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Chapter 6 – Himari
“You’re so much handsomerer. Handsomer? When you smile,” I said. Aidro smiled even bigger, and I traced my fingers over one of his three faces. I blinked, but the second and third face didn’t go away, and the third one started sort of waving around. “It’s strange how you multiplied, though. Is that a tholkon thing?”
He frowned, and I reached up and tried to force the smile back onto his face, which made him smile again. “Are you sure these berries didn’t affect us, because you seem tohave six tits. Can I suck on all of them?”
“I suppose so,” I said, looking down as well and trying to count my breasts, which kept moving on. “Maybe we need to take a break from the berries.”
“I think they might make us grow extra parts. Look at my hand,” I said, holding it out, wide-eyed. I wiggled my fingers and it was like watching a fan move, fascinating and dynamic. We did that for a while, giggling at the way different things looked. Aidro kicked off his boots and showed me his crazy toes.
“Holy shit,” he muttered, blinking. He rubbed his eyes. “Where did all of those toes come from? Do I have that many fingers, too?” He held out his hand then wove his fingers through mine, and we played a weird, trippy game of shadow puppets for a while, trying to make different monsters with all of our hallucinated extra body parts. After that I felt exhausted, dozing against his bare chest, though I didn’t remember moving over closer to him. We talked a little about silly things, about Goatis and growing up in a rural mountain community, and my love for plants. Even so, we never talked about Aidro, even in this kind of circumstance.
“Are you going to tell me what happened with your parents?” I finally asked.
He frowned, and I wanted his smile back so I tried to push his cheeks back into a smile. He batted me away, leaning back into the cushions I had woven out of reeds. “This is comfy.”
“Tell me your story, Aidro,” I said, poking him.
“Why are you so convinced there’s a story?”
“Because look at you. You’re a good guy.” I leaned back next to him and sighed. The effect of the berries was fading, leaving behind a sort of vague stoned feeling and a heightened sense of touch. He felt delightful.
He flopped over, using my stomach as a pillow, and I smiled, running my fingers through his hair. I’d always thought it was black like mine, but really it was navy blue to match his skin. I skimmed my fingers over his thick eyebrows, down the ridge of his nose, and this time he let me touch him.
“I’m not a good guy, little flower,” he whispered. “Why won’t you get that into your head?”
“Say it out loud. Just to me. I’ll keep your secret. Hell, I’m stoned out of my mind on these damn berries. I doubt I’ll even remember it.”
“They were going to sell my sister to a man who would do unspeakable things to her. So I killed them.” He looked away from me, like he couldn’t bear to make eye contact. “It wasn’t how I intended it to go. I tried to confront them. My father just laughed it off and said this was how it was done. The younger child was sold to pay for the older child’s education and upbringing. Most tholkons don’t engage in that practice anymore, but my parents acted like it was normal.”
My heart stopped. “Did they hurt you, too?”
“No,” he murmured, nuzzling my stomach. He was quiet for a moment. “They weren’t kind to me, but Omia was the one I was worried about. They took her anyway. And She died anyway.”
“Jesus, what did they do?”
“My father taunted me, asking if I should be the one sold into slavery, and I told him I’d gladly go for Omia. He laughed me off, saying they only wanted pretty girls, and I lost it. I attacked him.” He took a shuddering breath. “Everything escalated, and I felt like Omia and I were fighting for our lives, but… That’s not what the authorities said happened. They said that I have psychotic tendencies.”
“How old were you?” I asked.
He smiled a little. “In human years, around fourteen. She was ten.”
I knew the berries were still affecting me but I couldn’t stop touching him, and I leaned forward and brushed my lips against his. He groaned, opening his mouth and accepting my kiss, even as tears streamed down my face. Or was he the one crying? I couldn’t tell any longer. He shifted, moving onto his hands and knees, kissing me more fully. His arms slid around my waist, holding me close as we devoured each other, losing control. My hands roamed over his bare chest, feeling the warm silk of his skin, tracing the scars that dotted his shoulders, then skimming his nipples, dipping lower, until he finally took a deep breath and stopped me.
“This isn’t right,” he said.
“No, I want it.”
He shook his head. “We’ll see how you feel when these damn berries wear off and you realize what I just told you.”
I blinked slowly, frowning. “But what if it’s you who feels differently?”
“I marked you, little flower. There is no feeling differently for me. Not ever.”
