Chapter Twenty-Six The Nova #3
I was embarrassed to admit that being held like this felt good. Some part of me wanted to be ashamed, to cover up. By the stars, I could melt like marmalade right into his skin. The gentle touch, the shock wearing off, the sound of someone else’s heart, their breathing.
But even with comfort came the cost of my conscience.
Before, it was easy. These things had no faces; they couldn’t speak.
But this one was different. And the guilt was eating me from the inside.
If, cosmos forbid, my husband’s soul was looking at us, would he feel hurt?
Betrayed? It was like I was contradicting myself left and right for personal pleasures.
I didn’t know if I could forgive myself, if my mind ever fully came back around.
The stars were brighter tonight. It might also have been that I was still lightheaded. No matter, it was peaceful.
The copper roof stained my nightgown with its green patina, but the metal was cool against the hot evening air.
The best thing to eat in the middle of the night was street food.
The carts were always open, a light always on for those stumbling through the streets drunk and looking for a quick bite on the walk home.
I ate fried sweet corn. It was a battered, spiced corn deep-fried into bite-size pieces. It had come with a cold apple cider.
Altair had gotten thirty clams, fifteen pretzels, and a dozen cobs of hot corn. All from various vendors. He picked something from every cart we’d passed.
When you could turn into a literal beast, you had to maintain a high caloric intake. I supposed pleasure wasn’t filling enough.
My street was always busy, biolamps everywhere, even on the passing carriages and mobiles. The parks were lit the most, giving the illusion of a nightlong dawn always peeking behind the skyline.
Constant light, noise, people. From up here we could see down into the homes across the street.
Small shadows shifted behind their windows candidly, without knowing someone could see them, even on the second, third, or fourth floor.
Some buildings varied a story or so in height, facades old and new.
“Do you ever miss it?” I asked him, eyes on the dazzling stars.
His chewing slowed, the sound of crunching clam shells a bit off putting. By now I was sure he was staring. But I was too focused on the sky to turn.
Stars weren’t usually visible around here. The smog hid them, even in the night. Once in a while, the temperature of the air made the fog hang low, and from the roof you could catch glimpses of the far-off light.
“Some things, yes,” he answered, “but it’s only a short adjustment.”
“Does it get boring being some omnipresent beast?” I half joked.
“Absolutely,” he said with such certainty. “Do not take it as an insult when I say this—but I’ve always wanted to be insignificant.”
I stared at him, but now he was looking up. The wind blew his hair back; his body was the most relaxed it had been since meeting him. The inky tattoos glistened, even under such dim light.
“Only something small can have moments like these. They’re so fast, so few. Before you know it, lives have passed, seasons have shifted, and nobody remembers you. There’s no pressure when you’re just a small piece of a larger system.”
“Is that what we are, fleeting?” I rested my chin in my palm.
His eyes shifted to me, then his face fully turned. “Everything is.”
“You said before”—I looked away—“that you changed your mind.”
“I don’t recall.”
“About your goal for coming here.” I skirted around his exact words. “Don’t take them back now. Was that a lie?”
“No,” he admitted. “I was being truthful.”
“You almost denied it just now.” I pointed his way.
He sighed, looking away. “I know you think of me as some beast.” He crossed his arms over his knees, staring at the few stragglers walking below. “But I am capable of being vulnerable, just like you. It doesn’t mean you can demand it of me.”
A pang hit my chest. I almost felt bad for asking. I moved closer to him, the tips of my fingers brushing through his hair and around his ear. “Do you feel vulnerable now?”
He shot me a glare, shaking off my hand.
“Are you insecure about something,” I teased, “after all of that?”
“More now than in any other form,” he said. “I understand sensations less than I do when I don’t have to be in a specific shape.”
“Did it feel good”—I touched his arm, leaning in by his ear—“to be yourself?”
He shuddered, a deep sigh.
Then I realized he might have been suffering from something entirely human—embarrassment.
“Are you getting shy?” I pinched his shoulder.
He buried his face in his hands. “No more talking.”
“Altair!” I gasped, shaking him. “Are you regretting me?”
“No!” His head shot upright to look at me, such panic in his eyes. “Unless you are also regretting—”
“Don’t be soft,” I laughed, leaning in. “Don’t ever make me wonder again, though.” I poked my finger into his cheek. “And don’t ever lie to me. Especially about your intentions.”
“How bossy,” he said with another sigh.
“There’s the rude critter I know,” I continued to tease, but genuinely I hadn’t felt so light in a while.
A boyish grin appeared on his face. Even with the reminder from just hours ago, he was the least monstrous thing in my mind.
All this time, I’d assumed he was some nefarious creature.
I feared this spoke more to my pessimism.
I had reason to remember he wasn’t beholden to human nature, for he was no human at all. Perhaps that was why I liked him.
His eyes were so sharp, clear like moonstone. The light didn’t reflect quite right, but nothing about him was quite right.
My body was moving before I could think. I leaned in before I could rationalize it. But he didn’t argue.
He met the distance, his lips brushing against mine.
Could a thing like him feel the way I did? Would his faux-human heart be beating as fast as a snare? Did he notice the weight of my mouth pressing on his, or the taste of desperation when our lips met?
All I knew for sure was his lips were on mine, and my touch-starved body was held by warm arms that night. Everything else was an afterthought.
I could only hope I was at the forefront of his mind.