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The instant I do I realize my mistake. Annalise yelps, her eyes widening with fear. She jerks back and I open my mouth to apologize but then a fist crashes into my face.
30
NIYAH
He’s still not back. It has to have been two hours, maybe more. Who knew that most of my ‘capture’ would be waiting on him to get back. The silence of the house is driving me up the walls.
The only sounds come from outside. The bustle of the street. Conversations of people going about their day or business. Grunts, growls, the occasional yowl none of which makes any sense because I can’t see what’s happening.
There are windows upstairs but I don’t want to go where the body is. The body. I don’t even know this guy's name. He’s the body, as if that nameless title is all that his life has been reduced to.
What am I doing? What would Greta do? Well I know damn well what she would do. She would handle business, which is what I’m doing.
Wait…
That realization hits hard and fast. I am doing what she would do. She would handle one thing at a time. Just like I’m doing. Suddenly the hole in my life where she would normally be seems smaller. Not gone, how can it ever be gone because I love her more than words, but smaller. Less raw and painful.
I’m enough. Me. As I am.
It’s such a simple, easy thought and yeah, I’ve told myself this over and over. Affirmations as I tried to work my way through my feelings of inadequacy, but they never worked. I never felt better, or, honestly, good enough. I was forever measuring myself against her. My prettier, smarter, more successful sister.
But, as much as it sucks, she’s gone. I’m here and in this crazy, bonkers situation, I am doing all that it takes to handle it. I’ve confronted multiple religious zealots. Avoiding spilling the beans about the body that was just upstairs while three of them closely questioned me. I’ve made a friend out of Bhoja.
More than friends.
No. He pulled away. I wanted him. Needed him and he pulled away. Leaving me with one heck of a case of lady blue balls. Or whatever the female equivalent of that state is. Frustrated, to say the very least.
I’m not angry. Anymore at least because I sure was when he did it. Time, distance, and the sudden realization that I’m not competing to be second best have assuaged the anger. No, looking at it now, I’m confused. Why did he pull away?
He was as excited as I was. There could be no doubting what I felt in my hand. That was one rock hard cock. Yet he pulled back. Said no. And that begs the question, the understanding, that there must be a reason.
Duh, dipshit. There’s a dead body upstairs, religious zealots after both of us who would love nothing more than to use us as sacrifices to their dark gods, and oh did I mention the dead freaking body?
Okay. Fine. I forgive him.
Or forgive myself because I’m the one being an asshole here. He was being honorable. Smart too, but definitely honorable. I walk over to the couch and sit down. I wish I had something to read. Anything to occupy my mind with.
I’m back to waiting. Waiting and waiting and all that is good for is letting my thoughts spin and spin. Friends. That’s where my thoughts are. I haven’t had very many friends in my life. I lost most everyone I knew when the ship wrecked. Since then I’ve made friends, of course, but no one close. Especially not of the boy persuasion.
It’s the biggest reason I thought I was a good fit for this mission, besides trying to measure myself up to my sister. As morbid as it is, I had so few connections to anyone I figured I’d barely be missed. Our lives, since the wreck, have been so filled with danger and life-threatening situations it’s been hard to let myself get close to anyone. Closer than acquaintances anyway.
It's really hard when everyone you come to care about is killed. Monsters that roam the desert, random plants, four-armed alien invaders, or just the heat. Any and all of which have killed people that I knew. Some that I cared for. It’s literally been easier to not know anyone too well than to be close to them.
And here, with Bhoja, I do want to know him better. I don’t just want to fuck him, which of course I do because he’s fucking sexy. I also want to know everything about him. What’s his favorite color? What’s his favorite song? Do the Urr’ki have songs? Music? When did he learn to cook?
Ugh, I want to know everything. I want to understand everything there is about him. I want to feel like I know him so well I know what he’ll say before he says it. I want to know why he does what he does because I truly know him that deeply. What is this though? I’ve never felt this way about another person.
No. That’s not true. Greta.
I knew Greta like this. I really never needed to ask Greta what she was thinking because I knew. Or when I didn’t and she told me I understood why she thought that without asking because I knew her. Inside and out I knew my sister as well as I know myself. Better, in some ways, since I don’t think I ever actually understood me.
I sigh and lean back into the chair, staring up at the ceiling. The couch would be much more comfortable but I can’t bring myself to sit on it. That’s where the body was posed. Ew, yeah, no thanks.
The question on top of my mind, if for no other reason than it’s so much better than worrying about the Maulavi coming yet again, is does he feel the same? Obviously he wants to fuck, but is there more? Am I imagining all this? Have I let my hormones run wild and all this is really nothing more than a bad joke?
What if he doesn’t like, like me? What if all it is for him is duty. He doesn’t fuck me because of all the extenuating circumstances and that’s fine, but it doesn’t mean he actually cares about me either. Am I okay with that?
No. I am not okay. Not in the slightest.
