Page 25 of Hung Up

“Show me . . .” A sickening grin revealed dirty teeth and a wicked gleam. “Tha’ bag.”

It was as if lightning cracked.

“Step the fuck back,” Pierce snarled, tossing our bag to the ground and sidling up to the the man, easily towering over him.

Wide eyes looked up to his stature, and the man audibly gulped.

“I will shove that can so far down your throat you’ll be shitting aluminum for the rest of your pathetic existence.”

Pierce’s chest huffed with each labored breath, his shoulders rising and falling equally as fast.

I took one singular step towards the men on some sort of instinct, but a tense hand thrust from Pierce rooted me to my spot.

“Hey, man,” the drunk sputtered, “I don’t wan’ any trouble.” Some semblance of sanity cleared a part of the glaze from his bloodshot eyes, but it was obvious he was still fighting for any coherent thought.

“I think you came looking for trouble,” Pierce growled, his voice low and menacing. “And you found me, instead.” His smile was threatening, almost as crazed as the promise that lingered behind his brown eyes.

Pierce wrapped a hand around the drunk man’s throat and squeezed. The stranger dropped his can and both hands flew to where Pierce held him.

“P-please . . .” Sweat dripped from the drunk’s brow, his face turning ruddy as Pierce held him.

I finally unfroze, terrified that Pierce might seriously hurt this man. I rushed up to his side, gently placing my hand over Pierce’s.

“Let him go,” I whispered. “Let’s not turn this into something we can’t come back from.”

The pinch in Pierce’s brow smoothed after a moment, and his eyes cleared. Releasing each finger as if it were a chore, the drunk man collapsed onto the ground before falling over himself as he scrambled away.

Pierce stood there with his arm still raised, just staring at his hands. At what they were apparently capable of.

“It’s okay, you were protecting us.”

His fingers curled, dropping to his side as he looked at me.

“I’ve never felt like that before . . .” He trailed off, gaze falling to his feet as he seemed to process what just happened.

“Angry? Out of control?”

My hands rested on his shoulders, gently grounding him as he worked through his thoughts. The silence stretched between us, filled only by the sounds of crickets chirping and the brewing storm whistling through the trees.

“I suppose,” he finally said, meeting my gaze.

“It’s perfectly normal. Human, even.”

“Does that mean . . . I’m human?” My stomach dropped. The hope shining on his face hurt to look at, because I didn’t know the answer.

My question from earlier returned to the surface: Did he even have a future he’d need me for?

“I think . . .” I chose my words carefully. “Being human is to experience life and all its complexities. Being human is to try and to fail, to love and to grieve, to form connections . . . and to say goodbye. Being human is to know your existence is short, and even though no one will remember your name in a few generations, to live your life to the fullest anyway. To know there is an inevitable end, but to live all of the days leading up to it as if there wasn’t.”

Pierce’s gaze never left mine as I spoke. His breath washed over me, and his heart thumped under his shirt. His skin was warm where I held his hand, and his thoughts raced behind his eyes.

He may have started out as a princess phone, but in such a short time here as a man, he’d already experienced desire, confusion, jealousy, fear, surprise, protectiveness, and now unfiltered rage. And that was all in the last two days.

For all intents and purposes, he was human.

My smile was genuine when I looked up at him, a sense of peace washing over me. I think Pierce was here to stay. And if he wasn’t, why would I let the fear of his eventual departure tarnish the moments I had with him?

“Yes, Pierce,” I whispered, raising myself onto the balls of my feet to kiss him. “I think you’re human.”

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