Page 23 of Bonded to The Boo Hag

“Alright,” I agreed and let my eyes drift shut.

I woke a short time later to a warm washcloth running up my thighs and between my legs.

How did I get so lucky to bond with such a considerate man? I kept my eyes closed, thinking about the bonding. Boo Hags didn’t invoke the right of bonding anymore with their chosen partners; we handfasted, we got married in churches and courthouses, but no one bonded. Yet, I had begun the process with Gatlin. If we made it past the year and both had love in our hearts and renewed the bonding permanently… It was silly to think about.

Gatlin finished, wiping me clean before toweling me dry.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

He brushed some hair away from my face and kissed me tenderly on the forehead before walking away towards my bathroom. I pulled back the blankets and got under the covers, considering.

My mom and dad had bonded later in their lives, and it changed everything. But a love like they had did that, and I knew from the few of us that were left, a Boo Hag finding a partner like that… it might as well be a fairytale.

But it was nice to dream, and while saving his sister’s life was an equal trade for our current arrangement, more than that would be asking too much unless he agreed to it too. I wanted in that moment to keep him forever, but post-coital bliss could do that to a girl. Especially a lonely one.

I nestled further under the covers like I could hide from the eventual pain I would feel when the arrangement dissolved next fall.

The bed dipped, and a strong arm wrapped around my middle, pulling me so I would become the little spoon.

“Goodnight, baby,” he whispered.

My heart fluttered. “Goodnight.”

10

Gatlin

We spent the morning with my sister. Counting the five weeks before I bonded with Palmer to today, we were celebrating Gemmy completing her third month of treatment. With Palmer’s weekly lifeforce infusions, on top of the celestial healing she received from Dr. Xiong to reverse the damages prior radiation treatments had done to her body, it was like we had traveled back in time. Gemmy even had the beginnings of hair regrowth, the red tips beginning to be visible on her scalp. There were no words to describe the relief and thankfulness I felt today.

My sister was seated at a small bistro-type table in her room with Palmer, watching as she fingerspelled the alphabet. It was endearing to hear Palmer quietly sing the alphabet song so she wouldn’t lose her place. She couldn’t remember “k,” “q,” or “x,” but Gemmy was happy to show her those signs.

Palmer and I had been attending a class once a week for the last two weeks. It had taken me a moment to find one that met in the late afternoon that wasn’t a for-credit college class. I finally found one for family members who wanted to learn how to communicate with their loved ones, but then we had to get through the holiday season to start it. It was one of the best decisions we had made, signing up for that class.

Palmer was a quick learner, and I grinned as my sister giggled along with my wife over a signing mistake.

I was thinking of Palmer as my wife more and more, and I wasn’t sure if that was normal. I thought maybe it was, and figured I could blame my humanity. I could also blame our chemistry in and outside of the bedroom. Yeah, we hadn’t gone all the way yet, but what we had done, I could confidently say, was leading me to believe it would be mind-blowing.

My brow furrowed as I sketched the women in front of me. Gemmy was wearing a loose cable knit sweater in green and a pair of charcoal leggings. Palmer’s outfit had almost made me swallow my tongue when she walked out of her room this morning. We would be stopping by the club for council business this afternoon, and she’d chosen a black suit paired with a powder blue button-down; the combination was classic and elegant on her toned body. It was the cut of the jacket paired with the shirt being unbuttoned down to her sternum that currently had me fixated. A cascade of gold chains dripped from her neck all the way down her chest, deviating from their path like rivers flowing between the topography of her breasts. That shining river of gold had my mind wandering to those rooms in the VIP section, where I wanted to lay her out in nothing else so I could stare my fill.

It was in direct contrast to how I’d felt at the beginning of this. I had been concerned from the get-go about what Palmer really looked like. I’d Google-searched Boo Hag and found a lot of renderings of the woman from the Gullah story of the Boo Hag. The images were not flattering. I think I wanted an excuse, proof that she was a monster underneath it all, so I would have a reason to keep my distance.

She was hiding herself from me. I rationalized that there had to be something monstrous to hide, otherwise why would she do it? And if I couldn't see all of her, then she couldn't be trusted. Weak, bullshit reasoning. When she shared that her mother and her people as a whole didn't share their true appearance with anyone, I felt like a culturally insensitive dumbass. I still hoped to be honored enough someday to see her, to paint her, even if it was just for us.

If I never get the chance, though… I think I could be content with that. It’s her choice, and I respect that.

That was the word of the past few weeks: contentment. We had fallen into a comfortable relationship. At least, I hoped she thought of this as a relationship. We talked about her business—she bought and sold art. Like most immortal beings, she’d learned to see the patterns in the business world and had invested wisely. She mostly took care of keeping the beings on the preserve happy, like some sort of feudal lord. Palmer was teaching me what to do too, which felt permanent, somehow. It didn't bother me, and that was something my mind had been working over for the last few days.

This could be our life, if…

I turned the page, beginning a solo sketch of Palmer.

I woke up the morning after we had been intimate for the first time, Palmer’s warm body cradled in mine, feeling different. The early morning sun had shone through the drapes, the sun painting her face with soft light. I stared like a creeper for I don’t know how long before her eyes fluttered open from sleep. The look she gave me when she realized where she was and who she was with had made my heart stutter in my chest.

That was the first time since I moved back four years ago that I genuinely felt the need to paint. Not just that I should paint. I had battled with myself over the last few years. How could I call myself an artist without producing any art? But anything I had attempted to capture on canvas was spiritually flat. Disconnected. Dull.

Waking up next to Palmer ignited something in me.

I painted Prudence first, trying to paint her solid yet translucent enough so that you knew she was a ghost but felt she was alive at the same time––because she was alive. I painted a few more of Palmer’s employees, our friends from around the estate.

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