Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 32810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32810 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 164(@200wpm)___ 131(@250wpm)___ 109(@300wpm)
I don't belong here, just like I don't belong anywhere in the universe anymore. No human does. We're either refugees that someone has to take pity on…or worse. Property. I'd rather be a refugee, but it's not much of a step up. I'm still dependent on someone else's goodwill.
I live in constant fear that the goodwill will disappear the moment they find out I’m hard of hearing.
It's so damn isolating. I've felt adrift and alone for years now, and it's no better here, on a planet surrounded by humans in the same situation as me. You'd think it'd be better, but it's not. Because I can't hear properly, I feel left out of most conversations, and since I end up being quiet around others, they assume I'm not interested in making friends. It's worse, being around your people and still not being able to stave off the loneliness. I know some of the others have taken husbands, but the idea is abhorrent to me. I have yet to meet an alien I can trust.
Certainly not that loudmouth i'Yani. Part of me hopes that he won't bother to show up here. That he'll give up and just leave me alone…but I know that won't happen. I have to be prepared for the worst. I park my sled haphazardly in front of my house and head inside, digging through the medicine cabinet that I was set up with. There should be a hormone injection somewhere in here that will act as birth control and an infection barrier both. It's a single dose that lasts for six months, and I haven't bothered using it before.
I jab myself with it now, anticipating the worst. Now to hide the small stash of credits I've been saving under one of the loose panels behind the lavatory.
No sooner do I have my money hidden than I hear a banging on the front door. I bite back a groan. That'd be i'Yani all right, come to collect his dues. Grimacing, I nervously clench my fists and head to the front of the house.
He stands in the open doorway, glaring at me, and gestures at the wide-open portal into the house. "What's this?"
"A door," I answer helpfully.
Custodian i'Yani's jaw clenches and I could swear he's gritting his teeth. "I know it's a door," he practically yells at me, taking time between each syllable and enunciating to an exaggerated degree. "Why is it open? Those praxiians could have come back."
"I knew you were following me," I say, and cross my arms over my chest. Part of me wonders if the praxiians would be better than being blackmailed for the rest of my days by a mesakkah, but I quickly shove that thought away. Praxiians aren't known for their kindness. "So spit it out. Go ahead and tell me what the price is."
"Price?" He frowns at me.
More games. I gesture at him, indicating he should move things along. "I know how this works. Just tell me what the price is for your silence and let's get this over with."
Custodian i'Yani cocks his head at me. "You think I'm going to blackmail you? Into sex? That's not why I'm here."
"Then why are you here?" I feel defensive and a little silly. Why wouldn't I assume that it's about sex? With every alien I’ve met so far, it’s always been about sex.
The look he gives me is filled with amusement, and he crosses his arms over his chest, mimicking my stance. "Maybe I just wanted to know a bit more about you."
"You don't."
He laughs, the sound light and breezy and loud enough that I can hear it clearly. "Maybe I just wanted some answers. That, and I really do have no desire to see you bothered by praxiians. Just because you and I don't get along doesn't mean I'm going to neglect my duty to you as a colonist."
Oh. I don't know what to say to that. "So you're not going to demand sex?"
"As much fun as sex is, I find it's far more enjoyable when both partners are actually into it." His mouth lifts with amusement. "It's a quirk of mine."
I snort. If that's the case, it makes him different than half of the universe. "Well, I'm safe now. You can go. And thanks."
"I said I wanted answers too," he corrects, and turns his head, looking around at my house. His face isn't to me, and he deliberately pitches his voice lower, turning his words into a jumble that I can't make out.
Scowling, I suspect this is deliberate. When his voice lifts at the end in a question, I respond with "Mmm."
He grins wider, turning back to me again. "You think so?"
"Think so what?" It's a trap, it's a trap, it's a trap. I know it is, and yet I have to ask.