Page 61 of Falling in Love with A Tiny Bat

My pounding heart calms. I stare at the messages for a long while, sorting through my thoughts as I grapple for a reply. I know better than to trust someone like Castor, even if he appears to be putting in unnecessary effort.

It’s easy to act. It’s easy to pretend you’re good, and kind, and caring.

I know.

I watched my mom paint on her Christianity every week for church.Don’t make me look badbecame the anthem that prefaced any excursion. While my brother got the grace ofboys will be boys, I was expected to be perfect.

So even I know how to act like I’m good, and kind, andcaring.

It’s easy.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I let air leave my lungs so I can refill my chest slowly. Then, I pray.

Hi, Sir… Two things.

First, please reply to Castor for me. I don’t know what to say.

Second…please guide me.

I’m not like Alana and Willow. I don’t suffer from an inability to separate my sympathy for fictional villains from reality. I’ve met real villains. You know I have. I still hate them, even though You forgave the ones who tortured and killed You while they were still in the act.

Thank You for never expecting me to be You while You work in me. I simply could not do Your job. There would be…so,somuch smiting.

So, since I don’t have Your job and judgment is well above my pay grade, tell me.

If Castor isn’t a villain, how can I treat him the way You want me to?

I am pro work boundaries.

So, sincerely, I am forwarding this message to You, as my higher up.

May Your will work in me, allowing me the kindness and grace presented in Your character.

When I open my eyes again, I tap out:

Zahra: One day, both of you will join us. Assimilation is imminent.

Zahra: You have been warned.

Chapter 16

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Only one…tiny bat.

“Do you find this amusing?” Castor drones into a can of soda.

Alexios and I have just returned from movie night. The second I was past the threshold, I homed in on my fussing baby refusing his bottle in Castor’s arms. The instant I swept him up, he settled and took his bottle, so Castor snatched up a drink from my fridge, mumbling about ingrates.

Now, wittle Ash is done with his food.

So I’m holding him toward Castor, watching his face crumple, then pulling him back to me and watching how he brightens.

Sometimes, he wiggles when he comes back to Mommy.

“Yeah,” I chirp. “This isgreat.”

Castor frees a long-suffering sigh, and I picture him rolling his eyes beneath his blindfold as he turns his head away.

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