Page 121 of Break Out the Girl

That’s the kind of name you give a cute little pig, or someone you actually like.

Like, like like.

I do believe that Kitten likes me, but I hadn’t dared to believe she might actually like-like me. Oof.

“What have you been thinking about?” she asks again, like she actually wants to know.

So I tell her.

“I was thinking about horrible histories,” I reply. “Not like when Harold got an arrow in his eye, but the other stuff. It’s all fine though. All good now.” I give her a reassuring smile. “And it’s my turn in the zebra room tonight, so I can be you and Skylight’s hottie-bottie. That always makes me feel good.”

“Hottie-bottie?”

“Yes, m’lady. I will be the best hot water bottle a human-slash-faun can be.”

Unfortunately that makes Kitten frown not laugh. “London, you don't have to be the equivalent of some inanimate object to be welcome in our bed. It’s you who makes me feel safe. It’s you who comforts me and Sky so we can fall asleep more easily, not your innate ability.”

I hear the words, but I’m not sure I believe them.

“Burt or Shane,” I tell the lino, not looking Kitten in the eye, “are proper men-men. They can protect you. But I’m not like them-them.” A shudder travels through my chest and out my throat, making my teeth wobble. “I don’t think I’ll ever be good at real boyfriending.” I feel wet stuff in my eyeballs. “It’s not that I don’t want to,” I add hurriedly, “but I got broken along the way, so I don’t work how I should.”

She needs to know the truth about me. I’m only fit to be our gang’s happy assistant: making the food, polishing the zebras, and taking the porcelain poodles for walkies.

Suddenly, Kitten let out a loud snarl that makes her sound like a lioness.

Fuckwad leans out of his canvas nest. “Who’s growling?”

She ignores him and instead yells at the top of her lungs. “François!”

The door to the first bedroom clicks open instantly, and out steps Shane, looking entirely posh. Before he can even utter a fancy French word, Kitten grabs the bundle of greens, collard greens, (said in the manner of James Bond) and flings them dead-center at him.

Smack.

Shane’s eyes widen, more so when he sees the trail of leafy ooze on his clean white shirt.

“You’re on kitchen duty, de Vaux,” Aurora barks, in a tone that no one, even old Shivers, would want to argue with. “Watch the pie. If the tomato dings, take it out. And do something with the veggies.”

“Aurora, that isn’t…”

He doesn't get to finish. Kitten grabs my hand, her fingers locking tightly between mine, and yanks me out the trailer door.

Burt is sitting at the table outside with Sky, teaching her how to fire a catapult. They both just stare at us as we blast by, Kitten dragging me towards the treeline.

The air is damp and cold, like always, but Kitten doesn’t stop. She marches me into the forest, her new boots snapping frozen twigs as she goes.

I’m not sure what’s happening, but we’re holding hands, and our golden wires are humming so I’m as content as I’ve been in my life.

After a few minutes, the trees thin out to form a perfect, sheltered little glade. The kind that should have a little bottle saying ‘drink me’ placed somewhere.

My little love finally stops, turning to face me, her breath swirling up between us in white steam.

“Babe, look at me,” she says softly.

How can I not look? Her blue eyes are so bright and light and wondrous.

“I know you’ve been through more than the rest of us put together,” she says, stroking my face with the hand I’m not holding. “But for some reason I know, like really know that who you are, and what you are capable of, will blow the rest of us out of the water.”

Hmm. I don’t like to doubt my Kitten, but that doesn’t seem entirely accurate.