Chapter 1
In the confinement of its concrete cage a hopeless voice calls out to its long lost home with certainty that what it longs for will never be granted.
It is motherless, lonely, deemed a merciless monster by most and a victim by others.
It calls out to the ocean, to its unexplored vastness, the deep blue waters, the singing of those like him, its home and destiny, to be wild and free.
He wishes to roam the dark blue once more, to ride the waves and to belong.
In madness, induced by the lack of response, the alienation accumulated over all those years of being vastly different, of not being in the right place, it bumps against the glass, and feels the water tremble as it used to in the ocean, breaking through the surface and putting on the show they expect to see.
It is November 1983 and the fjords in eastern Iceland display a beauty, a dramatic, raw beauty unchanged over centuries. The fjords are steep, rising up into the undiscovered blue sky, in which the birds sing and flutter with a freedom so many can only long for. Further inland the valleys turn green, alive with the pattering of arctic foxes, white as the snow they hunt in.
A young orca, light and darkness, life and death, yet free, is separated from its pod, a net drops in between him and his mother, and though he cries out for her she can’t reach him, he is lifted from the water, from all that he knows, to be born once more and thrown into a world new and unfamiliar to him.
Tilikum, the orca, lived out the rest of his life in between concrete walls, far away from his home and his family, in a world as far removed from his natural habitat, as if a human were ripped away from life on earth and placed on Mars all by himself, used for entertainment at the expense of his own sanity and health.
All alone.
Punished, simply for the crime of not being like them, of not being human.
The plane is about to crash and James grabs the seat in front of him, digging his nails into the soft, withered leather, his stomach swoops dangerously when the plane lurches forward, the nose dipping down into the white of the clouds surrounding him inside of what he views as the box of death.
Sweat breaks out on his forehead and he clenches his jaws together, his eyes traveling to the girl next to him, the book in her lap, one finger lazily keeping the pages from closing.
Page 734.
He takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes closed, tilting his head so that the cool air from the aircon brushes over his face. The drops of sweat feel cold against his skin now and he swallows away bile as he attempts not to think about dying, though naturally, the more fierce the attempts to push the thought away, the stronger it comes back.
When he opens his eyes he sees the stewardess pull closed the curtain at the front of the plane, leaving a tiny slit open to view. Panicked, he looks around the plane, eyes flicking from one passenger to the next, wondering why no one else is noticing the bright blue sky, the control panel, the pilot turning in his seat.
His eyes flash over every seat, scanning for someone as high on alert as he is, is the plane being hijacked? The door to the cockpit is never supposed to open, is it? He can’t see any of the cabin crew anymore and thinks about getting up, walking over there, and asking whether something’s wrong. Asking them, are they really going down, any moment now? Again he feels the swooping in his stomach, both from panic and the subtle movements the plane makes in the air.
Page 735.
To his left, the view to the outside world is blocked, but he moves forward to look out the window, focusing on the movements of the wing, the slight vibrations of the wind and the sun shining over the sea of clouds.
He petted the neighborhood cat this morning, made sure not to touch his cursed pair of jeans, put on all of his bracelets, and-
Wait, James shoots up in his seat and checks his wrist, counting the bracelets and touching each one as he checks to make sure all of his lucky bracelets are there, he blinks away the incoming tears and tries to regulate his breathing and sing a song in his head to suppress the panic that’s bubbling up inside him.
All the bracelets are there.
Page 736.
Did he look at the church on his way out of town, the one with the green roof and the white walls rising from the yellow flowerbeds? With the forest behind it and the meadows in its front yard, where the two Frisian horses feed on the tall grass? Could he have forgotten to look? No, no he thinks he looked, he always does, who knows what would happen if he didn’t?
Everything should be fine. He sits back down and secures the seatbelt. Not too tight, he wouldn’t want to cut off the blood flow to his legs and get a blood clot, but not too loose either, in case some turbulence hits the plane and he’s thrown out of his seat.
The girl’s hand moves around the edge of the page, about to flip it to the next one.
James snatches the plasticized sheet from the holder of the seat in front of him, scanning over the emergency procedures as his gaze drifts to the top of the sheet.
Boeing 737-800.
He’s heard some people talk about this feeling, the other day. Impending doom. Apparently, humans can tell when something really bad is about to happen.
James feels that all the time, but now, he thinks, he feels it a little more. He’s certain the plane is going down.
Her finger lifts the page and James can’t stand this any longer.
Page 737. Boeing 737-800. If she opens the book to that page they’ll go down, he can just feel it in his bones.
A bird might have strayed all the way up here, sucked into the whirlwind of air caused by the moving plane, trapped in the engine and setting it on fire. He imagines the engine exploding, the plane tipping to the side, the fire spreading over the wing to the cabin in which he sits. Or a screw will have come undone, or the pilot will fall asleep, or there will be a crash in the system.
“Don’t.” He snaps, surprised at his own voice, his hand covering hers and prevents her from flipping the page. Preventing the crash, the deaths and horror. He looks down at his legs and remembers all the books written by the survivors of the Andes rugby team crash, he wonders if he’d be able to walk all that way.
If there’s a life waiting for him that’s worthy of a trek through the mountains for days on end, with nothing to keep him going but the flesh of his kin.
“Excuse me?” The girl shoots back, looking indignant as a frown forms on her face.
In the seats in front of him people turn and look, at his side he feels the eyes pricking, and he sits frozen, wondering why he’s like this.
At once the disappointment hits him, followed closely by the cruel, never-ending sadness. The one so painful he sometimes likens himself to someone with a chronic illness, but then again, isn’t he someone with a chronic illness?
All he’s ever wanted is to be normal, to not have to be trapped inside his brain, and yet he’s here, intruding in this woman’s life just because his brain doesn’t function properly.
“I’m so sorry.” He breathes out, quickly moving his hand away. “I’m just- I don’t know what happened. I’m so, so sorry.” He rambles on as he unbuckles the belt with shaky hands and wrestles himself out of the tiny chair, unfolding his long legs, and stumbling into the aisle, unable to tear his gaze away from the girl’s face.
“It’s okay.” Her face softens into something sympathetic, not the right kind, the look you give someone when you know they’re not in their right mind. “Don’t worry about it.” She adds as she closes the book, noticing the sheet on James’ seat.
His chest tightens and he makes haste as he walks toward the end of the plane, he gives the stewardess a tiny smile and closes the bathroom door behind him. Collapsing on the closed seat and holding his face in his hands, biting hard on the inside of his cheeks as a distraction, he’s tapping his knee, where, just above his joint the tattoo sits, the one of the orca. It brings him comfort and he clicks around his phone until he finds the documentary he likes to watch, the one of the pod of wild orcas, birds flying over the water as they hunt, moving like one single body, being free.
I’ll feel better when we land. He thinks. Chanting the words over and over in his head in an attempt to reassure himself that soon he’ll be fine again, that this feeling won’t last forever. But as soon as the words form in his mind he knows they’re false. His life is one never ending sequence of this sentence, or variations of it. Just today, I’ll be okay this weekend. Just one more bus ride, just this, just that, and then it’ll all be okay again. It never is. There’s always something new.
Once he lands things will be worse, probably. He’ll have to wait around for his luggage, and what if he has to pee right as the suitcases arrive? There’s no one else to pick it up for him. After that he has to go find the car he left here, drive himself back to his dorm. He dreads traffic signs which he might have forgotten the meaning of, the bikers that give him a scare as they cross the street quickly. The trees he might think are people, the small children biking at the side of the road he might accidentally hit. And next? His lonely dorm? The whole new life waiting for him, just as he was getting accustomed to living his old one?
It's as if he can’t keep up, never can. And in moments like this, when everything gets a little too much, when the burden of his mind becomes too heavy and his thoughts seem like demons flying through his brain, nibbling away at him until there will be nothing left, and he wonders how much longer he’ll hold out.
He curses at the universe, at the gods he doesn’t believe in and the DNA in his body. Why was he born like this? Why does he have to be trapped inside a body, a brain, that only ever tries to kill him, to limit him, and to make his life the absolute worst it possibly can be?
It’s moments like these where he wishes it would all end. Where he longs for calm, for an escape. The feeling of sinking into water, the waves lapping at his feet and the tide pulling further in. The cold making him numb while the world loses color and turns blue, sounds muffled to the constant buzz of the water moving around his head, just waiting in the comfort of the ocean to put him to sleep and carry him to a place better than what he’s known so far.
James takes a deep breath as he pushes open the heavy door to the bar. The hinges creak and the floorboards bent under his weight as the unbearable heat envelops him at once, like a punch to the face. He lets go of the door and watches it slowly fall close. Seconds pass and he counts them all, a sense of dread growing inside of him as the gap of the darkening sky grows slimmer.
Then the door closes fully, it clicks into place and James is standing inside the bar, wishing he could go back outside but afraid of the feeling of defeat he knows he’ll feel if he does. He shakes his head at himself, carrying his feet over the sticky floor, wondering why he always seems to be at competition with himself. Why going back home would feel like the worst kind of failure, of defeat, like an omen for the rest of the year, his life even.
He longs for his bed already and fixes his gaze on a point ahead, ignoring the blur of unfamiliar faces.
The bar is one long room, stretching out further than he can see, all the way into darkness. The orange lights are dimmed just enough that you can barely see a thing and the air is hot and clammy, there’s sweaty people bustling around and bumping into each other, drinks spilling over the edges of glasses and the loud talking of too many drunk people in one place.
How is it possible everyone is happily chatting away already? Did they meet during the introduction week? The one he hadn’t wanted to go to, because he wanted to put this moment off for as long as possible? The unavoidable moment where his life will change forever, where he officially leaves childhood behind and starts adult life.
Tomorrow’s the first day of lectures, of university, of everything, possibly. So far he thinks he’s doing fine. Turning off his emotions and living like a ghost has always come easily to him, and right now when everything feels like too much to bear, he’s glad with this way of survival.
He’s far, far away from home, in a place unfamiliar. His parents are at home while he’s here, all alone. He and his friends are all scattered throughout the country, without a confirmation their friendship will last now that they’re apart.
His eyes scan the room, the parts he can see. He memorizes the exact spot where the neon green exit sign shines and is happy to find out no one’s smoking inside. Still, he’d rather not walk all the way to the back, where he might get trapped should a fire break out somehow. And the bar filled with bottles of drinks and taps of beer is right next to the exit sign anyway, it’s the perfect spot to be.
The best thing to do, he decides, is just to walk up to someone. They’re all new, all desperate for a distraction of this new loneliness, the life waiting to start tomorrow. Surely, everyone will accept him now? Only for tonight, for a drink? Get to know some people so he can greet familiar faces on the campus whenever he walks past them.
It sounds nice, he thinks. Besides, in high school it was never an issue. James was always very popular, had tons of friends and even more people begging to be his friend. This should be ridiculously easy.
He puts on a smile, the one spreading from ear to ear, that makes his dimples show and the skin around his eyes crinkle. The one that makes him look kind, approachable. It does wonders. Life is a performance anyway, James is just one of the few able to see through it and put on one hell of a show that could trick even the most talented con artists.
“Hi, sorry.” He interrupts a group of people talking. They’re all his age, freshly out of high school, slightly petrified, greasy hair and sunburnt cheeks, pupils dilated from the alcohol. The smell lingers all around them, it’s only the beginning of the evening. They look like the kind of people he’d have hung out with in school, they’re well-dressed and have this brightness about them, the one only first-year students have, when they know they’re about to take on the world.
“Didn’t we meet, during the introduction week?” He picks a random girl to direct his question at, knowing she won’t say they haven’t met, knowing she’ll be enchanted by his smile and invite him to stand with them.
She stops talking to her friend and spins to look at him, he can tell from the slight widening of her eyes that he’s got her. She’s pretty, very pretty, he notices. Dark hair falling down all the way to her waist, an uneven fringe above her eyebrows, enhancing the effect of her large brown eyes. Her smile speaks to him, he likes it when people look kind and happy, uncomplicated. “Yes, I believe we did.” She returns, raising her hand and holding it out for James to shake.
“It’s just… your name’s slipped my mind.” She tilts her head to the side and gives him an apologetic look, scrunching her eyebrows together. James grabs onto her hand, delighted it isn’t sticky with sweat or anything, but soft and warm, and he shakes it enthusiastically. He doesn’t say there’s no possible way for her to know his name, since they’ve never met, instead he steps closer, not letting go off her hand, “That’s okay, I’m afraid we have that in common. I’m James.”
Her smile widens, she briefly looks down at their hands, a flush appearing on her cheeks. “Hi, I’m Chloe.” Her voice has gone a little soft and James tells himself not to do this, what he usually does. Make a big deal out of it. Take every single glimpse, every interaction, every smile and hello and make it into something it’s not. For once, he’s going to be a normal boy, in a new city, surrounded with tons of new people. He’s not going to latch onto the first girl he meets and decide she’s going to be his wife. That’s never worked out in the past anyway.
“Chloe.” He repeats, do girls like to hear their name being spoken, too? “That’s a lovely name.”
She blushes and James gives her a smile, then turns to the rest of her friends, looking at their faces one by one. On either side of Chloe is a girl, one a brunette too, except with shorter curly hair. The other used to be a blonde, he can tell from her roots, and now dyes her hair lighter, missing youth, life without complications, everlasting freedom, that seemed to not last forever in the end.
The other girls are pretty too, but then again, James thinks everyone’s pretty. Now that he thinks of it, he doesn’t remember ever seeing someone and not thinking they’re goodlooking. Everyone’s got something, he’s excellent at finding and appreciating whatever that something is.
There’s two boys standing with them, so now that James has joined it’s all evened out. One of the boys looks rather young, pimples and redness cover his face and he’s constantly trying to put his arm around the blonde girl, who keeps stepping a little closer to the girls. The other boy is tall, taller than James even, and undeniably attractive. He’s got a mysterious and cool look about him, yet his eyes and smile suggest he’s sweet, and maybe even rather nerdy. His hair is cut in a fluffy mullet, which James always thinks makes someone immediately very cool, and whenever his face falls in the light James can see he’s got hazel eyes in a shade that’s not very common.
The most remarkable thing about him, however, is all the scars. Everybody has some scars, of course. James has got a little dimple above his eyebrow, from when he had chicken pox as a child and scratched his face open, and a little stripe by his eye where he once hit his head on the side of a table and nearly knocked his eye out of its socket. But this guy, this is different. Maybe he’s got some chronic illnesses, went through a lot of operations? He can’t really figure out what they’re from, but his arms and his neck are covered, as far as James can tell, and he’s even got some on his face.
They all introduce, going around the circle, James is happy it doesn’t feel awkward, he’s picked the right group of people to stand with. “I’m Remus.” The boy with the scars says at last, when it’s his turn.
Should he make a funny comment? Call him a pirate? Is that offensive, hurtful, he wonders? Probably, yeah. “Remus… like-“
“Yes, like the one Rome wasn’t named after.” He sighs with a smile. James always likes to think he’s pretty good at knowing what kind of person he’s dealing with, he’s a people’s person, and especially in a group setting like here it doesn’t take him long to figure out a lot about someone. And Remus, Remus is a nice guy. Someone who doesn’t follow society’s stupid rules, who thinks the amount of people you’ve kissed matters and who must always wear brand clothing. He seems understanding and fun, the rare kind of person James might actually connect with.
James spends a little while with them. Apart from Remus, who didn’t go to the introduction week either, all of them did go, and know quite a lot of people. They keep running into people, saying hi, introducing each other and asking about each other’s degrees. Pretty much everyone’s drunk and the conversations are always too shallow and short, but it’s nice to get to know a bunch of the first years.
“Don’t you want a drink James?” One of the girls asks him eventually. He looks down at his empty hands, hesitating. He always hates this moment. Where he has to announce he doesn’t drink. Answer the annoying questions, laugh away the stupid comments, keep saying no as they press him to just drink something, it’s not a big deal anyway right? Not drinking as a student seems to be something massive, something strange, like an absurd statement to make. Some people gasp so loudly when he tells them and look so surprised he feels he’s sinning. As if he’s just told them he doesn’t care about global warming or abortion laws.
“No, thanks.” He mumbles, trying to evade that whole thing and just go on with the evening. He’s dying to meet someone with the same degree, it’d be nice to have someone to sit with tomorrow.
Chloe, hammered by now, trips and falls against his chest, he catches her and holds her up as she stares at him with a seductive look in her eyes. “Please, will you share a drink with me?” She asks, slurring. “I’d love to, really, I just don’t drink.” He puts her back on her own feet, letting his hands linger on her shoulders.
“Why don’t you?” She asks, twirling a strand of hair around her finger as she grabs one of his hands with her free one.
“Just… health reasons and all that, I’d like to not get kicked out of the football team.” Is the answer he goes for. It’s a good one, he’s an athlete, and takes that very seriously. Would drinking a little get him kicked off the team? No, definitely not, but she doesn’t need to know that.
“Well, I promise they won’t find out, I’m good at keeping secrets.” Chloe says, her voice slurring.
“Oh, no-“ He starts, but she’s dragging him off to the bar and orders some massive cocktail with two straws, the glass is nearly as big as her head, and it’s passion fruit flavored, James loves passion fruit.
She holds the enormous glass in her shaky hands, leaning against one of the bar stools to make sure she won’t fall over, gesturing at the straw and waiting for him to drink. James smiles politely and picks the passion fruit off the surface of the drink, emptying its contents in his mouth. The sour fruit tastes slightly infused with alcohol. He freezes, the hollowed out skin of the fruit in the palm of his hand.
“Go on.” Chloe says, moving the glass around in front of his face. He licks his lips, considering. A few sips won’t be that big of a deal, right? Just to get her to shut up about it. No other reason, just that. And he’s had a little taste now anyway, so what’s a little more?
He playfully rolls his eyes, “Just this one drink.” He tells her, then leans forward to have a sip. Nothing happens yet, he doesn’t feel altered or drunk or like he needs this more often. He’s fine, totally fine, and can handle just this one drink.
They lose sight of Chloe’s friends as the drinks accumulate. Together they stumble through the bar, drunk, dizzy and sweaty. James feels great, he feels confident. It doesn’t take him a lot of thinking, worrying or energy to talk to people, to have fun with Chloe. He’s not worrying about the things he’s saying or the fire hazard the wooden floors cause. The thought of tomorrow and the new life fills him with hope rather than fear and he just feels good. Happy, can’t wipe the smile off his face. This, this is what life’s supposed to be like. Just live, happily, freely. Not let those stupid thoughts consume his head, let them limit and ruin his life.
After some more drinks, he and Chloe stumble out of the bathroom. She’s giggling in an endearing way, blushing all the way down to her neck and adjusting her dress as she pulls the door closed behind them. James grins down at her and puts his arm around her waist, pulling her close again and going in for a kiss.
“James!” Someone calls out, and he stops just before their lips meet. Chloe looks disappointed, her lips parted, just for him, and James is even more disappointed as he looks around the ill-lit room to figure out who just interrupted this moment.
When he notices who it is his stomach drops. James chooses flight, lets go off Chloe, and takes big steps in the opposite direction. His head is spinning and the first beginnings of panic settle inside him as he realizes he’s forgotten where the emergency exits are. He’s had way too much to drink. The room is so long, and so dark, he feels like he’s trapped underwater, caught in a wave, and can’t find his way back to the surface. Which fucking way was the exit again?
“James.” A hand closes around his wrist and pulls him back. Her voice is stern, he remembers feeling safe whenever she talked like that, because he knew he could trust her to always help him out. She was smart and reliable, and he enjoyed being able to depend on her.
Again he attempts to flee, roughly swinging his arm around until he’s free and trying to walk away, though he can’t remember which direction to go in. The panic inside of him grows and in a reflex his hand creeps up to his neck to scratch at it. Suddenly he feels like he can’t breathe. The hot bodies in the overcrowded bar, bumping into him and blocking his sight him make him feel like he’s suffocating. Is there even a way out? He knows that to others he looks completely fine right now, but on the inside, he’s close to breaking down in tears. He feels trapped, stuck in this unfamiliar place and for a moment he considers the possibility of being stuck in here forever. Never leaving at all. Like some horror movie or bad dream.
Was this a bad dream, maybe?
“The exit’s there.” She says, and she takes his hand, leading him through heaps of people, tapping shoulders and shoving people out of the way whenever they fail to move. He’s got his eyes on the floor, watching his shoes, blindly following her because after all he knows that he can trust her to lead him outside.
Finally they walk through the door and he feels the cool air against his skin. Relieved, he lets out a breath, noticing the sky is filled with stars and the moon is already out. How long has he been inside? He doesn’t even know.
The street is calm and James laughs at himself for being so dramatic in there.
“You’re drunk.” She states. He kneels down, his hands on his knees and takes deep breaths. He’s so not in the mood for this right now. Her highness with her precious opinions and judgements. Expecting everyone to just listen to whatever she has to say.
He looks up, still kneeled down, fingertips on the cool pavement to steady himself. She’s wearing a green silk dress, reaching just past her knees and hugging her body in just the right places. Her natural beauty pisses him off and he looks at her face, the bright green eyes, staring down at him with that maternal look, always trying to fix everyone and everything. The summer’s done her good, her freckles are dark and all over and she’s got a glow on her skin that tells him she’s doing well.
“Not now, Lily.” He sighs, hanging his head down and staring at the ground. Waiting for her to lecture him.
“I won’t.” She says, he used to think her voice could grow flowers. She sits down on the edge of the sidewalk next to him, pulling up her legs and resting her chin on top of her knees.
“So, no Italy?”
“No, chickened out at the last moment.”
“We’ll be classmates then. I assume you’re still doing marine sciences?”
He looks to his side, she’s smiling at him. Her hair has grown since the last time he saw her, it’s frizzy with the summer heat, falling down all the way to her waist. “Your hair has gotten long just like you wanted it to.” He observes with a groan, he always used to say long hair would look amazing on her but she’d get in these moods where she cut it all off in the bathroom because she was certain she could cut it herself.
“Hey, It’ll be nice to not have to walk in there alone tomorrow, won’t it?” She bumps their shoulders together with a chuckle, James can’t help but smile, though he hides it from her.
Lily Evans, the girl who broke his heart. He knows she’s a lovely girl, with a kind heart and nothing but positivity inside her, wishing him well all the time. It’s just that he’s determined to despise her, and he’s quite stubborn, so being in class with her won’t be good. Terrible as it is, he’ll soften up to her eventually, it’s impossible not to.
Lovely, just lovely. Now he’s dreading classes even more, knowing his days will be spent staring at the girl he still loves, but who won’t love him back.