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I haven't seen him since the first day I came into town, though. Part of me is a little absurdly hurt that he hasn't come by. I know I'm being ridiculous, but I thought it seemed like something he'd do—show up regardless. I try not to read too much into it.
On my own, though, there's nothing to do but think. I've had a few nice conversations with two of the women here—Melody at the front desk, who let me borrow a tattered magazine from Earth that I've now read cover to cover twice, and there's a woman named Daphne that sews custom clothing for people here in Port that don't have the time or inclination. I buy a needle and some thread and start modifying my own clothing, fitting it closer to my body instead of letting it hang loose. I'm not great with the alterations, but a few tucks here and there and it looks a thousand percent better.
The days pass, and I don't hate being alone after all. There are parts of it that are really nice—like being able to make a mess just because there's no one around but me. I like sleeping in and sprawling on the bed.
But I still like being with Kazex best. Missing him is strange, because I'm not a tragic heroine flinging myself in my bed and sobbing with loneliness. It's like...a bowl of unflavored noodles. They'll fill you up. They're probably even nutritious. But they're tasteless and unexciting. That's what life is like without Kazex. Unexciting.
Everything is better with him. Meals are more fun. Bedtime is more fun. Waking up is more fun. Kissing and talking and touching and even just breathing in the same air—it's all wonderful. I'm not falling to pieces without him, but I'd still rather be at his side.
It's good that I've proved to myself I can do this, but I miss my guy. I'm ready to curl up in bed with him. At least my piercing has healed up, thanks to the intense healing cream. It's like it's been pierced for months now and the intense sensitivity has turned down to a low simmer. Sometimes I touch it and wonder what Kaz will think.
Only two more days to go, though.
"Be careful," Melody warns me as I head out of the dorm on the morning of day six. "There's some creep that's been caught lurking in the streets at night. The custodians have taken him away a few times now but he keeps coming back. Keep an eye out."
I nod, running a hand down my newly-refitted tunic. It fits almost perfectly—the sleeves are a little tight under the arms and I need to ask Daphne how to fix that. But I look great, and I'm thinking about dyeing the tips of my mohawk just because it's something to do. "I'll be careful. I'm just going to the bakery stall and the store. Then I'll be right back."
"Take a weapon." She shakes a finger at me. "You can never be too careful. I don't care how pleasant this planet is. We're still not home."
Words of wisdom. I think about Victor and how closely he'd hovered over Bee, as if she was a precious gem that he needed to protect. Kazex acts that way around me on the ship, I think wistfully, and I'm hit with a pang of longing for my a'ani sweetheart.
One more day after today, though.
I retrieve my knife from upstairs and head out. After buying a few sad-looking baked goods, I head over to the general store and look for something that could work as a hair bleach. Just about anything will work as a dye as long as I bleach the hell out of my hair first.
Skritch is behind the counter, the nosy avian that sold me the soap. He's right about one thing—I do love the way it smells. Every time I move, I smell fresh flowers. Maybe he'll have an idea of what I can use. "Excuse me, Mr. Skritch? I'm looking for something to bleach hair follicles."
"Bleach?" he asks, ruffling his wing feathers. "In what way? Like a deep cleaning?"
"No, I need to remove all the color here," I say, holding up the hair at the front of my mohawk. "Removing the color will change the texture of the hair, making it more porous and it'll hold onto another color better."
He chirps, moving across the store to my side. "So you want to remove the color and then put a color back on...?"
"Something like that." When he puts it that way, it sounds idiotic. "I want it to be a different color, though."
"Mmm, let me see what we have." He picks through a counter full of small bottles labeled with alien logos, clucking to himself as he thinks. I stand nearby, trying to decipher the writing with the few letters I've learned of the mesakkah alphabet. The fonts aren't exactly helping me, though?—
