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"And were you treated poorly?" His gaze is intent.
I clasp my hands in my lap and keep smiling. "I don't wish to answer that."
He grunts, and I suspect we both already know my answer.
After that conversation, we don't talk about much at all. I probe to see what he knows, but sometimes Crulden just doesn't feel like answering, and I can't blame him. Sometimes the conversations feel like a sparring match, and by the end, I feel like I've lost a battle somewhere. It's obvious that Crulden is extremely competitive. He likes to have the last word in our conversations. He views everything as some sort of sport or challenge, and I worry that with the wrong focus, that competitive side is going to work against him.
The good news is that I don't think he's bloodthirsty. I think he's just bored and likes a challenge, and mauling guards was a challenge. He hasn't done it since I first started talking to him, and I don't think it's because I've made some sort of spectacular breakthrough with him. I think the new challenge is me, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Like I do most days lately, I leave the guard barracks late, and I'm not entirely surprised to see Riffin waiting for me.
"Bee, we've talked about this," he complains to me. "I don't want you staying late. It's dangerous. Promise me that you'll go home on time tomorrow."
His face is full of worry, his expression downright insistent.
I smile at him. "I always try to leave on time, Riffin. You know that. It's just that sometimes things get away from me. We're making such progress—"
"No, Bee." Riffin frowns, putting that possessive hand on my shoulder. "Listen to me. They're changing my schedule at work and I won't be able to escort you safely home if you stay late. Promise you'll leave before dinner."
I gaze up at my boyfriend in surprise. "Why are you so worried? If you can't give me a ride, maybe one of the other guards can." We've become friendly over the last few weeks, thanks to the bonding powers of pastries.
Riffin's face hardens, and he practically scowls at me. "Just do as I ask for once, Bee? Can you just give me one yes without turning it into a fight? It's like I have to struggle to get even a smile from you lately."
Hot guilt rushes through me. He's not wrong. Everything I've done lately has been Crulden-focused. From staying up super late to make batches of baked goods, to blowing all my savings on flour substitutes to obsessing over Crulden and getting him to open up to me, it's been my sole priority lately. I've really and truly been a terrible girlfriend in the last few weeks. "I'm so sorry, Riffin. I'm just…this job means a lot to me."
"I know it does, but you're wasting your time, Bee." He gives me a firm, unyielding look. "A creature like that can't be reformed. He's bred and programmed to be a monster. The sooner you realize that, the better off you'll be."
I fight back the wave of irritation his words send through me. He's lashing out because he's hurt that I've been ignoring him. I need to be a better girlfriend if I'm going to make this work. Of course, part of me doesn't want to make this work, and that makes me feel guilty, too. There are several women that married aliens to procure safety for themselves, and I know there's a lot of miserable marriages out there on Risda. Riffin is kind, and he lets me do my own thing, and he's patient. I should pay more attention to his needs, too.
"I truly am sorry, Riffin," I say, giving him my best happy Bee smile. "I guess I've been a little focused lately."
He gives me a tender look. "I don't mind your focus, Bee. I guess I'd just prefer it was on me and not on some lab-created thug." He touches my cheek and I bite back an unpleasant retort that wouldn't solve any of our problems. "Just promise me you won't stay late tomorrow. If there's one thing you can promise, do that? You're wearing yourself out."
It's an easy promise to make. "I'll leave early tomorrow, I swear," I tell him, and then tilt my face up for a kiss, because I know that'll make Riffin happy.
The next day, I'm mindful of my promise to Riffin, but when I go in the next day with my baked goods, the cage is gone. Instead, a new cot has been placed in Crulden's room with soft, standard blankets. They're the same ones I wash dozens of every day at my other job, and I know them well. Crulden isn't sitting on the bed, though. He leans over the sink, touching his face as he gazes in the reflective panel behind the sink that acts as a mirror. He regards himself thoughtfully, rubbing his jaw.
