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A freestanding popcorn cart is tucked in a corner, pumping out bushels of hot, buttery kernels. The smell overpowers the sweet and savory cupcakes Olivia brought.
Slater strides to the front of the room, which shushes itself quiet with no prompting. Interesting, he’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt and khakis just like all the splicers and women have been ordered to wear. I’m still not sure why that’s our “uniform,” although someone said it was to make the guys look less threatening. One look at the teeth of Noble, the lion-guy or Ty the tiger-guy, and the word nonthreatening flies right out of my mind.
“Welcome all.”
Slater flashes a genuine smile. He’s mellowed a lot since he came to live with Mom and me almost two decades ago.
“When I helped design this facility, I pictured this room as the hub of activity. It was always my dream that males and females could congregate here in peace. It seemed prudent to integrate things slowly, which is why this room has been off-limits until today.”
He nods happily as he scans the room.
“I want to say how proud I am of how well all of you have adapted to your changed circumstances. Except for a few missteps that first night…”
As he pauses, I picture what one of the women described to me. “It was like the cantina scene in Star Wars,” she’d said, her voice hushed. “Most of us women had total freakouts, and the males were mostly in their beastly selves. They were growling, hissing, and chuffing, and one of the males pissed at Bella’s feet. A full-on territorial display.”
“Except for a few missteps,” Slater continues, “I’d call this program a success so far. We’ve got a few shops open on Main Street, albeit only serving those of us from the base. All in all, we’re on target to welcome the general public at or before the projected two-year deadline.”
We all break out in applause. Initially, I thought two years sounded like a life sentence. Now, I’m happy to be here.
There are a lot of couches and lounge chairs dotting the homey, wood-domed room. I snagged a high-backed bar stool from the nonalcoholic bar area so I can sit next to Chance, who is standing. I can’t wait until the lights go down so we can hold hands.
I love acting like high school kids on their first date. I missed that opportunity the first time around and feel lucky to grab it now, in my twenties.
“So, let’s kick off this shindig withThe Lion King. Don’t forget to help yourself to some popcorn, some of Olivia’s amazing treats, and a beverage. Don’t blame any of the enlisted men for what’s on tonight’s marquee. I picked the first movie myself.”
The lights go down and before I can reach for Chance’s hand, he grabs mine, flashes me a close-lipped smile, and tugs me closer, chair and all.
“Talking animals?” he asks a few minutes later, his head tipped, a skeptical look on his face.
“It’s a good movie. I think he meant it as a peace offering. To normalize things.”
Other than Noble’s loud roar when Scar threatens Simba, the audience is quiet, happily munching their choice of junk food.
I tuck myself closer to Chance, reveling in his warm skin, his even warmer furred coat, and the occasional swish of his tail or clop of one foot, which always signals his impatience. I imagine I know exactly what’s making him impatient tonight.
If we were normal people on a date at a movie theater, there might be a little lip-on-lip action, maybe more. He has to be yearning to touch me as much as I want to touch him.
Glancing at his hind flanks, I notice Olivia has retrofitted the garment she calls his kilt. She’s added an apron, extending it almost to his knee.
I bring our linked hands to my mouth for a brief kiss.
“Good things come to those who wait,” I whisper as I wink at him.
On screen, Simba and Nala are belting out the lyrics toCan You Feel the Love Tonight. Corny as it seems, it’s giving me the shivers.
Chapter Eighteen
Chance
As I relax in my dorm room after work waiting for dinner, it strikes me that every day is a revelation of some sort or another. I’m finding out things about myself I never had the opportunity to discover.
The army has treated us well from the moment they shot their way into the facility where we were kept in cages. It’s just that living underground in Area 51 while they educated and socialized us was not the freedom I’d dreamed of.
Even in the reject barracks at the southern end of the property, it seemed as though my life was on hold. It’s only now that I feel as though I’m truly living.
I thought I’d hate computers, but I don’t. There are several moments every day where I feel as though I’m setting the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle into place. When I figure something out after struggling with it for a while, it’s a feeling of pride and accomplishment I’ve seldom felt before.
Sure, when my abusers forced me to do something physical that was almost beyond my limits, there was a mild feeling of achievement, but it always tasted bitter because failing meant punishment.
