Page 11 of Bad Beehavior

She sighs. “Alright. Bye, giant bee guy. Good luck with your mission or whatever. I’ll be sure to mention you to my therapist.”

With a sigh, I transform back into my compact form.

Jennessa gasps from behind me.

I flap my wings, ready to take flight, levitating in the air for a few moments until a searing pain shoots through my body. I fall to the ground and immediately transform back into my larger form, crying out in agony.

“What the fuck was that?” Jennessa asks, running over to me.

“My wings. I think they’re injured. I can’t fly.” I stand up, flapping my wings in my larger form. Sure enough, the pain comes from my left wing and radiates through my body. I don’t know why I bothered trying again. It’s not like I could fly around this planet in my larger form anyway. It would be too much of a spectacle.

Jennessa crouches next to me, examining my wings without touching them. “Yeah, it looks like this one is bent. It probably happened when Kent knocked you with that newspaper.”

“Is Kent the large male you were with?” I’ve never been a jealous type, but hearing her mention another male makes my stomach flip. Especially since I witnessed her place her lips to his face.

“Yeah, he’s my boyfriend. He can be a dick.”

Good, he’s just a friend, not her mate. I register that dick is another word for their males’ stinger. “A dick? He’s a stinger?”

“A stinger? Is that what you call your penis?” She laughs, falling back to her elbows. “Boy, this dream just keeps getting better and better.” Her eyes trail down me. Thankfully, my stinger has already been absorbed back into my body. I don’t think I could handle her laughing while it was erect.

Although I could watch her laugh until the end of time, I can’t pay close attention to this confusing conversation anymore—my mind races with what to do next. I’ve injured my wings in the past. Usually, it only takes a few days to heal. If they were in worse condition, the pain would be more extreme, even though the pain I’m feeling right now is excruciating.

Jennessa’s laughter ceases and she sits up, wiping the tears from her eyes. “Well, if you want to spend the night until your wings get better, you’re welcome to.” She stands and walks back to her bed. “You can sleep on the couch if you want.” She points to a brown piece of furniture in the corner. “You might be a little big for it, but you’re probably too big for my bed too. Besides, you’re not real, so I’m sure you won’t be too uncomfortable.”

She’s already saved me from death and will let me stay another night—my heart swells at her words, but it’s shadowed by disappointment. She doesn’t want me to sleep in her bed with her, even though I know her cunt tells a different story.

It’s fine, it’s better this way.

I finally realize how tired I feel. Maybe it would be best to spend the night and figure out what to do in the morning. Maybe Jennessa will help me locate my target while I’m healing. I don’t want to have to call the Hive and reveal my failures. Besides, being near her for longer gives me a spark of euphoria.

“Thank you, Jennessa,” I say as I make my way to hercouch.

She smiles and pulls the covers over her. “Goodnight, giant bee. I wish you were real. This has been a fun dream.” She closes her eyes.

My heart flutters as I rest my head on a small square cushion. Even though she doesn’t believe I’m real, she enjoys my company. I can’t think of more beautiful words to hear before falling asleep.

Chapter 9: Jennessa

The sun streaming into my apartment tickles my eyelids, begging them to open. I raise my arms over my head in a yawn and stare up at my ceiling. The memory of my dream last night comes flooding back to me. Man, that was weird. One moment, I’m saving a bee from death; the next, I’m dreaming about sexy bee men. Am I sexually attracted to bees now? I probably need to make an appointment with my therapist as soon as possible. Except I don’t have a therapist. I’m abroke business owner. I don’t have therapy money. It’s just an expression I like to say. Oh well, I’ll just journal or some shit.

I sit up and throw my legs over the side of my bed. My apartment is tiny, so it only takes two seconds for me to notice the giant yellow and black mass of a man sleeping on the couch on the other side of my room.

My heart beats wildly. Could I still be dreaming? I pinch myself. Nope, this is most definitely real, unless I’m so far gone in my psychosis, which is a more probable possibility.

I replay the bee man and I’s interaction from last night. I should have known it wasn’t a dream. It all felt too real. He—I think I remember him calling himself Baryx—said he was from outer space, so that makes him an alien. I’ve always believed that we weren’t the only beings in the universe, but shouldn’t the FBI or Homeland Security be pounding down my door? Why would an alien travel across the universe and find his way into my apartment? It just seems too unlikely.

A wave of courage rushes over me, and I storm toward him. He didn’t murder me last night after all. If he was dangerous or was going to abduct me, he had plenty of time to do it already.

I stand over him, examining his odd features. In the light of day, our differences are even more alarming. He almost looks human. His facial features are the same as a human man’s. His body is covered with a delicate yellow and black fuzz in the same pattern as a bumble bee. He’s lying on his back, but the tops of his translucent wings peak from behind him, one slightly bent at the top. The antennas are alarming, but I don’t pay much attention to them because I can only focus on his broad muscular chest. He’s covered in muscles, and blood pumps thick in my veins as I resist the urge to run my hands over him.

He’s not wearing any clothes, and I remember he mentioned his stinger, which I think is his version of a dick. I glance between his legs, but nothing’s there. It’s like he’s a Ken doll. Idefinitely remember feeling something dick-like rub against me last night while he was straddling me, though. Maybe it retracts? I can’t look at him any longer. It’s just freaking me out more and making me feel all sorts of weird.

I grab one of my throw pillows from the floor and throw it at him. “Hey, bee guy! Wake up!”

He twitches and throws his hands up to block another pillow attack. His eyes blink open, and he looks around as if just remembering where he is.

“Are you real or not?” I ask. It’s a stupid question, but I’d feel better if my illusions gave me some reassurance.

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