Work Text
She is unpredictable, like the ocean. She has storm-grey eyes like a cloudy sea, seashell-round and open. Her smile is like a gust of wind – cool and refreshing, sometimes, and other times enough to raise goose-pimples all over. Her hair is like the last dying thread of sunlight in the night, the dusk-red burning of a final moment.She is not angry when she sleeps. Her chest rises and falls like the tide, calm and rhythmical. She sleeps on one side and dreams of strange people that she could never see in real life. (“A purple man with wild hair,” she says, or sometimes, “A green octopus with a mask”.) Sometimes her breath will flick a little, catch on some surprise as if she’s discovered a secret about the world, and then return to its pattern with a peaceful sigh.There’s no knowing what to say to her. Most of the time conversation is surface-level, the weather and little annoyances, nothing really worth the effort; still some of it, surely, must convey the feelings that are so strong beneath the surface. “Nice day today,” can also mean, “You make my day nice,” after all.She is ethereal. She walks down into the salt tide, the white foam surging up around her legs, and she turns around and calls out – “It’s lovely!” That’s what she means, anyway. It comes out as, “Come on, you wuss.”She is powerful. The first time she inflicts pain, it is for a mistake. A mistake. She is angry because of something forgotten, a minor slip. It won’t happen again: that’s a promise. She accepts that with good grace and gets bruise ointment for where her fingers have pinched the skin.She does not like that friend. “Why does he have to come? He looks at me funny. Doesn’t it make you jealous?”Jealous. Yes, maybe. But that friend comes to visit anyway. He says, “I need you. It’s a work thing. We’re investigating – uhhh – 'coral reefs'.” It’s important to keep the real issue a secret from her, not because it’s a way to cheat (no one could ever dream of cheating on her), but because it’s out of her realm of understanding.“Well, all right,” she replies, after a lot of convincing. “But you have to call me every day, you understand? And make sure to come back as soon as you can.”She cares. She will pine. That’s the depth of her love, that she can’t bear to be without. She will get angry if she feels hurt or abandoned, and that’s perfectly natural.She also calls in tears to say, “I’m –”The work trip ends sooner than expected, after only two months. The friend has an odd expression on his face. “Is everything all right between you two?”It’s fine. Everything is fine. After all, it has to be fine now. She will have the most beautiful wedding ring, with an amethyst gem set in the centre.She doesn’t approve of that friend as best man but there’s no way not to invite him. She punishes, twists the pinkie finger on the left hand: “You’re so weak. He doesn’t belong here, on our special day.” The ring she gives chafes against the stiff and swollen digit.Having a daughter calms her down for a while. In the moonlight and the tiredness, she holds her child lovingly, looks at the little face with softness and love; then she turns and her face changes just a little. If she could just keep that same expression, everything would be solved. If she could just keep that same expression, there would be no more pain or punishment.Another mistake breaks her run of calm. “You stayed out so late in the labs,” she frowns. “I was worried – do you have any idea how hard it is for me alone, with the baby?” As she speaks, she jabs the knife into skin and makes it bleed. “You deserve this, for the way you’ve been treating me.”It’s the freshest of many wounds made by kitchen knives, but it won’t be the last that she makes. She is disciplining. She is right when she says it’s deserved. The little girl is almost two now. She dotes on the child with every fibre of her being, spoils her rotten with little gifts, coos over her hair, encourages her to hate that friend. “He’s stealing Daddy away from us. He’s a bad man.”That friend still needs help. “We’re 'studying sharks' in Africa. On the coastline, I mean.”“Well, you know the rules,” she smiles, sickly sweet. “Call every day and come back soon.”She miscarries this time. It nearly breaks her. Her pain and anguish carries even over the miles and miles of crackling telephone reception. This time, though, there’s no way to come back for another week; there’s still business to finish, even as she cries out for comforting arms to encircle her from afar.That friend still has the same odd look. “Are you sure you’re all right? You know you can talk to me at any time, right?”Yes, of course. It’s fine, though. There’s nothing wrong with the relationship.She pierces skin once more almost immediately after that. This time, instead of simply sliding the sharp metal out of the flesh, she twists it, just slightly. It brings back memories of a long-forgotten fight, where a young, beautiful man ground his heel in to the back of the right hand. Memories of how that man forced theft and hurt and humiliation.But this is different. This is out of love. This is deserved. So it continues unchallenged.Hospitals don’t know anything, according to her; she bandages and treats the wounds lovingly and gives a little kiss wherever it hurts. Sometimes she takes them off again later and digs back in. Well, it’s normal to wear long sleeves in winter. It’s normal to wear a long coat in all seasons, to cover where she’s been. People get love-bites all the time, and this isn’t that much different, after all.The little girl turns five and has a big princess-themed birthday party with all her classmates, and that friend returns with a new mission: “I need help with… you know.” He looks around. “We’ll be 'studying octopuses' in Australia. Octopi? I dunno, same thing.”She looks up with a scowl. “You always cause trouble for us, Polnareff.”Nevertheless. This is necessary.“You know the rules.”It is not her who gets sick this time. It is her little girl. “She needs her dad. I… I’m really struggling here.”But there’s still so much to do. Two week’s worth. She hates the continued promises of “soon,” because she cares. She needs a helping hand. She longs for someone to love her in return.“I know you love me, don’t you? Then come home.”This time, she heats the knife up before she plunges it into solid muscled flesh. Covers up the small grunts and yelps of pain with her hand so that her daughter doesn’t hear.“Next time,” she says, “come back when I need you. Believe me, this hurts me more than it does you.”It’s out of love. She loves so much, so desperately, that she simply cannot help hurting.“Masochist,” she adds, with a little smile. “You love this, really.”When the old man needs help with his will, she is surprisingly lenient. “Of course you can. I know it won’t take you too long.”It takes one day longer than expected, and the revelation of an unknown uncle ensures that there is another trip to be made. She scowls and takes the left arm in her hand and cuts a thin slice, like bologna, from the skin; it crisps and sizzles as the metal burns. “You won’t leave me again, will you? You won’t leave me here, all alone? I’m sure someone else could go in your place. Don’t you want to stay here, with me?”But the evil presence in that town cannot be ignored; even at the risk of punishment, a separation must be endured. It won’t take long. A few days to a week, perhaps: the penalty for that will be mild enough. It’s easier to put up with that than risk more family being hurt.The old man has the same strange look as that friend. “You know, I love your grandmother a lot. Even though I hurt her with this affair, the worst she would ever do is shout at me. And she likes all of my friends, just as I like hers. We trust each other – or at least, we did.”She trusts, too. (But that sounds false and hollow.) She likes the friends that she is asked to like. (Not that friend. But… wait, what other friends are there?)A dart pierces flesh. Melts like the knife. (Her voice, imagined, says: “You’ve been away too long.”) It’s self-inflicted punishment now, just as deserved; when the damage is healed, the burn wound from the knife transforms, fresh and clean as new skin.Call her every day and come back soon. “It’s been almost a month,” she says, over the phone. “When will you come home from this Morioh place? Your daughter is sick.”“I…” And suddenly, he wakes up. Suddenly everything clicks into place. She’s manipulating him.She is hurting him.“Julia. I want a divorce.”