Chapter 14
FOURTEEN
NICOLE
I’m not getting anywhere with Arture, not really.
I’ve only succeeded in making him feel worse.
There is breaking eggs to make omelets, sure, but I’m not talking about a fucking lunch here, this is someone’s psyche.
If I fuck this up, I don’t just blow my chances of getting back home, I’ll damage him irreparably.
And it’s… too much. I can feel it closing in.
Chalk it down to hormones, PMS, pre-menstrual depression, or maybe even the real depression coming back again…
but it’s getting hard to breathe right now.
I’m great in a crisis, but afterwards, once things have settled down and I have time to think, the emotions hit me.
Guess it’s like a delayed reaction, or aftershocks or something.
But when I’m low like this, that’s when he comes back. ‘Fat. Stupid. Ridiculous. Ugly.’ He never said those things directly, but his comments and actions hinted at them. I blindly ignored my own gut, because we were perfect on paper.
Perfect.
Wrapping myself up in the bed, I put my head on the pillow and shut my eyes tight. I just want today to be over, so I can get through it. Tomorrow might be better. Might.
A ping at the door makes me jump. “Hello?”
Arture comes sauntering in like he’s a jungle cat stalking the perimeter, but he slows when he sees me.
I pull the covers over my face. “Sorry. I just… can’t today.”
“Sore muscles?”
“Yeah, kinda.”
Click-clacks sing out, his scales shifting, probably as he changes form. I can’t raise my head from the pillow to see. His voice is brisk when he says, “If you like, I can massage away the stiffness.”
“No, it’s not anything you can help with.”
Silence. Then, “Is there anything you need?”
“Space,” I mumble. “I just want to sleep. I'm sorry, tomorrow will… well, it might be better.”
He goes quiet, and after a while I lift my head up. The alien's gone, and I thump back down onto the pillow. He's likely digging again, getting us closer to having power. I should be out there too, working on getting home, but… I can't.
I just want to sleep, but sleep doesn't come. Just darkness, and Logan's voice telling me the truths I know deep inside. Fat. Stupid. Ridiculous. Ugly.
You should be grateful anyone wants you.
Desperate.
Curling up in the blankets, I squeeze the tears out. I wanted to love Logan, wanted to be close to him, but I can still see the disgust on his face opening the door on my twenty-first birthday.
The tears come, thick and fast, and I smother them in my bed covers.
Another ping at the doorway startles me awake. I wipe my tears away quickly, except they're dry. How long was I out?
I call to the door, “Yes?”
Arture comes in with a bowl, and the air fills with the rich, earthy aroma of roasted vegetables, the tangy brightness of zingy citrus, and warm spices like cumin and turmeric. Golden yellows, deep greens, and ruby reds paint the plate like one of Arabella's pop art pieces.
“Here.” He places it next to me. “I couldn't remember when I saw you eat last, so I threw this together.”
“Arture.” I heave myself upright in bed.
The food is a Buddha bowl of artfully arranged roasted root vegetables, charred rings of green stalks, and lipstick red seeds all on a bed of what looks like barley.
A creamy swirl of seed butter around the inside of the bowl rounds it out. “You threw this together? Sure.”
“Absolutely,” he lies with a grin. “Now, how is the temperature of the room?”
“Mm. Not great.” Even though it's the middle of the day, the ship isn't warming up inside. All that insulation to protect it from the cold of space is working against it now.
“So, I guess I'll sit here.” He lies down on the far side of the bed, and in seconds kicks out heat in waves from his bare torso. “Hope you don't mind.”
A protest lines up ready on my lips… except I am very cold. And hungry.
I bring the bowl into bed. Where it presses against my chest, heat radiates into me. Coupled with the warmth from Arture, my limbs relax at last.
After a few mouthfuls, I say, “Sorry.”
He opens one eye. “What for?”
“Being high maintenance. You've done too much for me recently. The suncream, warming the room, food. My clothes. This.” I wince. “It's too much.”
He rolls over to face me, resting his head on his palm and frowning. “High maintenance is wanting food and to sleep? Not wanting your skin to burn? Those are basic needs, Nic-coal.”
The heat chases its way through my skin and into my core. He's being so… nice. Or this is just basic decency, and I've been starved of it for so long it feels like he's doing me a favor?
He pats the bed. “Will talking about your horses cheer you up, make you sadder, or at least make you angry with me enough to change your mood?”
I pull my knees up, chewing thoughtfully. “Bit of all of the above. I really wish I could be with them right now.”
Rolling his lips, he asks, “Do you want to go outside and see the others?”
I gape at him. “But… something happened, I mean, you don't like horses.”
He touches his metal arm briefly. “You're right, I don't like them. We both know they can be dangerous. But if you say it’s safe, I trust you know what you’re doing.”
The swell of gratitude inside me nearly knocks me down. Sheesh, I have to get a grip. Maybe I am desperate. Or just starved. “Let's go!”
“After you've eaten your fill.” Arture nods to the bowl. While I eat, he rolls his shoulders and flexes his fingers, like he's warming up for something.
“Thanks,” I say, slurping up the last dregs. He takes the bowl with a nod and we head outside.
While I wallowed the day away, the sun rose and now hangs high in the horizon. The wind gives a little whisper, bringing me the scent of horses. The herd is a few hundred meters away, and as we walk I let the sun touch my skin, warming me. It's good to be outside.
But as soon as they lift their heads toward us, Arture gets tense. Super tense.
The horses stand in the field, their ears flicking toward us as we approach. I can feel Arture's hesitation beside me, his footsteps slowing as the nearest mare, a beautiful bay, turns her head to watch us with dark, intelligent eyes.
“They’re just curious,” I say softly, glancing at him.
His shoulders are tight, his gaze locked on the animal's hooves, as if expecting her to lash out.
“Here.” I step close to the mare, holding out my right hand with palm flat. The mare snorts, nostrils wide to scent me, and takes a few cautious steps toward me. When she brushes her soft muzzle against my hand, I can't help but smile.
“See? She's settled.” I mean the words for Arture and keep my voice singsong for the horses.
His scales flicker into darker shades like a thunderous sky.
“Come on,” I coax. “Just one step forward. Come stand next to me and if you're calm, they'll stay calm.”
“Nic-coal,” he says in a tortured hiss.
The mare raises her head, ears flicking forward.
“Come on, Arture.” I meet his eyes.
The mechanical blue one glows briefly, his left eye darkening. He doesn't take his gaze off me as he finally moves, his arms and legs stiff. He marches to my side, close enough that the scales on his arm brush my skin with a rasp. This close, I can hear the gulp of his ragged breaths, too.
“You're doing so well.” I stroke the mare's neck, and she stretches out, sniffing Arture’s rumpled and artfully wind-tossed mahogany hair.
When she snorts, Arture flinches. I lay my hand on his forearm, spreading out my fingers to provide as much grounding contact as possible.
“Well done. Good.” I stroke the horse's neck. “Good boy.”
His scales ripple outward across his arms, chest and back, like I dropped a stone in a still pond.
I grin. “Very good boy.”
He shoots me a murderous glare, but his scales lighten in color to pale pinks and crimsons like a winter sunrise.
I shouldn't tease him, but it is fun.
‘Definitely a slut.’
My face falls.
“What's wrong?” Arture’s loud voice makes the mare’s head jerk up. He grabs my wrist, pulling me into the safety of his arms, and the mare dances away.
“Drok na,” he snarls, gripping me so hard it hurts.
“Arture, calm down—”
He snatches me up over his shoulder and bolts back to the ship. From their grazing spots, the horses all look at me bouncing on his back with ears pricked.
“Arture,” I groan, but only once we're on the gangplank does he put me down. He falls to his knees, panting hard, gulping in air like he's in the middle of a panic attack.
“Just breathe.” I rub his back in slow strokes, trying to get him to follow my rhythm.
Once he's calmer, he gets up and paces, running his mechanical hand through his hair. It sticks up every which way with sweat.
“I hate this. I know it's safe, because you're sure, but…” He shakes his head, full lips twisted with fury. “I bravely charge Nexases with axes the size of my torso. I don't do… this.” He gestures to the horses, then to himself to indicate his panicked response. “Droking stupid brain.”
“Agreed. I mean, my brain's throwing up stuff from the past all the time.” I lean on the edge of the gangplank, half sitting on it. “What you're experiencing is real trauma, Arture. That's fucking hardcore stuff. Charging Greharm is nothing compared to facing your fears.”
He glances at me as if checking whether I'm being sincere. I keep my attention on him, twirling a grass stem between my fingers.
Captivated by the spinning movement, he says, “If I talk to you about it, it'll sit better in my head.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes.” His gaze rises up my face to meet my eyes. “You have some kind of… power. Skill. Ability. Whatever it is, I want… I need some of it.”
I stay quiet, not sure what to say. As far as I can tell, he means it. Warmth chases up my stomach to my chest. I'm helping, and… he's grateful.
He comes to sit opposite me, facing the herd. His right hand lands on the gangplank, metal fingers ringing as he drums.