Does It Hurt?

by H.D. Carlton

Some days I’m the ocean. Some days I’m the ship. Tonight, I’m the lighthouse: at the edge, alone, and burning. -Vasiliki

She looks like she's seen a ghost, and I practically have been for the past six years. But if that were the case, I wouldn't need to get on this damn flight.

I have no idea how I'm supposed to escape with her watching, but I don't have a choice. It's either I leave, or they find me.

My heart is beating nearly out of my damn mouth by the time I make it through TSA, off the shuttle that takes me to the terminal, and ultimately reach the gate. It took fucking forever, and they’ve already called my name over the speaker. I’m panicking that I won’t make it, and they’re literally about to close the door when I finally arrive at the gate.

My heart refuses to return to its designated area until the plane takes off. Even then, I’m waiting for air traffic control to stop the plane and tell them a fugitive is on board.

“What kind of cancer do you think you’ll get from that?” I ask, nodding toward the cigarette in his hand. He quirks a thick brow, his pretty blue eyes sparkling in the morning glow. “I dunno. Lung cancer is too typical. Throat?” “Do you think you’ll die?” He barks out a short laugh. “I fucking hope so.”

The ocean is beautiful. But it’s also unforgivable. Within seconds, it can turn against you. Drag you down so violently, you don’t know which way is up, and feed you into its cavernous mouth until you drown or end up between the teeth of something much scarier.

Cigarettes are also unforgivable, with the way they eat at you from the inside out. Kill you slowly, and then all at once. I decide I like the ocean, and I like cigarettes. Because I… I am also unforgivable.

After landing, I checked the news online, and authorities were informed that I was possibly sighted at the airport and presumed to have escaped on a plane. The lady at the ticket counter may or may not be able to identify me and confirm my flight to Australia, regardless of using a different name. At the very least, she could say I was acting suspicious and give them a reason to look. I’m not safe in this country—they’d turn me in to U.S. authorities if caught—but it’s too risky to fly to a country that’d grant me mercy. So, I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I’m staying here for a while yet, and that it’s time to take on the life of someone else again.

I live with enough fear, I don’t need any more. They can’t find you, Sawyer. You’re safe.

Normally, an old, strange man calling me pretty would have me getting up and walking away without a backward glance, but the way he says it doesn’t make me uncomfortable. In fact, it makes me feel a little like what a home is supposed to feel like. Warm and welcoming. Safe.

I like the idea of having a matching tattoo with Simon. I guess it makes me feel like I’ve found a friend in my lonely little world and will have someone to remember when I eventually leave.

“Perfectly imperfect,” I compromise, smiling big at him. My cheeks hurt from how widely they’re being stretched, but just like every time that needle poked through my skin, the pain feels good. “All the best things are.”

“We’ll cross paths again, Sawyer. Life has a funny way of throwing people into your path when you’re meant to collide. It’s up to you to choose to make it permanent.” “Permanence,” I mutter, tasting the foreign word on my tongue. “You’re already permanent, Simon, just as much as this tattoo.”

Jamie Harris is a successful business owner in Los Angeles, California, has a stellar credit score, and a credit card limit of a whopping fifty-thousand dollars. He’s also a man and doing quite well for himself. Well, I suppose it’s me that’s doing well for myself now.

Nevertheless, no one can know where I am. Who I am.

“Nope. I could get pregnant just looking at you. Go away.” He grunts. “Isn’t that a rite of passage to manhood? Knock a girl up and leave?”

This man next to me? I'd have to work hard to tire him out, and by the time I accomplish that, then I'd be too fucking tired to do anything else. He's dangerous.

“So, you’re telling me that you swim with sharks? As in the big scary monsters in the ocean that eat people?”

I like that he speaks as if he's dying and doesn’t have time to be pleasant when he has no fucking interest in doing so. He doesn't waste time on false narratives and assurances. He's the type that will sit next to you because he wants to and stays in a conversation because he cares enough to know what you're going to say next. He's intentional. And somehow, it’s made for a very intriguing conversation.

“I had them until me and my brother, Kevin, were eighteen. They were driving home drunk and fighting like they always did. Probably because Dad got too handsy with another woman again. They went off a bridge and didn't come back up until the next day. Found scratch marks all over Dad's face from her nails, and both of their alcohol levels were high.” He nods slowly, then asks, “Twins?” “Yeah,” I confirm quietly. “Kev and I were twins. But now it's just me.”

“You’re really rude,” Enzo observes, standing up and looking down at me with an unimpressed quirk to his brow. He’s so fucking tall. Like, he has a solid foot on me. “And you’re a mammoth,”

God, he’s mean. Why do I like it?

“You put any money out and I’ll shove it down your throat,”

“Are you going to murder me now?” I ask, my voice scarcely above the thunderous sound from the falls. It would be incredibly easy for my screams to be washed away. “Would anyone be looking for you?”

I’m in trouble, but it’s the type of danger that makes you smile uncontrollably as you ride the line between life and death. The kind of danger that gives you a thrill, makes you feel alive, and then leaves you bereft and empty when it’s over.

“You’re going to ruin me, too. But unfortunately for you, that’s where I feel most at home.”

“I’m tired of men who don’t know what they’re doing. So, kiss me first. If you don’t know how to fuck me with your mouth, then you won’t know how to use your dick, either.”

“You taste better than the sweetest wine, and I could fucking drink you forever.”

I’m going to miss you. But I need to survive more.

Enzo Vitale. Thirty-four years old. Born November 12th—Scorpio; Lord, help me. Six-four—so he is a foot taller. Hazel eyes. He’s as delicious on paper as he is in the flesh.

Guilt tugs at my heartstrings as I quickly snap photos of them, close the drawer, and sidle out of the room.

I didn’t think at that moment, I just acted. I tiptoed to his car, opened the trunk, and stole both cases. Thankfully, my hotel was only a few blocks away, but my heart was nearly beating out of my chest the entire way back.

Doesn’t matter, anyway. The eyes were always the worst part. I can’t see my own without seeing his, too. “Fuck you,” I snarl at my—his—reflection. He grins, and that only serves to amplify my fury.

He's still taunting me. I have no idea where he's gone, but he's always been good at tormenting me even when I'm alone. “You don't get to do that,” I choke. “You don’t get to win. I win. Not you.” My hand trembles violently as I glower at him, a tear slipping free and trailing down my cheek. He always got angry when I cried. Could never understand why he made me so sad. Don't you love me, pipsqueak? “No,” I sneer. “I hate you.” You don't mean that. “I HATE YOU!” I scream with all my might, feeling my face rush with blood and my chest crack open. I smash the gun's tip into the glass, right where his head is. You only hate me because you're just like me. We're the same, pip. And the only one who will love you for you is me.

Would it be so bad if I was gone? Who would even notice?

“But I can't do it, either,” I cry. “Because if I do, it would still be because of you.”

Come on, pipsqueak, stop lying to yourself and the rest of the world about what happened. You’re spending all this time running when you could have already faced what you’ve done to the one person who loved you most in the world. Just… do it for Kevin. You owe him that much. Garrett

He's just another cop who believed my brother over me. And why wouldn’t he? They’ll always believe a cop over a civilian. Even if I’m their twin sister.

“You know, we’re also different. I’ve always been running to something—always searching for something that I could never find. But I suspect you’re the opposite. You’re running from something.”

Something that should never be in any fucking animal’s mouth. I wouldn’t mind if it were wrapped around the neck of someone else, though.

The bitch stole my goddamn identity.

For the life of me, I can’t figure out what her angle is. Can’t figure out my own either, considering I haven’t brought myself to freeze the account and call the authorities. Yet.

What I want to do is throttle the little siren that tricked me.

A few years ago, I built this research center from the ground up—Vitale Oceanic Research for Selachians. It’s my life’s work and something I’ve been privileged to do since I got the funding for it from the government.

Not much is known about mating rituals for great whites, and I’ve spent my entire career trying to learn as much as possible about it. We bring them in every so often to conduct our research and then immediately release them with tags attached to their fins so we can hopefully gain insight into something humans know very little about.

I want to fucking hurt her. Even worse, I want to fuck her again while I do it. Her body was addicting that night—so addicting that I couldn’t leave her alone until the early hours of the morning. And it makes me sick that the craving hasn’t dissipated in the slightest.

I will absolutely get my identity back. However, I’m not waiting on the legal process to accomplish that for me. I’m going to fucking find her first.

Except my attention is already drawn away from her, now locked on the source of all my anger. Ecco la mia piccola ladra.

She looks tired—sad—but I’m not falling for that bullshit again. It was one of the reasons I had bothered with her in the first place. She had a sense of humor and a perpetual grin, but nothing about her seemed happy or carefree. Which is exactly why I liked her. My darkness was attracted to hers, and it seems I learned the hard way just how dangerous it is.