Haley Thistle
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Selkie Boyfriend: Jude (complete)
🕑 Added 2021-01-14 20:00:02 +0000 UTC
Female Main Character x Male Monster
A few years ago my husband asked for a divorce. It was quite a shock, because we’d been sweethearts in high school and managed to stay together through college. All of a sudden he wasn’t happy? I didn’t know why, and I offered to try and make it right, but he said in the simplest of terms there was no fixing us. Things had gone on too long, and they should have ended years ago, he said. I thought maybe his mind would change, but instead he found something else. Someone else.
In the divorce, I’ve been given the beach house his parents left him. I’m not sure why he didn’t fight for it, but I figure I can go there to recuperate, and try to finish my book before the deadline and my agent kill me. I don’t realize until I arrive why my ex-husband let it go so easily. The place is in such a state of disrepair that I’m not sure I can actually stay in it. The front porch has literally broken off the side of the house and is sinking Titanic-style into the sand. The house itself smells like cat pissk and the floors feel like sand and grit. It’s like someone who never bathed came off a shipping boat and rubbed themselves all over every inch of the house.
That evening I sit outside while a dozen scented candles burn inside, and drink a bottle of wine while I sit on the sand before the house. Just the bottle, no glass involved. I have to figure out repairs at some point, but until then I plan to live on that beach like a drunk mermaid.
The sun reflects off the water, transforming the hue of the air to a dusky pink. I notice a man walking along the beach, head down, hands in his pockets. He stops and turns to face the sea, his long hair blowing around his head. He stands there for hours, just watching until the sun goes down. I sit there and just watched him. He eventually walks on once it gets dark, and after a while, I go inside. The candles help, but the smell of cat piss remains. I’ll probably have to tear up the carpet or get rid of the furniture.
I can’t do anything next morning. I’ve drunk too much and now I’m paying for it. The smell of the place sends me outside, but the air is too loud out there. I’m cursed with this place and I won’t know comfort while I’m here. I sit on the back porch, facing the road, and lean over an old wicker chair that sags with damp. A truck drives by, and for a moment, I think the man inside is the one who was on the beach last night.
That afternoon, once I can take a breath without my head throbbing, I try to figure out what to do about this place. I have money in savings I can use, but I have to consider this place as a money pit. I could sink all my cash into this place and come out with nothing. I only have so much time to finish my next novel, and I couldn’t go back home.
I at least call someone to clean the carpets and the furniture. I also wash everything that isn’t nailed down, hoping by some miracle I could get rid of that horrible odor. I clear away the old sofa and rattan furniture, setting them onto the curb in the hope they would be gone eventually. I have to take care of the front porch next. It needs to be broken down and a whole new one built. Considering it was built with no foundation, I need to hire someone to pour a cement one. I guess I’ve decided to throw my money away on this place.
The town is small, mostly people with vacation homes, so at this time of year the population is half what it is during the summer. Most of the shops on the boardwalk are closed for the season, and the only locals that remain are fishermen. I go to a thrift store in hopes of finding furniture, and the front of the shop faces the dock. When I leave, I see the fishermen coming up in their boats, hauling their catches.
I spot that big red truck again, and the man driving seems to stoop over his wheel. He glances at me as he passes, and I watch him. I haven’t found any furniture today, but I have managed to get the numbers of some people who can repair my place. I buy new sheets at the local department store, which is a good thirty minutes out of the way. I can’t stand the pilling flannel that currently graces the bed. I also get more wine.
It’s getting dark when I return home, and as I’m putting things away, I see that man on the beach again from the bedroom window. He’s staring out at the ocean, head down, hands in pockets. I didn’t notice if he was there last night, but maybe he’s out there every night.
The next day, I call people to come take care of the back porch as I continue piling things on the curb. As I’m adding even more rattan furniture to the pile on the couch, the red truck drives by again, but this time it stops. It backs up right to my pile of urine-scented nineties sofa and soggy rattan furniture, and the driver rolls down his window while I mop my forehead with my sleeve. The man leans out his window, long gray hair pulled back into a ponytail. He has an unkempt, thick beard and eyebrows to match. It’s his eyes that pull me in; beautiful, soulful brown eyes lined with the thickest, darkest lashes I’ve ever seen.
“You got someone to haul all that off for you?” he asks. “Because if you don’t, you’ll get fined.”
My mouth flops open like a landed fish. “I, uh...”
Those beautiful eyes narrow at me. “This isn’t the city. Nobody is just going to take your shit for you.”
“I know that,” I say as if I don’t.
He sighs and scratches under his hat. “How long are you here for?”
I shrug and extend my arms. “Forever? I don’t know.” I run my fingers through my hair.
The man in the truck tenses his jaw. “So you’re moving here?”
I place my hands on my hips. “I really don’t know.”
He gets out of his truck and begins tossing the rattan furniture onto the back without a word. He’s bigger than I thought, tall as well as stout. His hands look like they could encircle my skull with enough room to hold a beer can. “You’ll have to figure out what to do with that thing.” He motions to the sofa. “But don’t expect me to be taking care of it.”
I nod, but I can’t look up at him. “I’ll call someone, yeah,” I murmur. “Thanks.”
He looks me up and down, scratching under his hat again. “Are you high or something?”
I shake my head. “I wish I was, but I’m depressed. You wouldn’t happen to be able to haul that feeling in your truck, too, would you?”
He sighs, trying his hardest not to smile. “Are you here by yourself?”
I shake my head. “I ain’t telling you that.”
He scoffs, taking off his hat and smoothing his thick hair back. “Fair enough, I suppose.” He tugs his hat back on. “Welcome to the neighborhood.”
I motion to his truck. “Do I owe you money for anything?”
“Don’t worry about it this time. Next time, I’ll charge for the gas.” He gets back into the big red truck and glances at me. He seems to want to say something else, but he drives away.
I look down at the sofa before turning back into the house. The people who are fixing the front porch are supposed to be coming by later that day, so I start on cleaning the bathroom. When I walk on the linoleum, it sounds like there’s sand between it and the floor beneath. Everything has a crunch to it like that. Maybe it’s a sign I should just burn the place down.
I scrub the bathtub and sink, even pull out the drawers and wash them in the kitchen sink. I have to clean the kitchen at some point, but it just looks too big. I haven’t even opened the freezer the entire time I’ve been here, too afraid to look inside it. After I finish scrubbing down the bathroom, I feel certain the people I called about the porch will come, but no one shows.
I spend most of the day on my bed, reading an old book I found shoved under it. It’s getting dark, and I haven’t eaten much all day, so I decide to go out and grab something. Once again, out my window, I see that man standing on the beach again. Is it the man from the red truck? I can't tell. I just leave to go get food.
The local diner is still open, filled with mostly fishermen looking for something hot to drink and a vinyl-covered seat to relax in. I sit at the counter, looking up at the faded old signs that have probably hung in the place since the eighties. My ex-husband's parents owned the beach house for a long time, and I wonder if he ever came here to eat.
I scoff at myself. I need to stop thinking about him. I came all the way out here to try to bury myself in work and forget. I hold my head between my hands as someone comes through the door, and when I look up I see it’s the man with the red truck. He takes off his hat as he comes inside and looks directly back at me as he approaches the bar and sits around the corner from me. He looks over a menu, although I’m sure he knows it like the back of his hand. The waitress immediately brings him a cup of coffee in silence, which he begins to fill with sugar.
“Found someone to haul away that couch?” he asks.
I scoff. “Can’t even get someone to tell me what to do with that porch that’s fallen off my house.”
“You burn it.”
“I doubt that wood will burn anymore,” I grumble.
He looks up at me, a slight smile on his face. “I’m serious. Save your money and just burn it. Take a hoe and pull it down. I bet it’s rotten enough that even you could do that.”
I look him over, wondering why a sasquatch of a man like him is sitting at the counter when the booth would be more comfortable. “Is that what you did to that rattan furniture?”
He looks up from his coffee and shakes his head. “I took it to the dump. That stuff won’t burn.”
I look up as the waitress brings me my food. “I’ll buy his meal,” I tell her.
“Don’t,” he grumbles.
“Don’t make me do anything, sir,” I huff at him.
He chuckles and sips his coffee slowly again. He’s silent for a moment, eyes focused on an ad for pie. “What are you doing here anyway?”
“Looking for food,” I say as I stab at my egg and run my bacon through the yolk. “What do you think I’m doing here?”
“No, I mean here.” He points with his thumb over his shoulder. “This place. Why go to that old house that’s falling apart?”
“I decided to call it 3D. Depression, Disaster, and Divorce.” I lift a finger for each until I wag three in the air. “It’s 3D.”
He clicks his tongue and nods his head. “Okay, now you’re starting to make sense.”
“Do a lot of people come here because of that?”
“No, a lot of people come here because it’s a fucking beach.” He looks at me again. “But I’ve been going through this 3D of yours as well.”
I nod along. “You do get it.”
He sighs heavily and looks ahead again. “What’s your name?”
“Oswald. Hazel Oswald.”
His brow furrows. “Why does that sound familiar?”
I shrug. “No clue. Now pay up, what’s your name?”
“Jude,” he raises his coffee mug to me. “Jude Sutherland.”
I lift my cup to him as well. “Hey Jude.”
Jude moves closer, and has his meal beside me. We don’t talk much, but it’s nice to have someone around. As we leave the diner, it’s quite cold out. I look up at the sky as my breath leaves me in white clouds.
“Is there any heat in that place?” Jude asks.
“No,” I laugh. “But it’s fine. I do better in the cold anyway. I have some wine, though, could warm me up. Would you like to join me?”
I’m not sure why I’ve invited him over. That’s a lie, I do know why. I’m lonely and he’s close. We never got to the wine, and it doesn’t matter. We must both be lonesome, or else I don’t think we would have given in so easily. I cling to Jude desperately that night. It’s been so long, I think I’m almost crying. His body is big, warm, and heavy. I enjoy his weight, his touch on me more than I should. I kiss him, and even with the beard, I enjoy it. I press myself against him, knowing my best days are behind me, but I wanted to give him everything I had when I was young. I yell from the passion, the heat, and yes, I cry during climax. His body hunches over mine, his breath harsh and whimpering. We kiss and moan as our bodies beg for more. I’m surprised at his endurance. He’s very much a young man in spirit.
Eventually, I sit up and go to the bathroom to give him a chance to slip out. I turn on the sink and stand over it, watching as the water goes down the drain. My body feels soft and warm still. I touch my arms, my breasts, everywhere he did. I’ve never been with someone besides my ex-husband. This is all brand new to me. I know this is a moment of weakness for both of us, so I want to give him some dignity. After a while, I turn it off and go back to the bedroom. He’s sitting up in bed reading the old book.
“Now I know why your name is familiar,” he says as he closes the book. “I’ve read your work.”
I get back into the bed quietly. “You caught me.”
He places the book aside. “Your novel ‘The Call of the Sea’ was a favorite of my wife’s. She used to read it over and over again. I never really got why she liked it so much.”
I pull the blanket around me. “You didn’t like it, I take it?”
“I thought it was silly,” he murmurs. “Now, I can understand why she was so attracted to it.” He turns to me with a sad smile on his lips. “What made you write about selkies?”
“I can’t remember now. That was my first book.” I lie on my back and put my hand over my forehead. “It seems so long ago now.”
Jude lays back down beside me. “There must be something you remember.”
I look over at him. “Why are you still here?”
“It’s too cold out, and I don’t have a coat.”
I sigh and drop my arm. “Fair enough.” I look at the ceiling while we lie in silence for a while. “My grandmother used to talk about selkies a lot. She grew up along the coast in Scotland, so she heard all the tales.”
“So you wrote it for her?”
I shake my head. “No. I wrote it for me. I wanted to meet the selkies.”
Jude reaches out and places his hand on my chest. “That’s what my wife wanted as well. She wanted to go out into the ocean and never come back.”
I furrow my brow at him. “Did she?”
“I don’t know.”
I run my hand up his hairy arm. “So she just left?”
“One morning, I woke up to find her and my coat gone,” he whispers. “I found her footprints in the sand, just right out there,” he murmurs.
“Your coat?”
Jude nods and rolls over onto his side. “She left, so now I can never go back.”
“Jude, what are you trying to tell me here?” I chuckle in disbelief. “You’re not… really? Are you?”
Jude closes his eyes, and the sad look on his face almost breaks my heart. “Not anymore at least. Like I told you, she took my coat.”
