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“I thought that was Aithar and Dopekh’s idea,” I say, studying the sticks I have in my hand. They talked about opening a cantina on Risda for a few weeks and then got quiet about it. I assumed that after the human female, Amber, declined Aithar’s attentions, he lost interest in this planet. Now Erzah wishes to run a cantina?
“I won the idea from Aithar and Dopekh in a sticks game. They let me have it.” Erzah’s eyes gleam with enthusiasm and he seems truly excited about the prospect. “It’s my dream now.”
“That’s not how dreams work,” Zaemen points out, clicking his carcinogel to turn it off and setting it aside. “Also I have nothing for this hand.”
“They didn’t want to be in charge,” Erzah says. “I do. So now it’s my dream.”
"Everyone's got a dream," Jerzec teases, adding another credit to his bid. He gives Erzah a sly look. "Dopekh dreams of nailing Salvotor."
"Shut up," Dopekh says, scowling at Jerzec.
"I'm serious—" Erzah continues.
"So am I," Jerzec butts in, grinning. "You don't know how many times I've caught those two?—"
Dopekh gets up from the table, tossing his sticks down.
"Was it something I said?" Jerzec asks, all wide eyes.
I nod. "Yes."
Aithar winces. "Yup."
Zaemen snorts. "Yeah."
"Damn. I guess I'll talk to him later." Jerzec grimaces. "Didn't mean to be a keffing ass."
"He's kinda sensitive about the whole Salvotor thing," Aithar says, and then it gets quiet. All eyes turn to me, and I pretend to study the layout of the sticks on the board very carefully.
I know exactly what they're thinking. They're all thinking that things went sour with Salvotor and Dopekh quickly after the flirtation, and now both are complaining of what Ruthie calls “blue balls” even though they are not mesakkah. They're thinking that it's the same situation as me and Ruthie. But they couldn't be more wrong. I've let Ruthie know that I'm interested since day one. I've made it clear to her that she's everything to me. That I would lay down my life for her. That every other female in the universe ceased to exist the moment her big, dark eyes met mine.
Dopekh and Salvotor are having a hard time figuring out exactly what they are. That's what causes the fights between them. Me? I've always known exactly who and what I am.
I'm Ruthie's.
It's Ruthie that's deciding things between us, and she's not ready for a relationship. So I'm going to sit here and quietly wait for her to notice me, because that's all I can do.
And in the meantime, I can play sticks with the rest of the crew and try not to think about how badly I want to touch Ruthie, or how I dreamed about her last night, or how often I jerk my cock just thinking about her soft scent and sweet laughter. Sometimes I think it'd be easier to go back to the days before I was on the Scarlet Gaze and serving Lord Straik, when I lived in a drugged haze and had no desires for anything beyond a clear head. Now the suppressants are out of my system and I have all these feelings bubbling to the surface. All these needs.
All of them are centered around Ruthie.
She's been avoiding me for the last few weeks. Ever since Ruth-Ann arrived and changed things. I understand it. Ruthie's had a hard go of things and it was jarring and upsetting for her when she realized she and Ruth were clones. Then Ruth-Ann shows up with the same face and it throws things into chaos once more. It's easier for me. I've always known I was a clone. The a'ani are grown in labs and treated little better than tools. We're not valued as people, just as bodies that can be strategically placed on a battlefield, or in a mine, or on a ship.
But Ruthie thought she was an original.
Ever since Ruth-Ann arrived, the three women have been spending their time together. When Ruthie's not with them, she's doing her lessons on the bridge with Aithar. She wants to learn a craft and be useful. I get it.
It just feels like she's avoiding me right now. Like I'm a problem she doesn't want to solve and so she's just distancing herself. I keffing hate it, even as I understand it. I miss her terribly. She should be playing sticks with us right now. She should be sitting next to me and laughing, slugging back a brew with the rest of us. She should be grinning at me from over her pile of credits, or shoving her nearly-empty brew towards me so I can finish off the foam, my favorite part.
But she's avoiding us—me especially—and I feel the ache of it deep in my spirit. I'm trying to be patient. I want her to have as much time as she needs, and I'm not going anywhere. Kef me, though. Waiting is hard?—
