Chapter Text
So tell me where to put my love!
Do I wait for time to do what it does?
I don't know where to put my love.
One year ago.
Someone is texting him again. Cleo can feel his phone vibrating against the couch cushion. She glances at Lewis as he reaches for his phone for the fifth time in as many minutes, her brow furrowed in annoyance. They're not even an hour into the romance movie she picked out just for tonight, and he's already missed half of it. It isn't like Lewis to be this distracted while they're together, especially while they're on a date. An uneasy feeling rises in Cleo's stomach. Maybe something happened. . . What if, God forbid, his father is trying to contact him again?
"Everything okay?" She asks.
Lewis nods as he types a reply on his phone. "Yeah, everything's great,"
The relief that rushes through Cleo is short-lived and frustration instantaneously takes its place. If nothing is wrong, why is Lewis ignoring her in favour of whoever is on the other end of his phone? Cleo has something special planned for them, a new cornerstone in their relationship that she's been meticulously preparing for over a month. She can't have a single thing ruining this night.
Once he sends his message, he turns to look at Cleo. "Why?"
She shrugs. "It just seems like someone really wants to get ahold of you, is all. I thought something might be wrong."
"No, no, nothing's wrong. Just an old friend," Lewis says. "I bumped into her at the store today. We've just been catching up."
Her. Cleo isn't a fan of that. But, she reminds herself, Lewis is loyal to a fault. He'd never cheat. And furthermore, he's allowed to have friends who are women. Still, jealously forms a lump in Cleo's throat and pulses and twists like an angry eel. She makes a conscious effort to press it down. The last time Cleo listened to her jealousy, she nearly ruined everything with Lewis. She'd almost lost him for good.
Cleo manages a smile. "Oh? What friend?"
An expression that Cleo can't quite read flickers across Lewis' face. It's gone as soon as it comes, replaced by a warm smile—the smile that always leaves heat and giddy joy spreading throughout her body—but Cleo sees it all the same. It leaves her feeling unusually cold.
"It isn't important," Lewis says. "Let's just get back to our movie. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have been texting."
Cleo frowns at his attempt to change the subject. What is he hiding? "Well, if you've been texting her while we're supposed to be on a date, she must be pretty important. I'd at least like to know her name."
She doesn't regret what she says, but she does regret how she says it. Her words come out a little too accusatory for her taste. Cleo doesn't like conflict—she got enough of that when her parents divorced—and she doesn't want to start any with Lewis. She knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that Lewis isn't cheating, she's just . . . frustrated with the moment, and a little nervous about what she has planned.
But the affronted look on Lewis' face tells her it's too late for that. It isn't a look that Cleo has seen often. It scares her, a little. Lewis Daniel McCartney is not a man who is quick to anger. The lump in her throat grows bigger. So much for their perfect, romantic night.
Silence settles between them, heavy and tense, thick enough to slice with a knife.
Lewis sighs and finally says, "Charlotte, okay? I've been texting Charlotte."
The room seems to tilt. Cleo is suddenly very aware of the way her heart is thumping and fluttering like a wounded hummingbird. She absently reaches up to touch her own cheek to see if the skin there is hot and sore—to see if she'd been slapped. She hadn't. but it feels like it.
"Charlotte?" She half-whispers. "You're talking … to Charlotte?"
Her eyes well up with tears. She doesn't know what name she expected, but it certainly wasn't Charlotte's. Charlotte hadn't even been a possibility in Cleo's mind. Tiffany, maybe. The events of Year 11 slam into her like a tidal wave: Breaking up with Lewis. Seeing him kiss Charlotte on Mako Island for the first time. Seeing them together everywhere. Never seeing Lewis herself, and hardly speaking to him. Seeing Charlotte wearing Lewis' shirt—the one Cleo bought him for his birthday one year.
"Yes, Cleo, I am," Lewis says gently. "She's been through a lot these past couple of years, and so have I. We bumped into each other by chance in the dairy section. It turns out we both buy the same brand of lactose-free milk. She just wanted to apologize for how she left things and we started talking."
Sharp pain lances through Cleo's chest. Her bottom lip starts to quiver. She's had enough panic attacks to know she's on the verge of one. A sense of helplessness overwhelms her.
The same brand. . . Something about that insignificant fact, about knowing Lewis and Charlotte still have a connection, however minuscule, ignites Cleo's temper. Other memories of all the chaos Charlotte caused as a mermaid also start to flood back. The memories overwhelm her. . . suck her back into the past. Back then, she'd never felt so completely alone.
"And, what, that makes up for everything she did to us? To me? How can you be so insensitive, Lewis?!"
She's on the verge of hyperventilating. The room starts to spin.
Lewis runs his hand through his hair. "I'm allowed to talk to old friends, Cleo! Look, everything that happened. . . It was a bad situation all around, and we were all responsible for how things turned out. Charlotte is trying to move on, and so am I. Water under the bridge."
Cleo stands abruptly. "Move on? Move on?!"
Her dizziness intensifies. She grabs onto the arm of the couch for balance.
"Whoa, whoa," Lewis stands and reaches for her. "Cleo, calm down. Please. I think you're having a panic attack."
"I'm fine!" She shouts, flinching away from him. "Don't touch me! Just—stop talking to her!"
Lewis takes a step back, giving Cleo her space. "No. I'm not going to stop talking to her. She's grown a lot, and all she wants to do is make amends. I'm not going to stand in the way of that. She just wants to coexist in peace for the two weeks she's going to be here."
Tears are running freely down Cleo's cheeks now. She can feel their salt-tacky trails drying on her cheeks. "I don't want to coexist with her! I don't want her here at all!"
"You don't have to see her. But Cleo, please, sit down before you pass out. You're panicking."
"I'm fine!"
She isn't fine. Deep down, she knows she isn't—but she refuses to admit to herself otherwise. She wants to be stronger than this.
Cleo wipes the tears from her cheeks and sniffles. "I still don't want you seeing her. Or talking to her."
"And like I said, I'm not going to stop talking to her. And if I want to go see her, I will. You're not my mother, Cleo."
Cleo scoffs. "I'm your girlfriend!"
"Exactly! My girlfriend, not my owner! I am not property that you can dictate!"
Cleo folds her arms across her chest and sets her mouth in a hard line. "Well, I'm not comfortable with you talking to her!"
"And I'm not comfortable with the way you're talking to me!"
"Well, I forbid it!"
"Excuse me?!"
"You heard me," Cleo says, voice even, cold, and calm. "I forbid it. I don't want you talking to her or, or—"
"Or what? You'll break up with me?"
"Maybe I will!" Cleo shouts.
She doesn't mean it, but jealousy and insecurity and anger have overwhelmed her. She's in the throes of hysteria.
"Fine," Lewis says pointedly. "Then I'll leave."
And to Cleo's horror, Lewis does. She watches through tear-blurred vision as Lewis grabs his bag and walks out the door without looking back. He even slams it.
Cleo falls onto the couch and dissolves into sobs. The pain in her chest intensifies, and her breaths start coming in short gasps. She can't breathe. Lewis is gone. Again.
And, again, it's all her fault.