Chapter 28
Ani
When Szhe’ka left to gather bedding for us, Azoeul returned in a flash like he was waiting for Szhe’ka to leave.
I feared he would prove Szhe’ka’s fear and confess feelings to me; however, he proved me very wrong by reaching into his pocket and pulling out a black leather sheath from the pockets of his pants.
Maybe I’m just used to being around naked aliens or maybe it’s so dark that the trousers blend too well into the shadows with him but I forgot that he even wears clothes.
He then pulls out a harmless wooden comb from the sheath and with a wave of his hand, it is double its length, and a thin blade pops out at the top.
“Wow,” I mutter and he hands it to me. The blade is dark, while the comb’s handle is a pretty mahogany brown. I observe it a little more in the light of the moon.
“I know that you are in capable hands, but this is a poisoned knife comb,” he continues to say as he hands the sheath to me.
I disengage the knife, hoping that the comb is not the part that brings out the blade because I haven’t used a comb on my hair in far too long. My hair hasn’t tangled yet but brushing it used to be a favorite pastime of mine that I won’t mind reliving.
“It is not lethal poison, but it will slow your opponent down quickly enough for you to escape.”
“Thank you, Azoeul. I hope I can use this on my hair too.” I joke and he laughs along before telling me that I can.
“I hope I will be back soon but I want you to always be alert,” he urged.
I don’t get to respond before he’s turning on his heels and zooming out, floating leaves in his wake. I thank him again, this time under my breath.
Szhe’ka returns to lead me to our resting place for the night. I lay on him as always, making sure to keep the comb woven in my hair, just at the perfect reach.
“Szhe’ka?” I sing, the overly revealing language ironically striking a dissonant chord in my brain.
But I have to do it. It might have been easy to only speak Azoeul’s language but now that he’s no longer here, I have to make an effort to meet Szhe’ka where he is.
He hums in response, letting me know he’s listening.
“Have…many regrets,” I pick my words carefully, translating them to a high-pitched chirping.
“No regrets,” he says like a choreographed response. He always says this but I know how dismissive I’ve been.
“No. I do better,” I try to speak as coherent as possible.
“I understand. I fail too. No regrets, Ani,” he trills, cuddling me closer. It’s impeccably frustrating that he’s bending all my efforts at reconciliation but he’s so sweet it’s hard to stay mad at him.
“Will change. Will be kinder,” I vow to him.
“Ani is good.”
“Nobody agree. Need change,” I argue.
“Of course. All change many times. Molting.”
“What?” I ask, confused.
“Shed feathers. For showing age. For mating. For new times. Molting.”
“Sure. Like that,” I agree.
“Wise you do, yes.”
“You call me mean?” I say, laughing.
“Yes. Before. You choose better. New feathers outside. New inside.”
A carefree laughter erupts from my throat before I can stop it. He sure is ridiculous.
“Was mean,” I admit. “Maybe still be, sometimes. But… want new… feathers.”
One of his smaller hands moves to stroke the feathers woven into my thick red braid.
“New feathers beautiful,” he croons. “You choose new feathers inside. Good.”
The Witch would have laughed in my face and told me I would fail.
But not Szhe’ka. He understands my need to change and believes I will. Considering how much time he’s spent with the Bitch, it’s surprising.
Very few human men would ever take that chance. Finding one of them would have been just as unlikely as getting abducted and ending up here with this odd male.
Sometimes I don’t really understand him. He’s equal parts depressed and insistent to get me to safety. My mind wants to gallop in fifty different directions about how terrible that combination might end up being, but I clamp down and focus on just how nice it is to be held.
How nice it is to be focused on, and not for what I can give, or the vicarious experience I can provide, or the notoriety he could gain from being around me… but just a soothing companionship.
It’s quiet now and there’s nothing else to fill the void.
For the first time in my life, I take the chance to tell someone the story of my life. I hand him the knife comb and instruct him how to unbraid and run it through my hair so I didn’t have to look at him while I speak.
The thing about being such a damaged person and deciding to let someone else in on the things that plague me is that it takes courage.
Back on Earth, something like this can only be coaxed out of me when I get to the bottom of a bottle but there is no liquid courage here, just the beautiful flame dancing against our skin and that is more than enough for me.
Before I start to speak, I think about what my therapist would say to this, and all I can hear is the echo of her voice, telling me that it’s about time I let someone in.
My heart hammers in my chest and I decide to switch to the protection and speed of Azoeul’s language to talk about the moment my life changed forever.
The story takes me deep into my memories.
I was so very young the first time I understood what my mother expected me to trade.
It was a Friday night. I was dressed for a school dance, smoothing down a dress I already thought was too short. When I came downstairs, my mother was in the living room with a man old enough to be her father. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at me.
Both of them turned. His eyes moved slowly over my legs. I remember thinking I had told her the dress was wrong.
“Mom, I’m going to the dance,” I said. “My friend’s waiting.”
“You’re not going,” she replied calmly. “Why waste time with children when someone important is here to meet you?”
The way she looked at me made it clear this wasn’t a suggestion.
At dinner she told me to pour wine, even though I wasn’t allowed to drink.
The man kept staring. Afterward, she said she needed to step out and told me to “be polite.” In the hallway, she squeezed my arm hard enough to hurt and whispered that this man could help my career…
but only if I made him happy. If I embarrassed her, she said, I would regret it.
I remember standing there, thirteen years old, trying to understand how a school dance had turned into a test.
That night I learned that my body was currency. And I was expected to pay.
Out of all the auditions I booked, I got two roles, none of which were the leads. I was happy with it, but my mother was convinced I was doing something wrong and I was punished by her words, armed with vitriol and hatred.
Years passed; I was no longer a girl and my desperation increased. I would kiss anyone who gave me the faintest bit of attention but dropped them when they didn’t have a juicy enough role for me.
I didn’t care; I was vicious in kicking anyone who weighed me down, just like my mother had taught me, but she seemed to hate me more with every passing day. When I would try to leave, she would call me ungrateful and say she should have left me back in Russia to rot like the scum I was.
When I finally decided I’d had enough, it was too late.
By the time I’m done with my tale, I feel tears prickling at my eyes and threatening to fall out.
I’m sitting on Szhe’ka’s legs and all of his hands are working through my hair.
He stops and wraps his hands around me, large body cradling me protectively, holding me close as a song bubbles from his chest.
“Not understand all of story. But did not earn, no matter what you think,” he assures me and for the first time, I believe him.
Somehow, as I retold this, I was able to think of it with far more empathy for the younger me. I was fighting for my freedom, not accounting for the evil that humans were and expecting that my mother would protect me.
It ruined me, letting me spend the rest of my life searching for someone who didn’t just want me for my beauty.
I did not think I would find that kind of connection with someone whose language differs so greatly from mine, but I have and I intend to bury the past and leave it there. As deadly as this place is, here with Szhe’ka, my heart is not under siege and I have a choice. I finally have a choice.
“I know,” I warble back to him, embracing him as well. My mouth hurts from all the talking and my head is in a rush so I ask Szhe’ka to tell me about his own mother and if he remembers anything about her.
He sings, his arms still wrapped around me. “Not many memory, separated as fledgeling.”
The vibration of his chest when he sings against my body elicits the feelings inside me that I have been trying so long to hide and I swallow hard.
I don’t know if I should trust it this time or if I should even have these kinds of carnal feelings and thoughts about Szhe’ka. I mean, how would we even work?
Another rumble from his chest brings me back down and I realize that he is telling me things he remembers about his mother.
“I recall yellow, like me. Most beautiful song,” he chuckles at the memory and keeps on.
He tells me of how she used to tuck him in her arms when she would fly off cliffs and through waterfalls and how he always managed to sleep mid flight, even when hatchlings his age hadn’t started flying with their parents.
“Beautiful, Szhe’ka. Remember her song?” I ask him, feeling guilty at the fact that I’m enjoying his singing so much.
I expect him to say something about how we should be quiet because it is already night but he doesn’t seem to care about that or anything else but me. I don’t have to look up at him to feel his gaze on me. Warm but making me shiver.
The space between us feels too much, too vast, all of a sudden. I want to be closer to him, but I don’t know how to ask.
What if he doesn’t see me as more than something to care for and protect? I don’t know how his body works. I don’t know anything, but his voice manages to pull the cloak of worry off of me, filling me with the warmth of his song.
I know now that this is enough for me, his arms holding me tight against him and his beautiful song serenading me.
Life is about making sacrifices, and I would gladly give up my wants and needs to have more moments like this with him.
He is the best part of my new life, and we can figure things out if that time comes.
As I drift off, my mind plays out different versions of kissing him, each one more ridiculous than the next before I rein my thoughts back in.
Some things in life, it’s better to just find out how they’ll go instead of coming up with endless branching scenarios.
A smile curves my lips as I drift off to sleep.