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Most people, Linda would hope, probably think that Linda Monroe's name and the word "pathetic" don't belong in the same sentence—unless that sentence is "Linda Monroe called a retail worker pathetic again."
She's rich, gorgeous, powerful. As far from pathetic as anyone could be...most of the time, at least. Right now, right here, in this moment, the feeling creeps up on her, though. That she's behaving in a way dangerously tiptoeing the line between pathetic and adventurous.
She looks around like she has so many times tonight already. No one else is to be seen, which she'd greatly appreciate, if no one didn't include the reason she's here tonight, moonlight illuminating her silhouette as she sits on the docks, feet dangling just above the surface of the water that appears black as tar in the dead of night.
She doesn't know how many nights she's spent here. Too many to count, probably. For years, now.
Nearly every weekend starting in spring was spent at the Monroe's lake house. In summer, they'd stay here for weeks. Linda always voted against traveling anywhere else in these warmer months. They could go skiing in Aspen or even swimming in the Maldives in winter—this mattered more.
...she thinks. Or knows. Whatever. Linda considers leaving. She'd love to, in fact. She'd love to leave this place, go home and sneak to her room with a bottle of wine—her father is playing cards with his rich friends whose gaze always linger on Linda a little too long, anyway. She's got all the freedom a girl could ask for, yet she's somehow bound to this stupid ocean.
Well.
She isn't. But the girl she's here for, is. Which, she supposes, does make her bound to this place as well. Technicalities.
As if she could read her mind (can mermaids do that? Linda makes a mental note to research it, later), a shadow nears Linda. Despite the darkness of tonight, its shimmer is clear—she's close to the surface.
And then she emerges.
Red hair stand out against a black night sky, dotted with tiny white stars, white like the mermaid's skin nearly seems. Ears perked up, sharp and growing to the side like those of an elf, shimmering in the same shade of turquoise as the tips of her fingers and the fins of her tail, her glorious, red tail.
Even her eyes share the ocean color, Linda has long learned it's a genetic thing, and when she opens them to look at Linda, it's so overwhelming Linda is glad she's already sitting down.
She hasn't seen Becky in months, since they last spent a weekend here.
Sometimes it felt like the only constant in Linda's life was the mermaid, Becky Barnes. The only thing she could rely on not to change. And wasn't that sad?
"You're back," she eventually says, after a shirt while of them marveling at the sight of one another. Linda doesn't answer.
"How has it been for you? I'm glad you're back."
"Fine, I've been fine," Linda answers. She doesn't trust herself to say much else. She's afraid the truth will spill out about how glad she herself is to have returned to Becky.
Becky grins in response, showing off her razor sharp teeth—Linda breathes in, breathes out, stays calm.
"Well, are you going to come in and swim with me? Or simply sit there?"
Linda looks down, inspects her clothing. Her white lace summer dress can handle a little water, she reckons.
Pretending to be reluctant about it, she dips into the water the tiniest bit with her foot: "It's awfully cold."
"I'll keep you warm, princess."
And then Becky has disappeared into the sea once more. Linda can't fight a grin.
This is her time to be free, after all.
If Becky wished to talk later, when the sun is rising and Linda is lying on the docks once more, they had all the time in the world. Now, they'll swim, and touch, and forget anyone but them and the endless sea exists.