You Are Just A Service Merman

It started the way everything does these days: a trend I convinced myself was an act of genuine desire. Id followed the whispers and bought a service merman online.

The seller promised impeccable service, a deeply affectionate nature, and the romantic detail that, during special moments, mermen could cry tiny, precious pearls.

Yet, the one I boughtLysanderhad been here for two weeks, and far from shedding pearls, he hid in the kelp bed during every single feeding, as if the sight of me was an assault.

I messaged the seller, and customer service pinged back almost immediately: "Sweetheart, we are so sorry for the mix-up. How about we process an exchange right away?"

I couldn't help but ask, "What happens to the mermen you take back?"

"Oh, honey, don't you worry. Defective models are never resold. They are typically transferred to a specialized high-end culinary market," the reply stated, its tone chillingly casual.

It was still a life. I decided to give him a little more time. If things didn't change, then Id process the return.

But that very evening, I saw the creature who wouldn't even look at me, practically thrashing his tail off for someone else.

It wasn't that he wasn't affectionate. He just wasn't affectionate with me.

If that was the case, an exchange it was. It was just a fish dying, after all.

1

As soon as I finished checking the sellers messages, I crept back toward the luxurious custom-built tank that housed Lysander.

He spotted me from a distance and immediately spun around, burying himself in the flowing, blue-green kelp.

Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, that perfect, sculpted form. The aqua algae trailed down his back and across his lower abdomen as the water shifted. No matter how much of a problem he was, he was undeniably, breathtakingly beautiful. He was exactly my typewhich was why I had picked him out of the hundreds of profiles.

His eye-rims were red, and the tips of his ears had a flush of color. As I moved closer, he bit down hard on his own arm before swimming further away, deeper into the dark.

"The manual clearly states this is the onset of the mating cyclehe's a fully mature merman. Why is he still avoiding contact?"

I followed the instructions, raising my hand to gently stroke his cheek. He slapped my hand away without hesitation and took off, circling the furthest reaches of the tank.

"I don't like to be touched by humans."

The slap stung. I looked down at my hand; a thin scratch was already bleeding. He cautiously poked his head out of the kelp, a flicker of guilt in his eyes.

I tossed the prepared meal onto the floor nearby and left the basement without another word, my face set in a rigid mask.

"Your fish still won't let you touch him?"

My phone chimed. It was Sloane Hastings, my best friend, sending a text.

I replied curtly, "Tell me about it. Its been almost a month, and weve barely exchanged ten words."

Sloane: OMG! Did you get a fake or a factory reject? How much was he?

...

"Three million. From the store you recommended."

Sloane: "No way! That's impossible. Mine was perfect! That place is legacy stock, top-tier reputation. Message them again. Seriously, swap him out."

"Fine. Got it."

I pulled up the store page and sent a concise summary of my ordeal.

"The merman I bought from you is over two weeks in, and still refuses contact. Is this normal?"

The customer service rep immediately fired back: "Dear, did you follow the unboxing instructions precisely? Deviations from the protocol can sometimes cause initial reluctance."

I was furious. "What kind of ridiculous answer is that? You think Id spend three million dollars and not follow a basic user manual?"

I was practically worshiping this creature.

Sloanes merman, Kai, wasn't like this. Kai loved coming ashore, would clean himself up, use the specialized dryer on his tail until it became legs, and then warm her sheets. Sloanes glowing reports were the only reason Id spent that much on a fish in the first place.

The customer service rep, professional and unnervingly polite, didn't react to my anger. Instead, they offered the solution: "Dear, I am so sorry for this experience. How about we process an immediate exchange? We can ship the new model via Express Courier; it should arrive in three days."

The question I'd asked before slipped out again, driven by a strange, morbid curiosity: "How exactly do you process the returns? Do you ever resell them?"

"Sweetheart, rest assured, we are a reputable, high-trust business. Mermen are never resold. The returned models are typically processed for harmless disposal. You can relax about that."

"Harmless disposal means...?"

The reply was clinical: "Low-cost transfer to a premium sashimi market for high-grade carpaccio."

Sashimi...

I looked back at Lysander in the tank. A pang of something close to pity hit me. He was just socially inept, not a capital criminal. He didn't deserve to be chopped up for appetizers.

It was a life, after all. Ill give him a little more time. Maybe he would change. If not, then I'd swap him.

I closed the app and looked over at Lysander a few more times. Still gorgeous. But I hadn't bought him just for the aesthetic.

Turning on my heel, I walked back to my room and lit a cigarette, the smoke doing little to calm the slow burn of my irritation.

A text from home had been sitting on my lock screen for two hours, unanswered.

"Rei, your sister is staying with you for a few days. Try to get along. Don't throw another temper tantrum."

Temper tantrum? I wouldn't give Tatum the chance to malign me.

Tatum and I have always been oil and water. I had no idea what kind of manufactured drama possessed her to decide she wanted to stay at my house.

Tatum is my parents' adopted daughter.

I was kidnapped at the age of three and sold off to a remote mountain village, where I lived for eleven brutal years.

When I was fourteen, working the fields, my parents suddenly appeared. They said they were my biological mother and father.

I returned to the house that had forgotten me with a knot of anxiety in my stomach. The first person I saw was a radiant, polished Tatum. She looked like a designer-clad princess, surrounded by brand names, which only emphasized how much I, the dirty, bewildered prodigal, looked like an interloper.

I quickly learned that the year after they lost me, they adopted a girl the exact same age.

I genuinely thought we might find common ground until the moment my parents left the room. Tatum leaned in and whispered in my ear:

"I've been here longer than you. I am their daughter."

"Mom and Dad love me. Don't think for a second that you can just waltz back in and change that! I won't let you steal what's mine!"

She'd lived in my house long enough to truly believe it was her own.

A few years ago, I might have craved my parents' love. Now, I simply celebrate my escape from that backwater village and spend their moneylots of it.

Tatum will never know that the night before my parents rescued me, I was agonizing over how to escape a dreadful, prearranged marriage.

Perhaps sensing my desperation, my parents said nothing, simply handing me an unrestricted black card.

As a newly rich pauper, I was still cautious. I bought a few decent outfits and opened a discreet personal account, transferring significant amounts into it every month.

On my eighteenth birthday, realizing how uncomfortable I felt in the main house, my parents gifted me this standalone mansiontheir compensation for the eleven lost years.

Tatum didn't get one.

She was green with envy, but she was calculating enough never to show it to our parents. Her hypocrisy disgusted me. Unlike her, I was honest about my motives: I loved money, pure and simple.

I think money is a good thing.

And thats why, despite his standoffishness, the expensive Lysander was what I spent the most on.

His diet was exclusively the most expensive imported, air-freighted fare. His water was changed daily and regularly supplemented with a nutrient solution that cost three thousand dollars a vial. Even his tail scales were meticulously groomed by a specialized team.

Thats why Sloanes first comment upon seeing him was: "Rei, that three million? Money well spent. Keep him, and you'll find out just how much fun he is."

I had bought Lysander entirely to keep up with Sloane.

I had reached an age where I was starting to feel the primal urge, the hormonal push toward a deep, intimate connection. Compared to building a relationship with someone whose disposition I didnt know, a purchased transaction seemed infinitely safer.

Safe. Attentive. Eternally Obedient.

That was the merman stores slogan.

It was currently proving to be a spectacular lie.

Despite my objections, Tatum arrived, her luggage requiring two SUVs to haul.

She was unusually quiet upon entering, not engaging in her typical verbal sparring. Instead, she darted her eyes around, taking in the house.

What was she looking for? A hidden camera?

I couldn't be bothered with her games.

In my own house? Cameras? Not a chance I wouldnt have them. I had to assume Tatum was plotting something.

I didn't just install them; I made them invisible: in the flowerpots, the outlets, the stuffed animals.

And so, it was no surprise when I watched Tatum creep around my house for ten minutes at midnight before finally heading down to the basement.

"How could she do this? Keeping you in such a small tank? Don't mermen have rights? You have thoughts, you feel pain. She's so inhuman. If I were your owner, I would at least let you swim freely in a private lake."

The voice on the feed was pure, sickening syrup.

And Lysander, who had only ever given me an ice-cold shoulder, looked genuinely touched. Half his body was leaning out of the water toward her.

Tatum, however, probably didn't know that lake water would make Lysander's scales flake. A three-million-dollar merman is high-maintenance.

Lysander also had no idea there was a camera in the basement. I had installed it originally for the medical staff who came to check his vitals.

I had never paid attention to the feed until Tatum walked down there.

And thats how I discovered that Lysander possessed a tender sideand a talent for water ballet.

With his long, chestnut hair flowing in the water, he thrashed his tail wildly for Tatum, his deep-set eyes wide and moist, fixed on her with intense devotion.

Tatums face was flushed. Lysander obediently nudged his face toward her hand.

He ate my food, lived in my house, gave me a condescending look of disdain, and then turned into a warm, devoted puppy for Tatum?

I suddenly remembered: Lysander had been delivered directly to the house. I rarely shopped online, so the address was set to my homethe one Tatum still had access to.

Tatum must have unpacked him.

No wonder. I had coddled him, pampered him, and granted his every whim for over two weeks, yet I wasnt even allowed to graze his earlobe.

His attitude toward me had been consistently frigid.

I actually started to think I was the problemthat I was so unlikable even a fish hated me.

Looking at the intimate dance between the two of them on the monitor, I immediately messaged the merman shop.

"The previous merman isn't working out. I need an exchange."

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "308902" to read the entire book.