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What a strange word.
What are words anyway?
How did someone come up with letters and then squish them into a language?
Do we even need language?
I knew what Henri was feeling most of the time without it. I sensed him. Some people said they even saw auras. Perhaps our ability to speak got in the way of our truth because the truth was there for all to see if we just opened our eyes instead of our ears.
I skipped out of time.
I fought the undertow of rest and forced my gaze open.
Aww, poor guy.
He looked rather freaked.
I giggled at the way he strangled the tub of cream, eyes wild, legs braced. “It’s okay, Hen.”
Now he looked really freaked.
It was kind of adorable.
“Hen?” he coughed.
“You know…like the chicken.”
I pictured him with feathers, scratching around in the dirt.
Oh God.
New laughter built. Pressure bubbled in my belly, desperate to release.
“My name is Henri,” he said slowly, scarily.
“Hen.” I nodded.
“No. Not Hen—”
“Cluck. Cluck.” I couldn’t contain the mirth much longer. “Aww, don’t be mad. You’d make such a cute chicken. Wait…” I split into laughter. “A male chicken is a cock.” I lost control over my giggles. “You’re a cock.”
He made a whimpering sort of noise as if I’d well and truly ruined him.
“Cock-a-doodle-doooooo!” I lost it.
He groaned so deep and low, my entire body reacted.
Need roared.
Desire poured.
My laughter threaded with reckless, ruthless lust, and I shattered.
I either needed him to kiss me or go far, far away so I could break.
I didn’t know why I laughed anymore.
Everything was ridiculous.
