Page 44 of Mutant Mine

All of these actions, I have performed mechanically — watching my hands act them out, while my mind is somewhere else entirely.

It has been almost an hour since I pulled myself away from Rory, where she lay sleeping in my arms. Still I have not returned to my normal state. All my nerve endings are prickling, like pins and needles.

Whatever the unsettling new sensation in my chest is, holding her against the mattress made it snarl louder than ever:mine. Mine!It was almost overwhelming. Her narrow waist, the fragrance of her hair, her soft backside pushed against my lap…

How easy it would have been to pin her there. But I knew that if Rory woke up to find me touching her, she would never forgive me. It has been so difficult to win her trust; the last thing I will do is jeopardize that, especially not to indulge my own selfish, disgusting desires.

So I pulled myself away. But ever since, I have felt the ghost of her touch on my skin.

When I emerge from the kitchen carrying two plates, Rory is sat on the couch reading.

“Good morning,” I say. “Breakfast is ready.”

She looks up at me, surprised. Perhaps I assumed too much by thinking that we would eat together again, as we did last night.

“Ah — you do not have to eat if you are not hungry,” I say stiffly.

“You made this for us?” Rory asks.

“It is not much.”

“It smells great. Let me help you.”

She goes into the kitchen and helps me bring out the rest of the simple meal.

Soon we are sat across from each other, spreading butter and jelly onto slices of toast and sipping hot coffee.

Rory looks a little flushed, and does not speak much — but that is understandable after yesterday’s trauma. I am relieved to find that we are still behaving like allies, rather than enemies. Sharing that violent experience has shifted our dynamic, perhaps permanently.

My injury is nothing, really. It already hurts much less, and I know that it will not take many days to fade from my skin altogether. But last night, Iwasin pain. Rory noticed; she insisted on tending to the wound, and gave me a comfortable place to sleep. It is more kindness than I have been shown for a long time.

In some ways, I felt like a little child again. But I am not a child. I can no longer simply reach out for whomever gives me comfort.

Rory eats well this morning, and assures me that her head is not too painful — although I encourage her to take a painkiller anyway. After breakfast, I get ready to leave for the day, while she settles on the couch with the tablet. Studying her as I pull on my boots, I cannot restrain my curiosity:

“What are you reading?”

“It’s calledThe Homesteader's Guide to Astrobotany.” Rory shows me a photograph of a purple leaf fringed with shiny black hooks, which is clearly not of our world. “It’s really interesting. There’s a load of info about extraterrestrial plant species, as well as how to keep Earth plants alive on other planets. I’d love to have a go at growing some of this stuff.”

Rory flicks back a few pages, then pushes the tablet towards me again.

“Look — this tree produces giant nuts full of this sweet milky stuff, which contains almost every nutrient that humans need. They’re super easy to grow, too. I was thinking: wherever you go, if you could plant these and…” She turns a few more pages. “…maybe a couple ofthese, for those last few micro-nutrients… then you could survive indefinitely!”

She lifts her eyes from the page to meet mine, keen to see what I think. That ache in my chest tugs, hard, and my cheek twitches.

“Have you been studying how to keep me alive once we part ways, little bird?”

Rory flushes — but then, as I have seen her do before, she clenches her jaw and decides not to let me get away with teasing her.

“Yep,” she says. “It would be a waste for you to die of scurvy before the authorities can arrest you.”

This only makes me smile wider.

She is still so full of surprises. When I first met her in the dark corridor of cells, I recognized that she was concealing a woman behind that baggy uniform. But I did not know how she would look with her hair tousled from sleep and color in her cheeks.

Now, I cannot imagine how beautiful she would be amongst wild green growth, with her shoulders bare and soil on her hands. But I want to learn.

I hope that one day I get to see her out in nature, tending to a garden that makes her proud. I want to see her wiping sweat from her brow, while the sun sprays freckles across the bridge of her nose. I would like to pick a ripe fruit and press it to her lips, until she parts them to let it inside, and bites.

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