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“Sorry,” I say, dropping my head back down and letting the curtain fall over my scars. “I’m supposed to clean, I’ll come back.”
I bend to grab the bucket and make it one step before she responds.
“No, wait,” Jean says. I pause, half-turned away and not wanting to turn back, both because I am really uncomfortable having interrupted their moment of intimacy as well as not wanting to look at her in general. “Kai, please. It’s fine. My bad, I should have known it was cleaning day.”
“I’ll come back,” I say again, taking another step.
“There is no need,” the Zmaj says. His voice has a rich timbre to it that feels as if it resonates in my bones. “I need to go with my brothers to help harvest more epis. I was merely saying goodbye to my mate.”
I feel their eyes burning into my back. I should turn around. Should say something. But what? The muscles in my neck and shoulders are so tight and knotted up that I can barely keep from shaking. It’s making my head hurt too.
I hear the sound of a kiss, then murmured goodbyes and the Zmaj walks past. He pauses in front of me, but I keep my head down.
“It is a pleasure,” he says in passable Common. “I am sorry for the display if it made you uncomfortable.”
“Heh,” I say, more a noise than a response because I don’t know what to say.
Saying yes, it made me uncomfortable? Walking in on intimacy like that is never comfortable. Especially knowing no one will ever love me, touch me, or look at me with anything less than pity at the best and horror at the worst.
He walks away without further words but I’m still standing here in the hall needing to turn and do my duties, but not wanting to face Jean. It is an effort of will to force myself to turn and enter the room. I set my bucket and supplies down then grab my brushes. All the while I feel her eyes on me. Watching, waiting, expecting what? I have nothing to give, all I want is for this to be over as fast as possible.
“Kai, I’m sorry,” Jean says.
She doesn’t explain what she is sorry about and thankfully she doesn’t come closer either. I dip the brush in the solution and scrub the floor in silence. We’ve said all these words before and I have no absolution for her. In truth it’s not her fault. It’s not anyone’s fault. It was a horrible twist of fate that left me the way I am. What else is there to say?
I think that the silence has gone on long enough that she might leave it alone. I think, but then she moves closer. My heart speeds up and my stomach tightens. Please don’t do this Jean. Please. But she does. She kneels in front of me and then places a hand on my shoulder.
“Kai,” she says, gently squeezing. “I want to help.”
“I know,” I say, my throat is tight and those damnable tears push hard against my eyes again. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine,” she says. “It shouldn’t have been you. I’m so sorry.”
“Can you not? Please?” I ask, anger burning away the tears with its sudden appearance and I lift my head to face her head on.
Regret almost quashes the anger the moment our eyes meet. The pity in hers is too much to bear. I can’t stand it, damn it. The situation sucks, but pity gets me nowhere.
“Kai, it was an accident. I know you're hurting but we were friends?—”
“Were,” I snap, dropping my head and jerking my shoulder free of her grip. Her soft gasp makes me feel worse. She doesn’t deserve my anger either and knowing that it evaporates as fast as it came. “It’s not your fault, but I’m fine.”
“Kai you’re hurting. Let me?—”
“Jean,” I say, speaking softly and calm, I look at her through the strands of my hair. “I am fine. Do not worry about me, please. Now I need to do my duties. Please.”
She frowns, opens her mouth then snaps it shut. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears but she nods and leaves. And at last I’m alone. In the room where it happened.
I look over at where I was thrown and trapped during the crash. My face pressed to the red-hot metal of the engine desperately trying to keep the ship from falling into the gravity well of the planet. The moment that destroyed my face and my life. The phantom pain throbs but it’s only memory. Memories don’t do anyone any good.
I scrub the floors harder. Hoping that maybe, somehow, I’ll be able to scrub away the memory and the pain too.
5
PROVYD
Flowers were next on Ziva’s list.
In the Jungle flowers would be easy, but here on the mainland they are a tall order. There are not a lot of varieties that would be safe to harvest for display. Besides, flowers die. I am not going to argue with Ziva, she is an expert on matters of human female taste, but not arguing and understanding are far from the same thing.
