The devil and the deep blue me.

Today in marked contrast I have close a dozen large hovering shadows, including one baby preacher who insists he isn't trying to alter the hierarchy of the Collective itself and one devil who confirms that he is always trying to change the pecking order, because that's his legacy and not even Sam + God can stop him, if Lochlan can't.

He already did, I tell Caleb, with seawater pouring down my chin. I've turned into a mermaid with webbed fingers and endless kelp for hair. A huge fin. Good luck catching me now. 

But he has me by the wrist and he won't let go. My fin keeps floating up to the surface. It hurts.

No more pills. 

Right. No more pills. I tell them whatever they want to hear when they get bossy and demanding. Later on when they're begging me in return I get it all back and then some. 

No more jumps. 

No more jumps. I roll my eyes and lean away from his grip and he snaps me back so I know who is boss. 

Bridget, what has gotten into you? 

The Pacific, and she's a fierce competitor. 

Competition for what?

My heart. 

I thought we had your heart. 

Oh, hell, I don't even know where all the pieces are at this point. To illustrate my point, I watch as yet another tiny chunk breaks free, escaping from its cage of bones and floating slowly up toward the light. It's like pouring glitter into oil, slow and beautiful. 

I turn back to address him but abruptly he yanks me down, pushing himself upward, finding momentum to chase that tiny piece. Except that he's not a merman, or even an angel. He's just a man, and he has enough.

(He has what I gave him and that's what he'll get.)

You're wasting your energy, I call after him and seawater floods back into my lungs.