Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44440 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 222(@200wpm)___ 178(@250wpm)___ 148(@300wpm)
“Do you know how much I spent on those? Do you know what I had to do for the money to buy them? Do you know how much sentimental value they have for me?” I ask all those questions knowing full well that the answer to all of them is no. This alien with the dragon skin is a complete asshole. He doesn’t understand anything having meaning because he can magic it up out of nowhere.
He stares at me blankly, like he can’t comprehend the idea that something material might matter.
“Sentimental value?” He asks the question like that’s the first time he’s heard the phrase. He speaks perfect English, but I don’t think we share a language. Not really.
“See, you dick, here’s the thing. When you can’t just make things out of thin air, they matter. You have to pay to get them. You have to work to get them. I worked two shitty jobs to buy that jacket. I ate ramen for a week after I bought that, and you just set it on fire.”
“I did not set it on fire. I freed the composite atoms.”
“Whatever.”
I guess everything ends. I just didn’t think it would be the jacket I stole. The stuff about the ramen is a lie. Well, sort of a lie. I have eaten ramen for almost every week for the last however long. That’s how it is being broke. Am I still broke? Worse than broke. I’ve got nothing.
I should be pissed because I’m suddenly naked, but I’m barely noticing my nudity. Instead, I’m focused on all the stuff I’ve lost.
“What is it with men needing to take things? You just fucking have to ruin everybody else’s fun, is that it? Prove you’re a big scary alien dude by ruining months of shopping. Is that it?”
He snaps his fingers again, and suddenly everything is back — exactly how it was. There’s the same ketchup stain on my jeans, and the rip on the arm of the jacket where I snagged it on Emmet’s replica katana that one time.
“So you’re like a genie, right?”
“I am of an alien species called the Essence. We are not genies. What I do is not magic. It is science. And it is related to the ship, as I explained earlier.”
“All science is just magic that got mixed up with mathematics.”
He tilts his head and looks at me with bright-eyed surprise. “Human, that was an intelligent comment. I did not expect such a thing from you.”
“That’s because you’re a…”
“Dick. Yes. I know. I would warn you that you will be further punished for your insolence, but it would seem that is no deterrent.”
I am enjoying how much I am confusing him. He really thought he had my number. He thought he was going to snatch me up from Earth and put me to work as some kind of assistant pregnant-lady-babysitter and I’d just go along with it because I’m a girl. I don’t like it when people assume they know me enough to tell me what I’m like and what I’m not like, and I definitely don’t like it when an alien does it.
“The clothes suit you,” he admits. “But not your role. Take them off, and I will provide you with something new. Anything you might desire.”
“I get a completely new free wardrobe!? Uhm, you should have led with that. You wouldn’t even have had to abduct me. I would have just climbed right up your space hatch.”
He looks at me with that dour, judgmental expression, like he’s too good for me. As though my interests are predictable and base and human. I’ve never met anyone this arrogant in all my life, and I’ve lived with Emmet for, like, two years.
“What is it you wish to wear, human?”
“Did you see Kim Kardashian’s dress at the 2019 Met Gala? It was like this crazy see-through corset lobster-inspired shapewear…”
“You are to become my assistant, and to be presentable for the bride of the king. You need to be dressed in professional attire.”
“You just told me I could have anything I wanted!”
“I thought you would be capable of making a sensible decision.”
“Well, I guess you were wrong, huh?” I say the words pretty smugly, then realize it was something of a self-own, but still.
“I am going to dress you in something I deem appropriate in the next ten seconds. Take those clothes off and prepare to be reclothed.”
I scramble to get my good shit off. I don’t know if it’s technically the same clothing as it was when it was first magicked off, or if having been deconstructed and then reconstructed makes it entirely new? That seems like a question for a philosopher.
I leave my underwear on. I’m fine with that being forever destroyed. The elastic is going on the waistband of my panties and my bra has seen better days.