The Heist at Cordia Aquarium

Avery is dumbfound. How could she have believed it'd be as simple as a doctor's touch and she could do it? Anger coils in her gut, nestled within the compulsion's tentacular workings. Anger at Dr. Helen for not warning her. At her parents. Here, unable to help despite their wealth of lived experience. Shouldn't they know something? Shouldn't they already know what I'm struggling with?

No. That's not right.

Mom brushes a hand against Avery's uninjured shoulder. "What's wrong, dear? Are you okay? Do we need to get a doctor?"

Avery jerks away. "No!" She acts before she can think, driven on fumes of a momentary, unjustified anger. Guilt carves a spot alongside her heart. What's wrong with her? She scrambles for words to explain the thoughts running through her head. "Sorry, n-no. I don't need a doctor. I just... I don't know, I..."

Dad shambles into earshot. His hand falls away from its place massaging his chest. "Something wrong, you two?" He says.

Mom looks between Avery and Dad, silent and full of suspense. Expectation.

That's it, isn't it... what this is all about? What the rush out here was for? Expectations. Dropping her head, Avery rubs a palm into her eyes. For now, an expectation that I'll explain. Why I was out late, how I hurt my shoulder, what the doctor said. Expectation that I'll reveal every tiny detail and leave nothing out.

Her heart shudders under immense weight and compulsive tendrils respond in kind.

You have to control your tone. Your mannerisms and your volume. They'll despise you if you let emotions slip or you leave anything out. Might kill Dad, even. He's already too worried about you.

Both of her parents stare a stare that Avery can feel. Stress boils under her skin; itchy, crawling stress that soaks her clothes through. She swipes beads of sweat away from her brow, leaving behind a crackling layer of salt.

Such an insignificant sensation. Yet, it runs rampant through her mind. Every nerve within her forehead crackles and her mind writhes, as if even her brain were sticky with dried sweat. Why? Why did I think I could do this?

Because you're a terrible person. Apologize now so Dad won't die and you won't get kicked out of the house for killing him.

Dad places a hand on her back. Warm, gentle, well-intentioned.

Regardless, that breaks her: one final sensation to drive words and actions beyond Avery's dregs of control. She slaps his hand away. "I— I— I never wanted this!"

Mom gasps; Dad lets his hand — still lingering near — fall to his side. They're flanking her. Both close enough to be heard over the ticking clock overhead, yet both quiet.

Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick.

The clock stuttered silence is debilitating, each passing second a jolt to her heart. Until Dad breaks through in his ever kind tone. "Never wanted what? Let us listen, Avery."

How can he be kind when I'm treating them both like this?

Despite the thought, words shoot from Avery's mouth. "All this fish shit. The job, the degree, the—" Her throat seizes. "your— your all's expectations. Everyone expects me to do all these things and I don't want any of it! I never did!"

She's done it; she's finally said it. Flowers bloom, fireworks explode: at least, they should. Right? Exhilaration should cut away the stress anchoring her thoughts in catastrophic obsessions, but it doesn't. There's no relief. Anger still coils in her stomach; tendrils still cling — slackless — to her limbs; and sweat pours into her clothes, doubling their weight.

That was the worst way to say it, you know. Now they're more than justified to stop caring about you. You've defied their wishes, and now they're going to cast you aside. Unless you—

Avery drives her teeth down on her lower lip, avoiding eye contact and waiting for damnation with the taste of iron filling her mouth. I've said it. No taking it back. I've wasted enough of our time.

They're quiet; she can hear their gears grinding. Steady clicks like the reel of a fishing pole and she's a fish dangling helpless from the line. Dad starts, voice wavering with confusion. "Oh. Well, I don't think—"

Mom lays a hand on Dad's shoulder, quietening him. "How can we help?"

It's an odd question. Of all the hours spent planning this moment, it never crossed her mind. How? Why would they want to? They've already done so much for me, I can't ask for more.

Still, Mom offered.

Only so you'll ask for too much. That's when they'll spring the trap. You can't push forward anymore: turn back or—

A thought resonates. Thanks not to fireworks or blossoming flowers, but to the surprise of being heard.

They've done so much for me.

They've done so much for me.

They've done so much for me.

All around her, tendrils snap one after the other. She rockets from the depths of her own mind. Loose, shorn tendrils flap from her limbs, only to drift free like curls of seaweed.

Outside her forest of obsession there's room for the thought to grow — to change: did they ever say they wouldn't do more?

Something drops onto the fabric of Avery's sling, making a soft thud. She looks down. Amid its bright blue is a blotch of navy. Another thud, another blotch. She raises her hand to her cheek and tears slick her palm. When did I start crying?

Her parents stand in front of her, concern scrawled across their faces in wrinkled foreheads and clusters of crows feet. Dad massages at his chest and Mom nestles an arm around his waist.

I suppose I should at least ask, right? Avery darts her eyes between theirs. "Could— could I just take a break? To figure stuff out?"

Mom and Dad look to each other and back to Avery. In tandem, they embrace her. Avery doesn't fight it this time; she lets their arms close around her. They're warm. Solid.

Dad brings her in tight — careful of her injured shoulder — and he buries his face in her hair. His voice warbles against her scalp. "Of course, of course you can. As long as you need."

Mom's hand finds the small of Avery's back — a ginger touch. She tucks her own head to one side of Avery's and whispers into her ear. "I'm so sorry, dear. We should've made room for you to share this earlier."

The disconnect between Avery's expectations and her parents' actions replace coiling anger with something else. Nausea? She revels in her parents' warmth, but tries to tease apart what's happening inside her gut. Do I just need to go to the bathroom?

No.

It's an empty feeling, like she's barreling down a hill in a rickety rollercoaster. It's a full feeling, like she's just tucked in for a midday nap. It's fear; it's elation; it's love. Messy, folded together until they're inseparable. Mom's hair and Dad's sweatshirt wick tears away from either side of her face. Was this all I had to do? They just understand?

Avery buries her head into Dad's chest, snuffling. "I'm s-sorry I didn't say something until now."

"Shh, shh, shh. It's okay." Mom says, rubbing Avery's back. "Don't worry."

"But I don't want to just blame you two! What if all the pressure has been in my head? What if I tried harder?"

Mom weaves her hand into the hair at the back of Avery's head, massaging. "It's never just in your head. A thoughtless offhand comment, a forgotten plan. Anything. It doesn't matter, our brains will find a way to make it a hint at something greater. You don't have to find the exact causes right now; you've got time. You have so much more time to learn."

A wet sensation trickles down the crown of Avery's scalp. Dad, crying. He kisses the top of her head. "And you've got us: we'll be right here, learning with you."

No more worries jump for attention. No more words barge to the front of Avery's mind, demanding to be spewn without a second's thought. She can't even hear the clock anymore. Only the thump of Dad's heart and Mom's fingers running through her hair.