie with the oreo base. Pie, pie, pie. Delicious-- buy-one-get-one free-- pie night.

Yes, Paul had seen a sign in Hatter’s advertising their special Pieday Friday and decided to turn it into a low-cost, high-romance, super-fall-infused date night.

So there had been pie, pie with all the trimmings. Attina looked like some sort of--autumn goddess when she’d bustled in in a warm sweater dress, her long hair golden-red under the light. For a while they’d debated over which pies to get and Attina cajoled small samples from Hatter until they settled on their perfect slices. And after their bellies were full of pie and cider, they walked into a brisk twilight, Attina wrapped around Paul’s arm. He breathed in the scent of the changing leaves and felt like kissing Attina up against the trees in the park and he barely resisted, settling for little kisses on the cheek, then cheeky whispered come-ons in her ear. And when it was time to go, well, Attina’s nose was pink, her hand still wrapped around his arm and he didn’t want to end Pieday Friday. So yes. He invited Attina over. Though-- not necessarily to have sex.

He just wanted the time.

So first there really had been just a movie. A bloody, gory, terrifying movie which had Paul shrieking and hiding behind Attina, or pushing his face into her shoulder as he groaned out such eloquent things like “Holy fucking shit” and  “Aw, c’mon, don’t-- aw, don’t cut off your foot--!”

But it was worth it in the end. In the end, Paul felt his heart alive in his chest, going rapid-fire, his brain turned up to top-speed. Of course he launched into a tirade about torture devices. Of course, eventually, he kissed Attina, kissed her harder than normal, and pressed her into the couch.

He didn’t think about it. He just did it.

And then they were kissing like teenagers on his couch in his near-empty flat, one lamp on. He could taste the sticky sugar-and-salt of the popcorn on her lips as well as a hint of tea behind it all. He kissed her deep, her lips pliant under his own. He kissed her and time started to move away so he wasn’t thinking about how long he had been kissing her, just wanted to kiss her and kiss her till he needed to breathe.

His hand moved down her body, skirting past her waist, following the curve of her hip down to the thin netting of her stockings. He could feel her body heat through them. He could feel her body heat everywhere, as their lips tangled and her hand knotted itself in the locks of his hair, giving it little tugs that made his blood roar in his ears. And Paul, he’d been so good. He’d been an angel. He’d stayed above the waist whenever they snogged a little like this, sometimes ending it with tickling because he loved the taste of Attina’s laughter in his mouth.

But Attina wasn’t laughing. She was breathing heavy. He was breathing heavy. She sighed against him and Paul’s hand moved up again, right under the dress, over her stockings, curving over Attina’s ass as he lifted her pelvis closer to his own.

ATTINA: Attina was very aware of Paul’s gentlemanly behavior. Because Attina had not been afforded very much gentlemanly behavior in the past. Men liked to grab and grope. They thought if they paid for dinner they paid for a glance up your skirt or a squeeze of your breast. That wasn’t how Attina did things, though.

The only boy who’d gotten that far was Adrian Cobb. That was when Attina was just freshly sixteen, the summer before she started sixth form. They’d been dating for three months at that point, and Adrian had decided they were ready. Attina had loved him. She’d thought she’d loved him, and they’d had sex on the couch in his basement while his parents were out. It had hurt and afterwards she’d felt dirty for the first time. Dirty enough to go home and scrub her skin pink.

Her mother had known—somehow. She’d cornered Attina in the bathtub after dinner three nights after it had happened, asking about it.

She had asked how it went. Just that—“How did it go?”

Attina had burst into tears. She didn’t know why, because she did love Adrian and he hadn’t necessarily been mean to her or anything. Her heart had just exploded. And her mother had held her and shushed her and told her that she shouldn’t let anyone touch her unless she really, really wanted them to. Unless she trusted them with everything.

Everything, Attina had known, even then, meant her secret.

Anything less than that would be lying. Lying about the biggest part of herself. The part of herself that Attina loved the most sometimes. Hated the most other times. It was a complicated relationship, to put it not-so-simply.

She wasn’t really thinking about this—she was thinking about Paul’s tongue and his chest pressed against hers and how warm he was and how he made her feel like there were butterflies in her stomach, how he made her laugh and shiver, sometimes in the same breath and how no one had really done that before.

Until his hand slipped up her dress.

She froze at once, involuntarily really. It was just her instinctual response to those things. Her hand moved from his back to clamp down on his wrist. Her mouth popped off of his and she drew in a shaky little gasp of air. Then, just as quickly as she grabbed it, she released his wrist and brought her hands up to her face. Her heartbeat, which had been beating hard but slow, now kicked up its rhythm so it felt like an engine in her chest.

“I-I—uhm—I—” she stuttered, rather ineloquently, face bright red. She pushed her fingers into her cheeks and closed her eyes in a wince.

PAUL: Paul wasn’t thinking at all. He wasn’t thinking about past girlfriends-- not Mary who he snogged in the loo during Easter Mass once, not Emily who he had sex with for the first time on a couch just like this one-- not Perdita, who he’d kissed just over a month ago, his hand following the same path that traced Attina’s now.. He didn’t think about them because they didn’t matter. Their bodies were not the body that was underneath Paul’s. He knew that. Paul was a lover of detail, and more than that, a lover of new-

And so all he was thinking about was Attina. Her body. The way she smelled, the way she tasted. Her legs shifting under his own, the shape of her thighs, how soft she was. He was thinking about getting under that dress, alright. He wanted to push the dress all the way up to expose the plane of her stomach. He wanted to know the colour of her bra. He wanted to fit his hands around her breasts. He wanted to kiss down her neck, nibble on her collarbone, draw a line with his tongue down her sternum--

So his hand squeezed her ass and he bit down on her lip--

And Attina turned rigid as stone underneath him, before clamping down on his wrist like she was gonna rip his whole hand off. There was a loud pop as their mouths separated, leaving Paul sucking in oxygen right above Attina’s cheek.

And his brain rushed back fast, a different kind of heat flooding his face and his ears. Aw shit. Aw shit, what was he thinking? He wasn’t, that was the answer. He’d been thinking about the pink colour of Attina’s skin and--and getting his hands all over her. He’d been thinking like a pig, was how he’d been thinking, and now Attina was squirming and putting her hands over her face.

Times like this, he really wished he were more like Roger.

He pushed himself up with his one hand, his other slipping back from under her dress. “Sorry,” he blurted at once. Which didn’t peel Attina’s hands from her face. He tried again. “Sorry, I-- I didn’t-- Attina, hey-- it’s okay, it’s my fault,” he reached out and quite gently tried to tug one of her hands away from her face. “Look at me, really. I just-- I… uh got too excited?” An awkward laugh puffed from his lips as he shook his head at himself.

ATTINA: Oh gosh. This was--this was awful. It was worse than when Attina usually stopped this kind of thing (something that had happened a lot over the past ten years.) Because normally the embarrassment came from a place of--fear, almost. Which made all her exes sound like big scary people. They weren't. They were just big, horny people. Who wanted to have sex. And Attina did not want to have sex with them, because it didn't feel right.

Attina was a person of feeling. Her gut instinct directed her romance. It wasn't a perfect compass by any means, which was why she'd wound up dating a bunch of jerks. But she knew that she would know when someone was right.

And Paul felt right. His smiles and his kindness. His creativity and his humor. He made her heart flutter and he made the idea of sex--not quite as scary (sure, she'd still be terrified, but the fact that she was considering it was more of a step than she'd taken in a long, long time).

She was ruining it too. Because she'd stopped this and now Paul would think she was a prude or stringing him along or that she had something to hide.

Which she did. She did have something to hide. And Paul had been so lovely to her up to this point. He was even apologizing and touching her gently and he didn't seem mad at all.

The secret bubbled up to her lips. She wanted to let it out, more than she ever had. If only to smooth the crease between Paul’s brows.

But, she couldn't. And instead, desperate, embarrassed tears stung at the back of her eyes.

“N-no, I-I'm sorry. I just--I-I--” How was she supposed to explain this so he didn't hate her?

“I w-want too.” She blushed bright red and turned to push her face into a pillow, and the she looked up at the ceiling. Face drawn.

“T-there is something that I--have to tell you first. And I'm...I’m not...ready.” She winced and then glanced at Paul. “It's nothing bad!! Not--not really, anyway. I don't like--have a disease,” she said in a scandalized whisper.

PAUL: Paul was prepared to make jokes-- take the mickey outta himself first and foremost, lighten the air, maybe even tickle her if it came down to it, because this wasn’t the first time he’d ever been with a girl who was nervous and he knew better than to put the pressure on or get too serious. Was Paul often with girls who got nervous or were-- shy? Er, truthfully, not really. There was one or two. But the last thing he wanted to be one of those boys who made a girl cry.

Johnny was a boy who made girls cry. Simon was a boy who made girls cry. But Paul? No. He didn’t want to be. The thought curdled in his stomach.

(And this wasn’t as noble as it looked on the outside or even as Paul liked to think of himself. Paul hated being hated. He needed to be liked and admired. Many girls he’d dated just because they liked him so much, damn his own feelings, and that-- that wasn’t noble at all.)

So when he heard the catch in Attina’s voice and his short, awkward laugh didn’t make anything better, Paul’s stomach gave a small twist. His smile faded a bit, and he furrowed his brow.

There is something that I have to tell you first.

And he had no idea what that could be.

His brain ran rampant through the potential options the way it probably, definitely, shouldn’t, as a cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck. He jumped to an STI-- course he did-- though that one Attina swatted away fast. So that meant he was falling fast onto the tracks of last autumn’s Paul, who filled his days with alcohol, staring blankly at walls, and trying to come up with the story that would explain Perdita leaving him.

She has a secret husband, she has a boyfriend already, you’re a side piece--

She has some other type of sickness. She has cancer. She’s dying.

She’s sick like Mum.

She’s never done it before and so she’s nervous-- maybe she’s waiting for marriage.

You’re not good enough for her.

It always boiled down to that last one. It was like breathing for his brain, the way it could self-cannibalize. That lesson he learned much too early. Every boy who grew up in his shoddy neighborhood with a dad who drank like his and a mum who barely left the house learned that lesson.

But lucky for Paul, the last thing he wanted to do was fall apart or become a paranoid, overly emotional, over-reactive freak of nature, which would be exactly what he was if he leaned into any of his impulses. No, Paul had to be together and sane and the understanding boyfriend-- the type of leading man you saw in movies and TV shows (not novels though-- piss-poor arseholes like Paul littered the pages of novels).

He did sit up about half-way, thinking it best to give her-- space. “Oh uh-- I-- that’s okay. I mean, I don’t want to-- I want you to be...ready and if you’re not, that’s, that’s fine. Really.” A beat, then-- “You ah… have you er, done it before…?”

ATTINA: Attina watched with her heart in her throat as Paul’s smile faded. She hated that, because Attina loved making Paul smile. He had a nice smile, it crinkled his eyes and made them twinkle. He was one of those people who smiled with their whole body, like Arista or Simba or Nala. It made him seem so big and bright, and when he turned that smile her way—it was like being warmed by her very own sun.

She’d never felt that before with anyone.

So, watching it get snuffed out was terrible. It made her stomach all twisty and all she wanted to do was make him smile again, but she couldn’t because she knew that she couldn’t have sex with him. If she had sex with him right now, she’d ruin all of it. Not just Paul’s smile. Because if she had sex with him now, she’d feel so guilty and like she’d been lying to him this whole time (she had) and that he didn’t even know her (he didn’t.) And these were things that couldn’t be true if they were going to have sex. Sex was more than sex for Attina. Sex was—the ultimate form of trust. Well, the ultimate form of trust after telling someone she was a mermaid.

Those words were still on the tip of her tongue.

She wanted to say them so badly, but her fear kept them locked tightly behind her lips. 

I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid, I’m a mermaid. 

As he sat up, so did she, like there was a string connecting them. That’s what it felt like, except that Attina was dangerously close to cutting that string. Every other boy she’d ever been with—this was the point where they scoffed or stormed off or tried to push her back into the couch anyways. And she really didn’t want to believe that of Paul, but still, when he opened his mouth, she flinched and drew in on herself a little. Her eyes staring down into her lap as she leaned back against the arm of the couch and curled her fingers around the hem of her dress.

Though, after the first few sentences—she glanced back up at him from under her lashes, mouth parted slightly in surprise. Then, she ducked her head and blushed again.

“Yes,” she said at once, a little breathlessly, her cheeks pink. “Uhm, not—not since I was—I was sixteen, though. But that’s—that’s just—just because I’ve dated a bunch of assholes.” She snorted a little humorlessly at herself and shrugged her shoulders in a ‘what can you do’ gesture. 

“And it’s not—I’m not…saving myself…or anything. It’s just—complicated. Sex…makes things complicated…for me. A-and I just—need to know…” Her lip trembled. “I-I just—I need to wait. F-for right now. Not—not for always.” She looked up, her face twisted. “I’m sorry.”

PAUL: As Attina went on, Paul’s wild imagination twisted again. But it didn’t twist against him. For once, his brain wasn’t looking for every single way he had messed up or every single way he’d failed to live up to Attina’s expectation. He was a self-sorry, self-loathing git most of the time (in private, always in private) but he also watched people enough-- he read enough-- to realize when something really wasn’t about him.

This wasn’t about him.

All the clues that Attina was giving him said everything but that. She talked of other boyfriends-- assholes, she called them flippantly before shrugging like she was a small and inconsequential girl, like being treated cruelly was part of life. It was-- Paul knew that. He expected pain, hardship, long hours at work, the ache in the soles of his feet, relationships that didn’t work out. But it shouldn’t be something you shrug at. Paul could never shrug at all his pain. Laugh about it later, twist it into some fantastic story-- but never shrug.

And so whatever it was that Attina had to tell him, it had happened in the before.

And see, everyone always had a before. Some unlucky bastards had several befores. Paul had three. His first before had been the cusp of 18, the last days of secondary, uni bright in the distance. It had been petty squabbles and dirty looks from most of his brothers and his mum wondering to him why he had to go all the way to Durham-- wasn’t he going to miss her?

Then there was after-- Lucas drowned. Durham was no bright light. And his life had come to a standstill.

His second before was before Perdita was pregnant. This one, Paul could look at in fascination because he’d been all roguish and confident but utterly foolish. The after-- Paul had become a man.

His third before was the day before Perdita left him.

Paul was still living in that after now. It was too close. He was deep within its weeds. He could not see a way out and he hoped, he hoped, that Attina might help him find it.

So yeah, he-- he understood having something so big that it reshaped pathways in your life. It could be death, injury, or violence. Whatever it was, it made Attina as young as sixteen again, and Paul wanted to protect her.

He scooched toward her again, his thigh pressing against her leg. He roped his arm around her too, squeezing her other shoulder gently. “Hey, it’s alright. Really-- I don’t need it, but I do need you,” he told her softly. He smiled, his other hand lifting up to touch her cheek. “Whatever it is, it can wait. You just-- tell me in the meantime where I can put my hands, yeah? I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, I mean, I got sisters, I get it.”

ATTINA: Part of Attina was still sure that Paul was going to laugh at her. Or maybe he was going to lean back in and kiss her again and try to get his hand up her dress again, like she’d said nothing at all. Like she was nothing more than a little doll. That had happened before. More than once. That was usually the reaction when Attina stopped her boyfriends. When she told them no. When she told them that she just couldn’t right now.

They never listened.

But, how could she think that of Paul? Who looked at her so kindly, his eyes the same murky blue-green of the lake she’d come to love and call home. Paul who had sisters, who understood not to push or to laugh. Who was a romantic himself.

Her heart was still pounding away as he scooched towards her, and Attina stiffened, just a bit, until Paul’s arm simply came around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. Her breath shuddered in her chest and she felt so silly for feeling so emotional about all this. Girls weren’t supposed to be like this. Not the pretty ones. Not the ones who were confident. Who could sleep with whoever they wanted. Not girls like Perdita, and all the ones that Paul had probably dated in the past. None of them were as weepy, she bet. None of them had told him no.

She was spiraling down into this thought cycle until he said what he said.

I need you.

Her eyes snapped to his, eyes wide with surprise. She didn’t know what to say to that. No one ever told her they needed her. Not really, not in so many words. If anything her sisters complained. I don’t need you, that was what Ariel had said only recently. It was only Daddy who really said anything along the lines of “I need you” but that was mostly in a grateful without-you-this-house-would-go-to-hell kind of way. Not that he needed her. Just someone to—be there.

Paul said he needed her. Weird, bashful, too-talkative, bossy, crazy clean-freak Attina, who had too short of legs and a too-loud laugh that made her snort sometimes when she really got going. She blinked at him and felt the tears gather again. She didn’t want to cry. She really didn’t.

But, she blinked again and a tear slip out of her eye and over her cheek.

Leaning in, she squeezed her eyes shut and kissed him soft. The kiss broke with a little sound and she ducked her head to rest it against his collarbone, listening to the sound of his heart while her fingers played with the collar of his shirt, and she couldn’t ever remember being so happy.

“Thank you,” she murmured softly to him. I love you, she almost said.