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That's…strange. I squint at her, trying to decipher her vagueness. Adjust? Adjust to what? "B-bad news?" I ask. "What's the bad news?"
The blonde leans in. "The bad news is you were kidnapped by aliens, but we rescued you and now you have to get a parasite in your chest and live here forever." She snaps her fingers, thinking. "Oh, and it's a primitive society."
"Way to soft-pedal it, Liz," Freckles says with a hint of a frown.
The blonde shrugs. "What? Best to get it all out at once."
I sit up as they argue, rubbing my head. It feels like a mess. Maybe that's why I'm having a hard time grasping what they're talking about. "I'm sorry, I'm not following."
Freckles takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze, and I automatically jerk away. She doesn't try again, just keeps that calm expression on her face. "You're disoriented because we just pulled you out of a stasis pod. Aliens have taken you from Earth—"
"Bad aliens," blonde Liz interjects.
"Bad aliens," Freckles agrees. "And the slave ship more or less crashed here."
"With us, the good guys," Liz continues. "And now you're here. For good. With our people—humans and the blue dudes." She gestures at one big guy, walking past, and I could swear I see a tail. "You're totally safe, and we're going to take care of you."
"But this planet is a one-way ticket," Freckles says softly. "I need you to understand that."
"Tell her about the cootie and shit. You're better at this than me," Liz continues, getting to her feet. She pats Freckles on the shoulder. "I'll wake up the next one."
"Right, the cootie," Freckles says. "How do I put this mildly?" She taps her chin, thinking.
My head is spinning, but I grab at the edges of the coffin thing I'm in. One-way ticket. The phrase echoes in my head, over and over again. One-way ticket. No way back home. Aliens have taken you from Earth. "Wait," I say as she begins to talk. "Wait. There's no way home?"
"No," Freckles says, and her voice is so, so soft. "I'm sorry. I know it's har—"
"No one is coming here to get us? No way home?" I look around, my heart hammering. I don't recognize my surroundings at all. It's an unfamiliar metal-looking cargo bay and as I watch, Liz and a blue guy kneel next to another coffin and slide the lid back, talking quietly amongst themselves. I see a few other women in the distance, big blue guys wrapping furs around them and leading them away. This looks like a rescue party, all right. That part clocks. I scan the human faces but they don't look familiar. If I've been stolen, then Brad… Oh fuck. "Where are the men?" I blurt out. "The human men?"
"There are no human men. There's a few alien men but…no humans. Did you leave someone behind that you loved very much?" Freckles's face is heartbroken, and I'm guessing she's imagining the worst. That I'm married and I've been separated from my spouse. That I'm devastated. "I'm so sorry—"
Hot laughter bubbles up in my throat. "You're sure?" I wheeze. "No men?"
"There were four men," Freckles says, and my heart goes still in my chest. "All gladiators. All aliens. Not human."
My heart starts again. This time it's racing, but not from terror—from sheer excitement. I don't care if this place is cold, or primitive. I don't care if it's filled with blue dudes or red dudes or no dudes at all. Brad isn't here. Brad isn't here and I am. More laughter rises from my throat, and I scramble to my feet, tripping over my wobbly legs as I get up. Freckles follows behind me, trying to say soothing things, and I'm barely aware that I'm naked and clammy and it's fucking freezing. I don't care. I race to the next coffin and look at the face inside. A woman. The next one. A woman.
I look at every coffin, and when I've gazed at every face, I race toward the fire in the next room where the rescued women are huddled as the blue guys offer them drinks and blankets. I look for that handsome, familiar, awful face.
No Brad.
He's not here.
I laugh. And laugh. By the fire, someone is weeping, but I just keep laughing and laughing. No Brad. No psycho ex-boyfriend with a gun. No restraining order. No useless cops who would rather drink a beer with Brad than protect me. No stalker.
He's back on Earth and I'm…here. Wherever here is.
And I can never leave.
I clutch my sides and howl with joyous laughter. I can fucking breathe again, and it feels amazing. I take a deep breath of frosty air, and I feel joy. Happiness. And I laugh, and laugh, and laugh.
How many times did I cry over my situation? How many times did I go to sleep with a knife clutched in my hand, worried I wouldn't see the morning? How many times did I pray for someone to help me? To save me?
