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Say something. He’s waiting. Speak. I’m not mute.
“Tha—tha—thank you,” I stumble over the word, fighting the dry mouth and the rising fear that this is an elaborate trap that I’m falling for.
“Well be,” he says.
Which makes no sense and I have to think about it to figure out that he means be well and mixed up the order of the words. Before I can figure it out and respond he walks away. His tail swishes across the floor making a soft hissing sound. Even his back is muscled and refractive with scales.
Slowly I reach my hand across the table and touch the leaf. It’s cool to the touch. It may be only my imagination but my fingers tingle where they are in contact with it.
Eat it. It will help.
Or, conversely, it might kill me. Or make me sick. But no, everyone is taking this. They’ve been prioritizing the sick and elderly but everyone is talking about it. The magic plant. The plant that makes the heat bearable.
I pick it up and pull it inside my shielding hair, turning the leaf over and over. I study the veins that run through it, radiating out of the center stalk. What do I do with this? I don’t know how he got it or why he chose to give it to me but he did. Now what?
If I don’t take it I’m an asshole. That’s like being given a gift and denying it. But I know that I don’t deserve it, which makes accepting it even harder. But the kindness he’s showing. And there they are, again, the tears push in, pressing against the backs of my eyes and making my forehead throb.
Kindness. He didn’t recoil at my face. Maybe?
I don’t know about all that, but I place the leaf in my mouth.
4
KAI
Idon’t know what to expect when I put it in my mouth. At first it tastes like a slightly dirty leaf. Am I supposed to chew it? Let it sit?
My mouth waters and coats it and then the taste changes. My tongue tingles in a kind of pleasant way then there are waves of flavor that wash over my tastebuds. Instinctively I chew. The flavor increases and almost as if it’s a strong alcohol I feel a burn as I swallow it. Warmth suffuses my throat and then settles into my stomach from where it radiates out to my limbs.
I look around the room, carefully keeping my hair placed over my face but no one is paying any attention to me. Which is normal. I try to spot him so I can thank him for the gift but he’s gone.
The only thing to do at this point is go to work. I bus my dishes as we’re all supposed to do and only then do I remember that I ran off yesterday without putting my supplies away. That will get me a demerit for sure.
Shoulders slumping at the thought I go to my workstation, ready to be reprimanded by my superior. When I walk in the room though he doesn’t say a word. He only glances up from the tablet in front of him and points at the assignment board. Frowning, I check my day's assigned sections and then go to the supply closet to get what I will need.
He has to know, why is he not mad?
There is nothing missing from the closet. Every item is stored exactly as it should be and since I’m the first one to arrive it’s full. Someone must have put my supplies back for me. But who?
Pushing it aside I gather up the supplies and go to the area I am supposed to clean today. There are four of us on the cleaning crew now and we are staggered through the day. The area I’m assigned to today is a low traffic one, thankfully. Close to the engines that keep the electricity running which is kept mostly off limits so no one can accidentally tear anything up. I’m the only cleaner that comes into the area because before the crash I was on the maintenance crew.
I hate the area now though and wish anyone else would take it over. As I get closer the side of my face aches. It has no reason to and I know it, this is only the memory of pain, burned into my flesh. Waiting, ready to pounce back out every bit as fresh as it was in the first place, though maybe not as intense as it was when it happened.
I keep close to the wall of the hall. My full hands is the only thing keeping me from rubbing the scars to try and ease the phantom pain. The rattle of the engine grows louder. It’s not in good shape and I know it as well as anyone.
Please don’t be here. Please be somewhere else. Anywhere else.
I do not want to see Jean. The pity on her face is more than I can handle. Her regrets only make me feel worse, whether that is what she intends or not, it’s what happens every time. I pause at the door to the control room that I’m supposed to clean and press my ear against the steel, listening for any hint she is in there.
The only sound is the thundering of my own heart. If she’s in there, she’s not talking, which would be unusual for her. Jean likes the sound of her own voice almost as much as she likes to have things hyper organized. I press the panel to open the door and it whooshes aside.
“Oh!” I exclaim the instant the door opens enough for me to see inside.
“Huh? Oh, uhm…” Jean stumbles over words.
The bucket slips from my hand momentarily forgotten until it hits the floor splashing cleaning solution over my legs and feet. The seven foot plus Zmaj who was just engaged in an intense make out session with Jean turns around. At first, I think it’s him, Provyd, but then I see it’s not. It’s another one of the Zmaj. When did she get hooked up with one of them?
“Kai,” Jean says, tugging the zipper of her jumper back up and adjusting her clothing.
